coffee bean

Sundays are my suicide days

[sailorsoons]

On the Clock | (c.hs)

PAIRING: Vernon x f. reader SUMMARY: Modern problems call for modern solutions, including naming a random stranger in the book store as your boyfriend to avoid an embarrassing encounter with your ex. The problem? The stranger is Vernon and he’s not supposed to be a stranger at all - he’s your coworker, and now everyone at the office - including your ex - thinks you’re dating.  WC: 20,296 AU: Faking dating, Coworkers to Lovers, Romcom GENRE: Smut, some fluff and crack RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. WARNINGS: Reader has some insecurity about how her working hard is perceived, some ranting about Being A Girlboss, a little bit of inner angst, my bad attempts at humor, reader’s ex boyfriend SUCKS sorry to all the Minho’s of the world I named him after, explicit language, some minor commentary on power dynamics, Star Wars Lore, explicit sexual content including unprotected vaginal sex (never do this), oral (f. receiving), nipple play, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, a little bit of a handjob, some cum eating if you squint, Vernon was supposed to be a freak but I made him soft instead, mutual pining. A/N: Thank you to @camandemstudios for allowing me to be a part of the Lonely Hearts Collab. I’m honored to be among such amazing writers and I cannot wait to see what everyone else wrote.  A/N 2: Thank you to the (w)hor(e)anghae squad @daechwitatamic @eoieopda and @jihopesjoint for beta reading this and letting me blind pass it over so I wouldn’t have to read it again because I don’t like it :)  

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WHOSOEVER SLAYETH CAIN SHALL SUFFER TENFOLD... OR WHATEVER IT IS THAT THE BIBLE SAYS. You haven’t slayed Cain and you’re not really sure you believe in anything in the Bible, but you’re certainly suffering sevenfold. Eightfold. Ninefold. 

Sevenfold had been earlier this morning when you dropped your glass of coffee on the ground, shattering your favorite cup and staining your white tile. Several Clorox wipes later, there is still brown stuck to the grout, looking a bit like you had an unseemly accident in the middle of your kitchen. 

Eightfold had been when you decided to fix your weekend by heading to the bookstore. Surely purchasing books that you were going to let sit on your shelf months before reading would fix your day - until someone rear-ended you in the parking lot, leaving a good dent and an apologetic exchanging of numbers and insurance information.

Ninefold comes when you least expect it, standing in the aisle with a stack of books in your hand, eyes flickering over the different titles and ornate covers. You already feel better than you had this morning. The smell of paper, the whisper of turning pages, and the hum of the cafe brewing coffee in the distance immediately puts you at ease. 

You swear nothing can put a damper on a good hour spent between shelves - until ninefold walks around the aisle corner. 

The stack of books in your arm nearly drops to the ground when you see your ex-boyfriend hand-in-hand with his new girlfriend. You wheel around so fast you slam into the person behind you, which does knock all the books from your hands onto the floor. 

A hissed curse leaves your lips followed by a quick apology. You drop to your knees, picking the books up as quickly as you can. The dude you’ve collided with has also dropped his books, the amalgamation of your soon-to-be-purchases making it more difficult for you to pick up your shit and leave the scene before Minho sees you. 

Minho says your name, surprised. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, fingers going rigid on the stack of books in your hand. You shoot to your feet and spin around, breathless as you come face to face with Minho and the new girlfriend that you definitely didn’t look up on social media a few weeks ago. “Hi, Minho.” 

“Wow, it’s nice to see you not in the marketing department for once.” 

“Well, I work there…” You offer a bit sharply, tapering to adjust to a nicer tone. “Hence, you know - finding me there.” 

“I meant you rarely leave there.” He laughs and you feign a grin, eyes flickering over to the rosy-cheeked and very glossy-haired girl on your ex’s arm.

Good for her, you think. I wonder what hair product she uses. 

“This is Mina.”

“Mina?” You ask, sticking your hand out as you shuffle your books awkwardly to the crook over your elbow. She smiles - god she has good teeth - and shakes your hand. “Mina and… Minho. Easy to remember.” 

“It’s nice to meet you. Minho tells me you’re the only ex he’s ever left things on good terms with.” 

Your eye twitches. 

Good terms was a serviceable way to put it, you suppose. Sure, there had been no fighting or infidelity or long distance that put a strain on your relationship. In fact, you hadn’t been aware that there was a strain on your relationship until Minho was sitting you down on his couch and letting you know that it just wasn’t working for him anymore. 

That had been confusing. You hadn’t asked any questions though, opting to sit and stare at him while clenching your teeth, nodding along while he explained that your inability to leave work at work and enjoy home while at home was wearing down on him. 

You’re not saving lives, he’d said. He had been earnest too, which is the crux of it. You’re in marketing. You need to take a breather. 

As if he didn’t come home in a bad mood after shitty sales calls all day, as if he wasn’t stressed when he didn’t hit quota, or didn’t complain about how long the department meeting went - you know. You were there, too. 

So sure, you were on good terms. But only one of you seemed to have been unhappy with where things were going, and only one of you seems to have moved on to someone with really good hair genes and great dental hygiene. 

Your tongue runs over your teeth, suddenly worried that you’d forgotten to brush them this morning. 

“Yeah,” you agree, clearing your throat and choking a bite. “Good terms are always the goodest - best way to end things.” 

“He’s really hopeful you’ll find someone,” she sighs, looking up at him dreamily. “He’s always wanted the best for you.” 

A vein bursts in your head. Well- no. You wish the vein you feel throbbing in your head would burst and knock you out so you’d no longer have to suffer through this ninefold moment of suffering. Perhaps, even, a very attractive medic with glossy hair and good teeth could come save you and fall in love at first sight. 

The genuine way that Minho and Mina look at you tells you that they’re serious, that they see you as something that deserves love too. Said in a cooing voice, said patronizingly, said with a pat on the head and a firm pout. 

You turn with your free hand, grabbing the sleeve of the man who is hovering behind you and pull him over to you, grin growing sevenfold. Eightfold. 

“No need to worry,” you assure them. “My boyfriend is right here! The stars really did align for me, just like you hoped and dreamed.”

Your seconds-old-star-crossed-lover looks entirely startled, looking between you, Minho and Mina. His books are cradled against his chest, his brown eyes wide. He’s actually incredibly cute, his glasses a little askewand his brown hair a little unruly. 

“You’re dating Vernon?” 

You look at Minho, blank. “What?” 

Minho looks at your Very Real Boyfriend. “You’re dating Vernon? From IT?” 

Ninefold, meet Tenfold. 

“Of course,” you answer slowly, looking at your partner of now thirty seconds. “I am dating Vernon… from IT.” 

Vernon (from IT) looks like he would rather be anywhere else than standing in the middle of the fantasy novel aisle with you at a bookstore, your nails digging tighter into his sleeve and your crazy eyes telling him to get with the program. 

Vernon (from IT) clears his throat and nods, looking over at Minho. “Yeah. Hey, Minho.” 

“Wow. This is really unexpected.”

“It sure is.”

Your nails dig in harder and Vernon (from IT) tries to pull away from you but you step closer, leaning toward him while flashing Minho and Mina a smile. “Anyway, no need to worry about me finding a relationship. I am very happy.” 

“Figures you found someone at work again.” He laughs, but the comment lands like a blow. You feel yourself flinch, smile going too tight. “You really don’t leave enough to find anyone else, huh?” 

Vernon (from IT) seems to notice, shifting toward you to slide his arm around your waist. The move startles you, drawing your attention to his face. He really is pretty this up close, his lips the perfect shade of bubblegum pink, his cheekbones high and hidden beneath the rim of his glasses, the tangy scent of citrus on his clothes. 

“I like women who work really hard,” Vernon (from IT) assures Minho. “I’ll never get tired of resetting her password over and over again because she loses all her sticky notes everytime the cleaning crew comes through.” 

If Minho senses the shift, he doesn’t let on. He’s never been great at social cues anyway, which is what makes him a decent salesman. Still, you’re eager to get out of their way and the glare of Mina’s shiny hair. 

“Well,” You state. “We have to get going.”

“For sure. It was nice seeing you outside of work!” 

With a final nod, Vernon (from IT) tugs on your waist. You both navigate awkwardly down the aisle, steps not quite in time and hips bumping. It’s uncomfortable and uncoordinated, but as soon as you’re around the aisle and away from your encounter, the two of you separate. 

Vernon (from IT) looks anywhere but you. His cheeks are tinted pink as he looks up at the ceiling, shifting from foot to foot while you regain all your books in your arm. Embarrassment and gratitude both well up inside of you, one beating the other out.

“I am really sorry,” you blurt, voice a little loud. The people around you startle and you lower your pitch when Vernon (from IT) looks at you, chewing on his lip. “Thank you - I don’t even know how to say thank you for doing that.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice.”

Your cheeks heat. “Right.”

“Happy to help, though. You can thank me by swapping books with me, though.”

“What?”

He gestures to your books. “I was standing behind you because you grabbed my books after you ran into me.” 

Oh. Right. You look down at the pile of books in your hand and see a few titles that you own, but did not plan on buying today. You divest yourself of his selections, taking the ones he’d collected off the ground from there. 

“So you really work in IT?”

He snorts. The sound is… a little off. You glance up at him, but his face gives away nothing. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t know.”

His smile is off, too. “I know.” 

You’re unsure how to reply to that, but you’re also uneager to let him go, suddenly. Vernon (from IT) stands there for a second, lips pressed in a firm line and studying you. He really is beautiful, the light hitting his eyes in a way that turns them molten gold and-

“Alright well,” he interrupts your thoughts. “See you later or something.” 

The urge to stop him strikes you, your mouth opening and closing. No words come out. You don’t know what to say - or why you want to stop him, just that you do. He walks toward the front of the store to purchase his books, leaving you standing in the middle of the store and wishing you’d met Vernon (from IT) under different circumstances. 

-

Routine is important to you, especially during the weekdays. Wake up, snooze your alarm for at least fifteen minutes, get up when the second one goes off. Groan as you feel every single joint in your body pop after sitting up in bed. Wonder if you really need a corporate job to pay your bills (decide the answer is yes), and get up to feed the furious beast yowling from the bed. 

The ferocious beast in question has a routine as well. Perhaps not as important as yours, the cat knows when he’s supposed to be fed and when it’s even a minute past feeding time. Halloween takes his meals very seriously, which you respect. 

Your morning continues with the monotonous rhythm you’ve learned to appreciate: make coffee, shuffle back to your room into the ensuite bathroom for skin care, start your morning proper. The only thing that isn’t the same thing every morning is your playlist and your outfit of choice, leading both items up to fate to decide. 

A hint of spring is in the air when you step outside. It’s that kind of sunny day with a cool breeze that promises longer days of sun ahead, despite still being brisk in the morning and biting when the sun sets. 

Mornings during the days that hang between winter and spring are your favorite. You roll the windows down a little on your drive to work, fingers drumming against the steering wheel as you crawl along with all the other commuters. 

Buildings shoot up toward the sky on either side of you. Dozens of banks, private firms, buildings with multiple different businesses and food courts become your entire world as you navigate to the parking garage. It’s already full of cars, but you get special parking.

Well - special as of your promotion just a few weeks ago. The designated parking spot and title bump was all that had come with the promotion, though, much to your dismay. 

Still. You’d worked for this particular publishing house in the marketing department for close to a decade now. You weren’t quite as far up the ladder as you wanted to be, but you were trying to get there little by little. 

So close. No cigar. 

The elevator of the parking garage opens to reveal other office workers already filling the mirror-walled space. You step in as everyone makes room, clutching their bags and briefcases a little closer. You see Mingyu from creative and flash him a polite grin, which is answered with a bright one of his own and a small wave.

When the people not associated with your company shuffle off on other floors, Mingyu slides over closer to you. He’s one of the many designers in the art department, and definitely several rungs below your position, but you started the company at the same time together.

“How was your weekend?” He asks, wagging his brows up and down. 

You frown. His questions suggests there’s something salacious to your wild weekend spent reading books with Halloween, but you don’t think burning the bagel you ate for girl dinner or staying in the same shirt for forty-eight hours straight is what he’s looking for. 

“It was fine?” It comes out as a question. “How was yours?” 

“Hm. It was good. We went out to catch the big game. Seokmin got so drunk he vomited, and Vernon won all of the bets we placed before.” 

Mingyu leans forward, looking at you like you’re supposed to understand something. You don’t get it, looking him up and down with a pinched brow. 

“That’s nice?” Again, it comes out as a question. “Not for Seokmin, I guess.” 

His eyes narrow. Pin you to your spot against the elevator wall.

Then the elevator dings, signalling that you’re at his floor. Creative is an entire level down from marketing, all dim lights and glowing screens for the designers hard at work. Mingyu gets off, still looking suspicious as the elevator doors close and you shoot up another floor. 

Instead of focusing on it, you shrug it off. Mingyu has a penchant for being weird - a creative thing, in your opinion. As soon as the elevator door opens, his behavior is long forgotten as you slip into work mode. 

Everyone greets you with a polite smile or small wave on the marketing floor. The main office is filled with grey-walled cubicles, employees popping up to peer over walls with mugs of coffee and protein shakes and breakfast items as they ask their neighbors how the weekend was. 

A glass wall in the far back denotes the executive and director offices. You head for the one in the back, right corner. Instead of turning on your lights, you let the natural lighting from the floor-to-ceiling windows filter in, keeping the ambiance muted and relaxing. The only additional lights you flick on are the monitor light at your desk and a small salt lamp wedged between the books on one of the many shelves behind you. 

Your office is still slowly being decorated. You’d only moved in after your recent promotion, and it’s still bare of personalization, save for the salt lamp and a few things you’d moved in from your cubicle. 

And the coffee machine - your own private, blessed coffee machine in the corner on a small bar cart. That might be your favorite thing about your office. You like your coworkers - for the most part, anyway - but being able to bury yourself in your work without having to interact with all of them every time you want coffee is nice. 

Sitting down, you roll your shoulders. When your monitor flashes to life, you see the number of emails in your inbox and try not to groan out loud. You’re thrilled to be the new Senior Director of Marketing, but you’ve gone and made the mistake of becoming too important at work, most things unable to move forward without you playing some part in it.

In theory, that was one of the reasons Minho had broken up with you in the first place. Too buried in work, too many late nights at the office, too many dates or movie nights interrupted by the blue glow of your phone screen on your face while you answer urgent emails. 

The thing is - you don’t mind. It doesn’t bother you to pause and send a quick email, or to stay late and help get something launched. You like the intricacies of being a problem solver, and with as fast as your company is growing and publishing new titles, you’ve got challenge after challenge ahead of you. 

It’s easy to fall into the monotony of answering emails, joining virtual meetings and striking your pen through your to-do list. It fills three pages, but it feels good to cross something off, even if you’ve only completed two things. 

By lunchtime, someone is knocking on your window. You look up, surprised to see Seungkwan sticking his head in. He’s the Manager of Digital Marketing and Social Media and he’s dubbed himself as your assistant. 

Other duties as assigned, he always jokes, but you are thankful for him. 

“You have to eat,” he reminds you in a singsong voice, crossing his arms over his chest. His glasses are pushed up into his blonde hair. “Maybe you can take me to lunch and divulge every detail about your new romance.” 

That makes you sputter. “My what?” 

Looking like the cat that ate the canary, Seungkwan slips into your office, clapping his hands together. He sits on the edge of the couch in front of your desk, bounding with energy. 

“Come on,” he whispers, looking at you earnestly. “Everyone knows - you don’t have to keep it a secret anymore!”

“Keep what a secret?” 

He rolls his eyes. “You’re dating Vernon!”

You stare. “Who?” 

“Vernon! From IT!” 

It comes back in tunnel vision. Ninefold meeting tenfold, Minho and Glossy Hair Mina, Vernon (from IT). Suddenly you’re hot all over, feel it creeping up your neck and blooming across your cheeks. You clear your throat, leaning back in your chair as your fingers reach for your water. 

“I’m - oh!” You escape answering for a second by gulping down copious amounts of water, trying to cool the panic that is licking flames up your skin. “Right. Vernon… from IT.” 

“Honestly, he’s cute.”

“Ha. Ha. Yes. Um. Yeah.”

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered. How long have you been dating?”

“Uhh very new. Yes. Super new. I’m sorry - how did you hear about this?” 

“Mingyu told me, but Soonyoung told him and Joshua in sales told Soonyoung because Minho told the Always Closing group chat.” 

“The what?”

He sighs. “Ugh, do you keep up with anything? The sales floor has a group chat. It’s where Soonyoung gets all his tea because he and Joshua room together.” 

“Who the fuck is Joshua?” 

Seungkwan stares. “It is a wonder you even know who Vernon is. I swear you don’t know people you’ve worked with for years.” A thought seems to strike him and he gasps. “Oh my god is that why you’re always going to him for your fucked up passwords?” 

Something Vernon said comes back to you vaguely. Something about forgotten passwords when the cleaning crew throws out your sticky notes. Of course, no one would throw out your sticky notes if you weren’t dropping them all over the floor, but that’s neither here nor there. 

Bolting from your seat, you startle Seungkwan, whose brows disappear in his hairline as he stares up at you.

“Actually, I can’t do lunch today.”

He sighs. “Boss, you have to eat.”

“I am! I am going to lunch with my…. Vernon from IT.”

“Oooo.” He leans back, shaking his head and grinning at you. “Go on then. Make sure you wrap it before-”

“If you finish that sentence I will revoke your privilege to my coffee cart.” 

Seungkwan’s grin only gets wider. “Enjoy, boss.” 

In a flurry, you leave your office. Eyes follow you as you go and suddenly you’re unsure if people are looking at you because you’re walking so fast that you’re almost running, or if it’s because they think you’re dating Vernon). 

Your finger nearly breaks as you slam the button over and over again to shoot a few floors down. It doesn’t make the elevator go any faster. When the doors finally close and you begin to descend, you turn to the mirror walls and panic, tucking stray pieces of hair back into place and trying to fix the mascara smudges from staring at your screen for four straight hours.

A knot forms in your stomach. You press your damp palms against your dress pants, wiping viciously to try and keep the moisture at bay. When the elevator dings and the doors open to the silent hum of the IT department, you think you might vomit.

Unlike the marketing floor, no heads turn as you go. You try to maintain a normal pace this time, marching down the rows of cubicles before you realize you have no idea where Vernon sits. You pause awkwardly, standing on your tiptoes to try and see over the walls of cubicles to spot him.

“Can I help you?” A man sticks his head out of his cubicle, his headphones around his neck. He looks you up and down critically. “You’ll have to have proof of submitting a ticket before-”

“Vernon,” you interrupt him. “Vernon from IT? Where does he sit?” 

For a second, the guy narrows his eyes. Then a lightbulb seems to go off and he grins, leaning back in his chair. He looks far too pleased with himself, and there’s something oily and slick you don’t like about his gaze. “You’re her.” 

“I’m a senior director, yes.” 

That changes his tune immediately. He sits up, clearing his throat. “To the back on the left.” 

“Thanks.”

Following his lead, you pass by several empty cubicles, everyone seemingly at lunch. You take the corner as instructed and find a handful of men sitting in the same cubicle, one sitting atop a desk and swinging his legs, another leaning against the cubicle wall, and the last one sitting in the seat.

The one sitting in the seat is the quarry you seek, his eyes going wide when he sees you storming toward him. He goes rigid in his seat, clearing his throat and slapping the leg of the man sitting atop his desk. He kicks at Vernon before spotting you and immediately jumping down, straightening his shirt. 

Nervous energy crackles as all three sets of eyes settle on you. You stop right in front of his cubicle, trying to put on your bravest smile. 

“Hi?” Vernon asks, looking at the two men on either side of him. “Did you forget your password again?”

“What? No. I don’t do it that often.” He looks unsure, brows raised behind his glasses. You huff, putting  your hands on your hips. “Okay, I forget it sometimes. But no, that isn’t why I’m here.”

“Does your software need updating?”

“No, I-”

“Oh. I did forget to give Seungkwan that new phone he asked for on behalf of the social team. It came in last week - I’ll finish setting it up and-”

“Lunch!” You all but yell, startling all three men. “I came here for lunch.”

There’s a long pause. Vernon’s coworkers look like they’d rather be anywhere else than trapped by you. You ignore them in favor of a quick study of Vernon. He’s in dress pants and a button down shirt that is untucked and a little wrinkled. It’s a far cry from the casual way he was dressed at the bookstore, but it’s still not totally work appropriate. 

Still he pulls it off. There’s something casual and cool about it, aloof in a way that still looks good. His hair is even styled neatly, though a brown lock falls over his eyebrow as he leans forward and asks, “Lunch? The cafeteria is on the first floor.”

The man who had been sitting on his desk kicks him. “She’s asking you to go to lunch, dude.” 

“She’s not-” Vernon pauses and looks at you. “Are you asking me to go to lunch?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Your patience narrows to a tight smile, your words pinched between your teeth, “Because that’s what loving girlfriends do, sweetie.” 

The words land and have an immediate effect. Vernon flushes from the neck up, mouth opening and closing as he presses his palms against his thigh. The man who kicked him snickers and tries to hide it with a thinly veiled cough.

Your gaze narrows and he notices you watching, clearing his throat to stretch his hand toward you. “I’m Chan. It’s nice to meet… Vernon’s girlfriend?” 

You shake his head and say nothing, eyes drifting to the man leaning against the wall. He gives you a small salute. “Seokmin.”

“Oh.” You blink. “The puker?” 

His charming smile drops immediately as he looks at Vernon, smacking him on the shoulder. “You told her about that?”

“I didn’t tell her anything.” Vernon stands, shrugging away from both of his friends’ wandering eyes. “Sure, sweetie,” he answers you, giving you a plastic grin. “It’s your treat this week, right? At that very nice, very expensive steakhouse down the block.”

There’s a glimmer in his eyes that tells you Vernon will only play along if it’s by his rules. You’re at a disadvantage, so you grin and nod, willing to go by his rules for now. “That’s so right, darling. Let’s go.”

“Enjoy lunch!” Chan calls behind you as Vernon shuffles behind you, quickly trying to tuck his shirt. “Don’t do anything I-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Vernon warns, quickening his step to match yours. “Sorry about him.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got my own version of him sitting in my office.” 

The elevator ride down to the first floor and the walk out onto the busy street is silent. It’s not the comfortable, easy silence you might have with Seungkwan or Mingyu - if Mingyu could wrap his head around silence. It's awkwardly silent, both of you looking anywhere but one another. 

You don’t know where you’re going, but Vernon leads you to a Michelin steakhouse down the block, true to his word. You glare at him when you step into the dark entryway where a host with hair as glossy as Mina’s greets you. 

“Two?” You both nod and she grins. “Right this way.”

Vernon follows her first, shuffling behind her as she leads the two of you into the dining room proper. It’s a beautiful establishment with lacquered floors, rich wooden tables draped with fine tablecloths and the kind of glassware that looks like real crystal. 

When you both sit down with menus in hand, the hostess leaves you and you lean forward, hissing, “How much money do you think I make?”

“More than I do in IT,” Vernon answers breezily, eyes roving the menu. For a second, his gaze flickers to meet yours over the top of the menu. It’s the first time he’s really looked at you since you marched into his office. “Consider it an apology meal for the mess you’ve got us in.”

“Hey! You played along?” 

“You’re right, I guess I could have just super embarrassed you in front of your ex-boyfriend. That would have been very polite of me.” 

That stumps you. You open and close your mouth, feeling a bit like a fish. You suppose that’s fair - what was Vernon supposed to do when you’d grabbed him in the middle of a bookstore and staked your claim? 

Sighing, you lean back as your server gives you a moment of respite, filling your glasses with water and going over the specials. When they leave, you grab your glass and take several gulps of water, trying to cool your head. 

It only works a little.

“I didn’t know Minho was going to tell the entire world.” 

“Really? Minho has the biggest mouth at this company. You should see his Teams messages.”

“You can do that?” 

“On the clock?” He asks. When you shake your head, assuring it stays between you, he nods. “Yeah, we can see everything you do.”  

“Oh.” You think of all the terrible things you’ve searched on your work computer like how to get over a breakup and how to tell if my ex still likes me. “Anyway, I didn’t know he was going to say anything.” 

The server returns to take your orders. You order some sort of steak salad at random while Vernon orders something blessedly modest. As the server parts ways, Vernon leans back in his chair and looks at you again, expression unreadable. 

“Well,” he eventually says. “No harm done once you tell everyone we’re not dating.”

“Once I what?” 

“Well you’ll have to-”

“No way.”

“What?” 

“Do you know how embarrassing that would be?” 

He raises a brow. “More embarrassing than grabbing some dude in the bookstore and claiming he’s your boyfriend.” 

The air leaves your lungs and you melt into the seat, your misery showing. “I already said sorry.” 

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Just tell everyone you broke up with me.” 

You snort. “No one would believe that.” 

“Why?” 

Instead of answering him immediately, you busy yourself unraveling silverware. It’s a hard question to answer, not because you don’t know the answer but because you don’t want to tell him. Vernon is quiet, though. Patient. 

He doesn’t press you for an answer, happy to wait you out until you’ve folded your napkin and placed it on your lap, and once again drained the rest of your water. It does nothing for your nerves as you fixate on a spot atop the table. 

“I don’t… date.” 

“You dated Minho.”

“Yeah. That’s uh… it. It’s kind of a running joke that I am undateable.”

He frowns at that. “Respectfully, I find that incredibly hard to believe.” 

“Thanks. I think.” You pick at a string in the tablecloth. “Anyway, no one would buy that I ended the first relationship I’ve had since Minho. I didn’t even end the last one and sort of clung to it in a way that was sort of embarrassing.” 

“I see.”

You’re unsure if he really does. When Minho had broken up with you, you’d attempt to make arguments to keep him around. Offered less work hours, even said you’d go to therapy to talk about your insane need for success. He hadn’t wanted any of it, and you’d eventually realized that he just… didn’t want you. 

They never did, when people realized what dating you entails. Everyone wants a woman who works hard. They like the illusion of it, the woman who gets up early in the morning and goes to workout before going to her corporate job and girl bossing all day long. They desire the woman who dresses fashionably, who wears designer tags and commands a room all day before coming home to make an effortless dinner followed by a luxurious night routine. 

And you get it. You want to be that too. But the truth is most days you wake up past your alarm and rush to the office wearing shoes that don’t match, and sometimes you come home so late and burned out from your job that you eat a handful of shredded cheese over the sink with a stick of beef jerky, only to do it all again the next day.

That wasn’t what anyone wanted. At least, not in your experience. 

“Anyway,” you clear your throat. “You’re right, or whatever. I should just tell them I lied. I’ve given worse news. Just you know - less personal.” 

For a few minutes, Vernon is quiet. You don’t look up to meet his gaze. Instead you watch the ice cubes in your glass melt, little beads of condensation zigzagging down the curve of your glass. 

A sigh makes you look up at Vernon. “What if we dated for like a month or something?” 

“What?”

“I don’t mean really date,” he offers quickly, sensing your surprise. For some reason, that stings a little. You swallow it down past the knot forming in your throat. “It’ll get people off your back or whatever and we can just mutually end things.” 

“Really? You’d do that.” 

He shrugs a shoulder. “I guess, yeah.”

“You can break up with me,” you promise eagerly, leaning forward with the new promise of a solution to your problem. “Everyone will believe it. Just say I work too much and I’m too obsessed with my career.” 

An uneasy gaze flickers in Vernon’s eyes. “It can be mutual,” he says firmly. “That way it ends nicely.”

“Fine. Everyone will think one thing anyway, you’ll get out without a scratch, trust me. Are you sure you’re willing to do this? I can… suck it up and tell everyone I made it up.”

“Do you really want to?” 

“No,” you admit.

“Then it’s settled.” He shrugs, heaving a heavy sigh. “I’ll give you a month and then we can mutually end things.” 

Sticking your hand over the table, you offer it for Vernon to shake. His mouth twitches a little as he smiles, leaning forward to take your hand. His is warm and softer than you imagined, enveloping yours firmly as he shakes. 

“Deal,” you smile, feeling a glimmer of hope. 

Just like that, Vernon (from IT) becomes Vernon (your boyfriend). 

Sort of.

-

Vernon doesn’t consider himself anxious. He’s never really dealt with anxiety, and there are only a few things that can make him nervous in the world. The few times he remembers being nervous were when he was in a bidding war for a limited edition Millenium Falcon model, in line at a meet-and-greet for his favorite band when he was sixteen, and when he lost his virginity to Carley Waters in his sophomore year of college. 

He’d won the bidding war and managed to not sound like an idiot meeting his idols, but he definitely came immediately after putting his dick inside Carley. Two out of three were pretty good odds, all things considered. 

Vernon is more nervous than all three of those events combined as he checks himself in the mirror for the millionth time. Usually, he doesn’t really think twice about what he wears to the bar on the weekend. He has fifteen of the same shirt in the same colors, and his jeans all look the same, even though he thinks they’re different. 

Now, though, he has the added element of you. He cannot recall a single time that you’ve ever agreed to go out with your work friends - and to your surprise, not his, you do have the same work friends - but tonight is different. 

Tonight, you’re supposed to be dating. 

It’s weird. Chan and Seokmin agree it’s weird. He keeps no secrets from them and had already told them about the encounter at the bookstore. They’ve sworn themselves to secrecy, though Vernon cannot fathom how they just go with it. 

She’s really hot, Chan had said after a few sips of beer. Fuck it, right? 

She’s the third most executive person in marketing, Seokmin warned. Be careful. 

Both are true. Vernon had acknowledged Chan’s point the first time he’d seen you in Information Technology a little over two years ago. You’d been dating Minho then and entirely untouchable - still are, kind of - and Vernon had been the only person at the office early enough to help you out. He’d been new then, and often came in the earliest to get started on the overload of tasks he was always given as the junior employee. 

Even then, Vernon thought you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. Sure, you had on mismatched shoes and there was a breathy chaos to you that would probably stress most people out, but he sort of liked it. Thought that it was different in a good way, and spoke to the sort of person who worked really hard and didn’t fake their way through the day. 

Vernon had realized Seokmin's point right after he’d learned Chan’s. As soon as he helped you login to your computer, he’d realized you were a Senior Manager of Marketing. Not a huge title in a company so big, but high enough that Vernon thought twice about his attraction to you. 

Now, both of their points are moot. You’re still attractive but that doesn’t really change the situation - makes it harder, even. Vernon had never really dreamed of an actual relationship with you and now that he’s found himself in a fake one, he’s not really sure what to do with the acknowledgement that he’s attracted to you. 

Worse is that he doesn’t actually know if he’s allowed to date you. Vernon is a senior coordinator in the IT department and you’re a senior director. Perhaps not in his department or directly overseeing him, but it’s a high enough position that Sekomin is right - it could mean trouble if this goes poorly. 

So why the fuck did he offer to fake date you for a month? 

As someone in Information Technology, most people think Vernon is smart. He doesn’t consider himself to be above average intelligence, and as he slides his sneakers on his feet to go pick you up for a night out, he thinks everyone is wrong about him - he’s fucking stupid.

Looking in the mirror one more time, Vernon decides it’s as good as it’s ever going to get. Jeans, a black shirt and a hat facing backward is all he really knows how to style. He shoves his keys in his pocket, a tiny vial of contact solution just in case, and grabs his phone as he heads out the door. 

Your apartment complex isn’t that far from his. He finds it with ease, surprised that you don’t live in one of those high-rise apartments that all the other executives live in. The apartment is pretty modest with only three floors and rows of respectable Toyota Camrys and Honda Civics. 

When he spots you coming down the stairs, his traitorous heart does that same little staccato it had last weekend when he saw you at the bookstore. He hadn’t expected to run into you outside of work and only panicked for a split second before he realized that you didn’t recognize him. 

And then you’d called him your boyfriend. 

Recovering from the memory of it, Vernon stares as you open the door to his car, flashing a tight smile as you slide in. He doesn’t know what he thought you might wear on the weekend, but he’s surprised to see you in jeans, a black form-fitted shirt tucked in, and a simple purse on your arm. 

“What?” You ask, a little breathless. He sees the sticky shine of lipgloss on your mouth and squeezes the wheel, fighting the urge to lean over and taste it. 

Insane, he thinks as he puts the car in gear. He’s gone insane. 

“Nothing. I guess I just thought you’d live somewhere nicer.” 

“Oh.”

Your shift in tone makes him realize how it sounded. “Sorry - not like that. I thought it would be somewhere really fancy. You’re a senior director and all that.” 

“I only got promoted a few weeks ago. And it was not a pay raise, trust me.” 

“Seriously?” You glance sidelong at him, pausing like you’ve said something you shouldn’t. His lips twitch and he says, “Not on the clock.”

That gets you to grin, leaning back into the passenger seat. “Only came with an office and title bump. I was already doing all the work of a senior director so they felt like they needed to bump my title to protect themselves, I think.”

“That’s kind of shitty.”

You hum. “Is it like that in IT?” 

“I think it’s like that anywhere.”

“Good point.” 

A comfortable silence falls over the car. It’s not at all like the awkward, stilted lunch the two of you had at the beginning of the week. He had been sweating through his shirt that time around, though you didn’t seem to notice. He’d been a little angry with you too, for getting the both of you into this mess. 

But… it had been his idea to help you save face. He didn’t have to. He didn’t owe you anything, and he believes you when you say you would come clean and admit you lied through your teeth. Maybe that’s why he offered to help anyway, your willingness to swallow the pain of embarrassment to relieve him of the facade. 

Library is a hole in the wall bar that Vernon and his friends from work like to go to on Saturday nights. It’s sort of a funny joke, a bunch of professionals from the publishing industry getting drunk and eating shitty bar food in a place named for the very buildings they dedicate their life to, in a weird, roundabout, mathematical way. 

Vernon has friends outside of work that come too, but tonight it’s just the usual crowd: Chan, Seokmin and Seokmin’s girlfriend, Mingyu and Soonyoung from creative, and some of the people from the sales team. The sales team is only there by virtue of Joshua, who is the only person from sales Vernon remotely tolerates. 

Vernon isn’t exactly sure what a sales team does at a publishing company anyway. 

When Vernon parks, he sees you take a deep breath. He averts his eyes, feeling like he’s intruding on a moment before you brace yourself and get out of the car suddenly. He makes a noise and panics to follow you. You’re already plunging ahead like you’re storming into battle, and perhaps in your mind you are.

He jogs to catch up. “Wait!” 

You stop, turning to face him with a dubious expression. “What?”

“We should walk in together.”

“Oh.” You blink. It’s a bit cute but Vernon shoves that down. “You’re right. Sorry. I sort of… set my mind to the task and forgot.”

“You can’t approach this like you approach work.”

“I can’t?”

He laughs. “No. Relationships aren’t jobs - so a fake one isn’t either. You have to try and appear like this is natural. If you come in all to-do list and checkmarking the boxes, it’s going to look weird.” 

“Oh.” 

The confidence you had a second before deflates. He feels a little guilty, reaching out to take your hand before he realizes what he’s doing. Your hands are cold in his but he doesn’t mind, wrapping his fingers in yours as you stare at him like he’s grown three heads.

Maybe he has. 

“We should walk in together. Maybe holding hands.” 

“Right.” You lick your lips and he tries to give you a smile more confident than what he’s feeling. His heart is hammering in his chest, both at the way your hand squeezes his nervously and at the preposterousness of it all. “You’re kind of good at this.” 

“I just have a different perspective.”

“The perspective of someone who knows how to date versus… whatever I am.” 

He hears the joke in your tone so he lets himself laugh a little. He starts walking, tugging you next to him. “Not exactly. I just watch a lot of movies, including romances.” 

“Really? What’s your favorite one?” 

“Uhhh.” He thinks about it as you both approach the door. He doesn’t answer for a second while he flashes the security outside his ID. “I really like The Proposal. With Sandra Bullock.” 

Instead the bar is filled with modern music at a reasonable level and small, wooden tables with chipped tops. There is nothing about the bar that actually looks like a library, save the single shelf shoved in the corner with beat up comic books and an insane amount of hentai that Soonyoung put there. 

“You mean the one where the boss fake dates her employee… and they work at a publishing company?” 

As soon as you ask the question, Vernon realizes the irony. He looks at you with a wide gaze, pausing at the entrance to look at you. Your mouth folds on itself, trying not to laugh as you too realize the irony of the movie. 

“Yeah, so that’s weird I guess,” he admits. He tugs on your hand. “Come on, we always sit in the back.”

You follow him wordlessly. The crowd isn’t big inside, but there are enough people that you have to shuffle a little closer to him. He catches the scent of your perfume - it smells like sweet tobacco and vanilla, something that is subtle with a little bit of spice. 

Turning around the corner of the bar, you see a wall entirely taken by booths with pool tables in the open space. Mingyu and Seokmin’s girlfriend are already fighting over the felted green as she points a pool cue at him, threatening. Seokmin is lounging in one of the booths, watching on with a dopey grin that makes Vernon roll his eyes.

Everyone else sits in in a variety of booths, an entire corner dedicated to the dozen or so of them who have made this their home for the last two years. Vernon keeps you close, feeling his hands go clammy when all the eyes turn to the two of you. Despite the rumor having spread far and wide, it’s clear that surprise ripples through the crowd at seeing evidence of your relationship. 

The fake one, that is. Naturally. 

Instead of going directly to the safety - or danger, in this case - of his friends, Vernon heads to the bar. He needs to take the edge off immediately, though he knows he can’t get too crazy. The drive home is short, but even if you weren’t in his car for the evening, he doesn’t like to tempt fate. 

Next to him at the bartop, you drop his hand to press your palms against the sticky wood. You make a face and he laughs before ordering a simple rum and coke. You order the same but with a lime and the bartender flashes you a charming grin.

Vernon glances at you and realizes you don’t even register the bartender. You’re chewing your lip and fidgeting, pulling at the sleeves of your shirt and shifting from foot-to-foot. A pang goes through him. 

“Relax.” You look up at him, eyes wide. “We’re going to do fine.”

“What if I fuck it up?” You ask, voice barely audible as you lean in. “They’re going to see right through me, Vernon from IT. They’re going to have one conversation with us and be like ‘no way is he dating that lunatic.’” 

“For starters, you’re not a lunatic.” You give him a look and he amends, “Not in the way that’s bad, anyway.”

“How do you know? We barely know each other.” 

You’ve got him there. The bartender comes back with your drinks and you take yours, draining half of it before remembering the lime. He watches you squeeze it into the drink while he contemplates his answer. 

“I guess I just have a feeling for these things. You don’t seem very crazy to me.”

“Thanks.” 

“And I guess I’m getting to know you, so there’s that.” 

You sigh. “Right.” 

“You’ll do fine. But maybe don’t call me Vernon from IT.”

“Right.” 

“Come on.” 

With wavering confidence, you follow Vernon over to the crowd from work. Everyone greets you warmly, though a little unsure. He notes the comments about being shocked to see you outside the four walls of your office, a joke you take in stride. 

It’s clear you don’t know how to interact with everyone at first. It’s not to say that you’re stiff or awkward, but Vernon can see the rigid set in your shoulders and the way your eyes follow the conversation but don’t actually contribute. 

You have an effect on others as well. For those who are a little more unfamiliar with you, they can’t seem to puzzle out why one of the higher ups is here guzzling down rum and cokes. And you are guzzling them down, carving a path to and from the bar at a rate that impresses Vernon. 

“How are things going?” Chan slips into the seat you just vacated to march to the bar again. “She seems surprisingly normal.”

“Why is that surprising?” 

Chan gives him a look. “She’s a suit.”

“I don’t think so,” Vernon laughs. “Trust me on that.” 

Chan hums unconvinced, watching you at the bar. “She’s nice, at least.”

“Very.” 

“Don’t fall in love with her or anything.”

“Weird thing to say, man.”

“Yeah, well. She’s attractive, nice, and no offense, a little weird. She’s exactly your type.” 

That makes him frown. “What’s weird about her? Also, would that be so bad?”

“She knew the radius of the sun and the verbatim definition of parsecs. I’m not answering that second question because I shouldn’t have to.” Chan claps him on the shoulder, looking over Vernon’s head. “She’s coming back, but seriously. Be careful.” 

Chan scoots away, flashing Vernon a look that makes the single drink Vernon has had sour in his stomach. Then you’re there, sitting down next to him, swaying a little bit. He smells sweet tobacco and vanilla, his eyelids fluttering for a second as you shift a little too close - or what would be too close, if you weren’t fake dating. 

“What’s that look on your face?” You ask, sipping your drink. He wonders if it’s appropriate to ask if you need water.

“What look on my face?” 

“You know, like-” You try to pinch your brows together and your mouth puckers downward. He feels himself smile and he shakes his head. “Sort of frowny.” 

“Nothing.” You look at him skeptically. “Hey, I have a question.” 

You pause, looking a little panicked. “Okay.”

“What’s the radius of the sun?” 

“Oh!” You visibly brighten and it’s like watching the sun spill over the lip of the horizon, all gold and liquid, warm and bright. “432,690 miles. Surface temperature is about 5,772 Kelvin.” 

Suddenly, Chan’s warning feels very, very real. Vernon tries to hide his smile, looking down at the table. Meanwhile, you start rattling off facts about the sun, not taking a single breath as you explain you memorized them from when you were working on the marketing for a line of textbooks about space early on in your career. 

Vernon lets you talk. Lets you somehow divert back to work, watching as you animatedly walk him through the process of what you do. How you think. It’s fascinating, and he’s not really sure how anyone else could find it tiresome, seeing the way you light up when you tell him about a project that Seungkwan’s team killed it on. 

Your pride is palpable, your energy shifting from unsure to confident. 

Suddenly, you pause, leveling Vernon with a hard stare. He says nothing, watching the way you drink him in, something beneath the surface of your gaze he can’t quite read. “Can I say something?” 

“On the clock?” he asks, grinning. You shake your head and he gestures for you to continue. 

“You have pretty eyes. I still like when you wear glasses, though. They suit you.” 

Yeah. Vernon thinks Chan’s warning is very real. 

-

Running in heels is hard. You don’t know how anyone manages to do it in movies. Not that you think anything that happens in movies is real, but you can’t imagine how they make it work for the scene. You nearly break your ankle three times on your sprint to IT and you’re sure you scare the daylights out of Chan when you come tearing around the corner.

You shout a greeting over your shoulder but don’t stop until you’re hissing Vernon’s name while rushing into his cube. He flinches, turning around to look at you mid-task. You’re heaving, putting a hand on your hip as you straighten, trying to suck down air. 

“Say no!”

He’s visibly confused. “To what?”

“Just say no!”

Before Vernon can ask you another thing, you hear Minho’s voice. Your heart thunders in your ribcage as you try to lean against the wall of Vernon’s cube, nearly missing it. You stumble a few steps and he catches you by the elbow, lightning quick as he helps steady you. 

When he drops his grip, the place where Vernon had held you moments before is warm. You try not to think about it, heart thundering doubletime as you watch Minho approach, a lazy swing to his step and a smirk on his face. 

“Funny I found you here!” 

“Why would that be funny? My Vernon - my boyfriend is down here.” 

From the corner of his eye, you see Vernon wince. You’re not doing a great job at keeping it casual, but you’re also still out of breath from sprinting down the stairs to beat Minho here and warn Vernon. Seungkwan had barely been able to give you the heads up that Minho was going to ask for a double date, and you simply couldn’t have that.

Even as you near the end of your second week dating - fake dating - Vernon, you’re unsure the two of you can get through a date with someone who actually knows you. Vernon might be able to give some details on the surface, but you dated Minho for a year - how could Vernon ever hope to keep up? 

Minho leans against Chan’s cube. Luckily it’s vacant of its usual occupant - Chan hates Mihno, as you’ve recently learned through a lunch with him and Vernon. 

“Glad I caught you together, then,” Minho says, though you think he’s not that glad. But what do you know? “I wanted to see if you were busy on-”

“Yes.” You flash him a too-wide grin with too many teeth. 

“I didn’t even give you the date.”

“We’re always very busy.”

“Ah.” Minho scratches the back of his neck and gives Vernon a look akin to sympathy. “Never has time, does she? Always all work, no play. I wanted to see if you guys wanted to go to dinner with Mina and I tomorrow night, but…” He shrugs. “Same old.”

You try not to let your exterior crack, but Minho’s words cut right through your outer shell to the softness of you. Without fail he manages to highlight this obsession you have with work, making it sound worse every single time. 

Behind you, Vernon shifts closer. You become acutely aware of him suddenly, warmth radiating from him as his chest presses against the back of your arm and his hand slips to the middle of your back, featherlight, like he’s afraid to touch you. He smells like ocean driftwood and salt, something that makes you think of warmer days. Fresh fruit. Cold water. 

Fighting a shiver, you freeze up, hyper aware of him. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Vernon says gently. “She doesn’t work that much. She makes plenty of time for me.”

Minho’s eye twitches, the only sign he’s annoyed. As a trained salesperson, his tells are always subtle, nearly undetectable. But you know him inside and out, can see the sliver of annoyance there.

Satisfaction rules supreme, a smile tugging at your lips until Vernon adds, “We can make time for them, right?” 

You snap your head to the side, eyes meeting his. Vernon has beautiful eyes. You’d said as much the other night when you had a little too much to drink, staring up at him without his glasses. He looks good without them, but you like the way the frames sit on his nose, the way they reflect light against the liquid brown of his iris. 

Now, those eyes are staring back at you straight on. There’s something fierce in them, and though you barely know him, you have a sneaking suspicion Vernon is annoyed. Not with you but with Minho. 

Still… 

“Are you sure?” 

Your question is gentle. For a moment, you forget Minho is there at all. You’re looking at Vernon, trying to puzzle out why he would say yes to something insane again. It was lucky enough he’d offered to participate in this little charade to save your pride, and now here he is doing it again, unprompted. 

Vernon’s mouth twitches. He nods, hand pressing into your back a little firmer before he drops it away. You turn to Minho, who watches the two of you with a peculiar expression. “Alright,” you tell him. “It’s a date.” 

“Great. I’ll send you the details.” 

When Minho leaves, you turn to Vernon, the question on the tip of your tongue. He doesn’t give you a chance, shooting you a sidelong glance as he says, “Why is he always bringing up your work schedule?” 

You wince. Vernon either doesn’t notice or is nice enough not to say anything. Instead of answering right away, you sit on top of Vernon’s desk, feet dangling a little. He makes room for you, turning his chair to face you and give you his full attention. 

He’s dressed the same as always today, but you notice his shirt is ironed and tucked in neatly. Rubbing his brow, he slides his glasses up on his head, pressing his fingers along his eye sockets like they’re strained. 

“What kind of stuff do you do?” You ask instead of answering his question. You gesture to his multiple computer screens. “Besides help me figure out my passwords.” 

“Lots of stuff. It’s mostly small things like remoting into people’s computers to help them solve their issues. I spend a majority of my day showing people how to unmute themselves on their virtual meeting software.” 

“Do you like it?”

He shrugs. “It’s got a rhythm to it that I like. I like having a to-do list every day and I can pretty much always know what to expect.” 

“That does sound nice. And you can spy on everyone’s messages right?”

He raises his brow. “On the clock?” That makes you smile and you shake your head. “I could, but I don’t. There are a ton of people who forget us and HR can see all their shit, though.” 

“Ooo like what?” 

He sucks in air through his teeth, “Man, I don’t think I can tell you.”

You can tell he’s teasing and you scoff, kicking out with your foot toward his knee. He dodges you easily with a playful grin. “Come on!” 

“I’ll tell you off the clock. Real off the clock.” 

“Fine. Speaking of - are you busy tonight?” He raises his brows in question. “We should probably meet up and try to flesh out some details of our uh… relationship. I know some things about you but not a lot. Like, when is your birthday?”

“February 18.” 

You slap your hand on top of his desk. “Vernon! That’s super soon! Are you doing anything for it?”

“Nah. I don’t ever want to make a fuss and it's close to Valentine’s Day so sometimes people are doing things retroactively.” 

You hum, displeased with the answer, but you file it away for later. “So are you free tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool, you can come over to my place. Do you like pizza? You have to like pizza, right? You’re a boy.”

“A lot of boys like pizza, yes. Specifically me.” 

“Good. Seven?” 

“Seven.” 

-

A knock at the door makes you look up from your computer. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust, the light outside the office windows long fading with the setting sun and the only other source the salt lamp behind you and the burn of the safety lights in the main cubicles.

Vernon leans against the door frame, resting his head against it as he peers at you. For a second, you forget about everything except the way he looks leaned against the frame, his glasses perfectly perched on his nose and hair soft with wear from the day. 

Then, you lurch with realization, gasping and looking at your watch. “It’s seven.”

“It’s seven,” he agrees, laughing gently. 

You bolt from the seat, groaning and grabbing things to shove in your bag. In the process, you knock over a cup and a curse flies out your lips. He pushes off the door, walking over to help you tame the chaos. 

“Easy,” he admonishes. “All good here, don’t panic.”

“I’m really sorry. I got stuck working through this media plan that someone asked for and I completely lost track of time.”

“It’s okay.” 

The panic welling up inside you calms down as you look up at him. Vernon says nothing further, picking up your cup and righting the pens that you’ve knocked over. His movements are casual, straightening the things on your desk until he’s satisfied and steps away. 

You prepare for annoyance, for the same expression you’re used to when you’re late to an event or have missed a thing, when you’ve yet again lost track of time holed up in your office and yet… Vernon just gives you an easy smile and a shrug.

No annoyance. No judgment. Just… Vernon. 

Perhaps tenfold isn’t so bad. 

“It’s not pizza, but there's a tiny little bar a few blocks down that I really like. They serve food.” 

“Yeah?”

He nods and hesitates. “It’s… themed, though.”

“That’s okay. I like a theme.”

The theme in question isn’t so much of a theme as it is an entire franchise. You stand in the doorway of Cantina Far Away, mouth parted as you drink in the sights and sounds of the Star Wars themed bar. 

A circular bar sits in the middle of the small establishment. There isn’t a ton of room to recreate the iconic corner of the world where you were first introduced to Han Solo as a kid, but there’s just enough to make the magic work. 

Kegs and other apparatuses hang from the ceiling of the stone top bar. Lights track underneath the bar top and in the ceiling, giving the dim illusion that it’s permanently dusk inside. Small, round tables fill the main space, with three booths lined against the back wall. An R2-D2 replica stands beside C3-PO in the corner, and a familiar soundtrack plays through the sound system.

“If you want to go somewhere else-”

“Do they have blue milk?” 

Vernon pauses. “What?” 

You look up at him, grinning. “Do they have the blue milk?”

“They have something on their menu like that, yeah. I don’t know what it is.”

“I always wanted to drink the blue milk as a kid.”

“Alright.” He gestures to the bar, which is mostly empty. “Let’s get you blue milk.”

Popping up on a stool, you can’t help but crane your neck upward to look at the bar from this angle. It truly looks like every part of it was taken from the movie set. You run your hand atop the bar’s surface to realize it’s actually wood that looks like stone, marveling at the smoothness. 

Behind the bar, two bartenders move in sync, dressed in Jedi robes. When they approach, you both order the blue milk - you, because you demand to know what it tastes like, Vernon, in solidarity. 

Vibrating with excitement, you turn to look at Vernon. “When I was a kid, watching Star Wars was one of the few things my mom and I got to do together.” 

“One of the few things?”

You nod, clapping your hands excitedly when the bartender brings you whatever concoction the blue milk is. It comes in a tall glass and is clear, baby blue and frothy at the top. Leaning over, you take a whiff. It smells vaguely coconutty and you narrow your eyes, leaning forward to take a tentative sip.

Coconut rum hits your tongue and you cringe. Vernon does too, making a face and sticking his tongue out as he immediately shoves the drink away from him. You laugh, not even caring that you hate it. It tastes nothing like you expected and you don’t really like coconut, but it strikes a nostalgic chord. 

“My mom was a single parent and worked really hard at a law firm,” you eventually answer, taking another sip and cringing. Vernon orders something more generic - a rum and coke for you both. “But she always made time on the weekend if I really wanted to do a Star Wars marathon and she took off work for all the prequel releases to take me.”

“That’s cute. My mom was really into it too. Want to know a secret?”

“Yes.”

“My first name is Hansol. A little inspired by Han Solo. I prefer to go by Vernon with everyone who isn’t my family, though.”

That makes you smile. “I like it, though. Your mom has good taste like mine. Think they’d be friends?”

He blushes. “Maybe.” 

You realize how forward of a question it is. You avert your gaze to your blue drink, sipping it and grimacing. Vernon chuckles and says, “You don’t have to drink it.”

“I don’t have to do a lot of things but I do anyway.” 

“Hmm. Like what?” 

“Ugh. I don’t know? Attend meetings all day?”

“I think you do have to do that.”

You scrunch your nose. “Alright, fair.” 

“Tell me about your job.” 

You glance at him, brows raised. “You want me to talk about work?”

“It’s obvious you like what you do, and by the sounds of it, working hard runs in the family. Tell me what you like about it.” 

That makes you sigh as you push the ice around in your glass. What do you like about your job? Well, you like a lot of things and you hate a lot of things. So you start listing them, telling Vernon that you like the routine and you enjoy having a rhythm to your day. You like feeling proud when you can solve a problem no one else can, or when you lead your team through chaos and they look at you like you’re a god who showed them the way.

You like that you can be an authority in the room but you don’t feel like a dictator, and that now when you talk, people listen. Your team is your favorite, loving the way you and Seungkwan work in tandem, and the way the creative department likes to pick your brain. Mingyu and Soonyoung are always asking for your feedback, even if your opinion doesn’t matter in the hierarchy of their world.

The dislikes though… well, you dislike that you never have enough time in the day. That you’re always in a meeting and feel like you leave your team drowning in work picking up the slack. Hate that you get time blindness and sit in your office for hours past dinner to get something right, to get something perfect.

Hate that because you like what you do, everyone thinks you don’t have a life or don’t want a life. And that leads you to the center of the entire issue with your relationship with Minho. 

You pull away like you’re approaching a particularly purple bruise when you near the topic of Minho. Your blue drink is gone and you order something more normal instead. The coke and rum sizzles on your tongue as Vernon looks at you expectantly. 

“I’m doing all the talking,” you mutter, a little defensive. “What’s your favorite color?” 

“Blue.”

“What kind of blue.” 

“Blue like that very nasty milk you just drank.” You stick your tongue out and Vernon smiles. His smile is like a burning star at the center of a solar system, glowing and bright and warm. It gives life. “What’s yours?”

“Deep red. Like… wine or burgundy. What’s your favorite movie?”

“Ah, not that question. I’m a bit of a cinephile.”

“Too bad. You have to pick one.” 

Vernon thinks about it. The tip of his finger traces the condensation of his glass lazily and you hyperfocus on it, watching the way he catches the bead of liquid every time. He has nice fingers, you realize. The thought makes you clench and suddenly wonder if you need to walk out of the bar down to the church to confess the sin of your mind.

Not that you’re religious, but maybe you should be, with where your mind has wandered. 

“I like The Princess Bride.”

You gasp, grabbing him by the wrist and shaking it excitedly. “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father, prepare to die!” 

Vernon’s laughter is infectious. You both fall into a fit of giggles, quoting your favorite parts of the movie. It’s nice - this is nice. It’s unexpected and you’re a little unsure how you got here, but Vernon makes the pressure of getting to know one another in preparation to fake date in front of your ex fade away.

Until, of course, you remember that’s why you’re at the bar and the thought suddenly sobers you. 

Straightening, you ask, “Why’d you want to go on a double date, anyway? You don’t owe me that.” 

“He seemed kind of smug. I thought it was annoying.” 

You hum, studying him. “It’s a bit risky. I dated him for a year… if there’s anyone who knows anything about me, it’s probably him.” 

“I can always just hack into your data and learn everything about you.” You stare at him, mouth opens. His grin grows. “I’m kidding. I mean I probably could but I’m not a hacker.”

“Are you sure? You’re a bit suspicious, Vernon Chwe.” 

“Hansol.” You frown in confusion. His tone is gentle, eyes soft when he murmurs, “You can call me Hansol. You know… to make it um. Seems legit.”

“Hansol.” You try out the name, liking the way it fits on your tongue. His eyes are dark and you feel like you could fall into them - you kind of want to. “Hansol. I like it.”

Maybe you don’t need to go to that church to beg for forgiveness after all. What you think you need might be divine intervention to stop the butterflies in your stomach when you say his name, or the nervous shake in your hand when you see him smile. 

Not Vernon (from IT) but Hansol. 

-

Hansol (from IT) is late when he picks you up. For once, you’re just glad it’s not you. Your heart beats a little faster when you see him pull up in his nondescript, black RAV4. He waves through the window when he sees you, a shy smile on his face as he reaches to turn down the music. 

Inside the car smells distinctly like Hansol - driftwood, salt, a little bit of the air freshener that has long since dried but still sways under his rearview mirror. He looks good tonight, dressed in ripped jeans, a black shirt and a black leather jacket. He’s sans glasses, and though he looks good, you miss them a little. 

Hansol without the glasses is a little intimidating. Especially this version of him that grins when you settle into the seat next to him, his brows slightly raised as though to ask if you’re good. When you nod, his grin tilts upward again and he puts the car and drive, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift tapping to the beat of the music. 

It feels like you’re radiating nervous energy, but you relax as Hansol asks about your day. He’s good at that, eliminating whatever weight is sitting on your shoulders or whatever residual stress you’ve got from work. You don’t feel so… well. On the clock. 

The thought makes you squirm in your seat, pulling the edge of your dress down your thighs a little. You picked it out as a last minute choice, unsure whether you’re trying to dress to impress or dress to show you don’t care what Minho thinks of you.

Hansol notices you fidgeting. “You alright?”

“Kind of nervous.”

“Any reason in particular?”

You blow out air, your head smacking against the headrest. “On the clock?”

“Off,” he says with a grin.

“I feel like I’m going to fucking blow it.”

“How so?”

“What if he asks me to kiss you?”

The words are out before you can stop them. It isn’t until you’re met with silence that you realize what you’ve said. You’ve certainly stuck your foot in your mouth on more than one occasion. You do it often, and quite wonderfully, truthfully. It has taken years of practice to stop flubbing presentations and pitches at work, but that doesn’t mean you don’t say insane shit.

Like right now, when you tell Hansol that of all the things you’re nervous about, the very slim, tiny percent of a chance of being asked to kiss him is at the top of the list. 

And yet, because it’s Hansol, he grins and says, “Damn, Minho’s a freak like that? He likes to ask people to kiss so he can watch?”

Just like that, the tension eases. You laugh, hand flying your mouth to try and suppress it. His eyes are on the road, but they glitter when you catch a glimpse of his face in the headlines, flashing from dark to liquid gold for a split second. 

“Okay,” you admit, laughter dying down. “He’s definitely not going to ask that. It’s just one of those irrational fears, especially with him.”

“Why especially?”

“I feel like he’s always trying to prove that he was right when he broke up with me. Or I guess, in general. He loves being right and sometimes it’s like he’s trying to force a gotcha moment.” 

Hansol is silent as he turns into the parking lot. You say nothing, watching as he navigates to find a parking space. The restaurant is busy and there’s a valet, but Hansol is determined to find his own. He does - very close to the entrance - letting out a happy noise as a car backs out.

Car in park, he turns to look at you. “Can I say something? Not on the clock.”

Your heart skips a little. “Sure.”

“Minho is an asshole.” You smile, looking down at your hands folded in your lap. “And you’re going to get through dinner just fine because he’s an asshole, and you’re not.” 

“Are you sure?”

His laugh is full. “I’m actually pretty confident in this. And if he does ask us to kiss, you have my full consent to lay one on me. Come on.” 

You wish you felt as confident as Hansol seems. He slides out of the car easily, coming around to your side as you get out. He reaches out a hand almost instinctively, waiting for you to grab it. You look at him in surprise to find that he looks equally stunned at his own gesture. 

Grinning, you take his hand. It’s warm in yours and he gives you a squeeze as you drop your linked fingers between you, walking toward the establishment like a real couple.

It feels real. You’re not sure what to do with that. The sudden realization of it churns in your stomach as you approach the dark interior of the steakhouse, immediately hit with a romantic ambiance that feels far too big for this tiny thing brewing inside of you. 

Twelvefold? How many times have you suffered since that first day you ran into Hansol at the bookstore? You think it might continue through the evening, especially when he glances over at you on the way to the table to check on you, hand tightening for a split second. 

As soon as you spot Minho and Mina, you’re glad that Hansol has a steady grip on you. Mina’s glossy hair is nearly blinding under the glow of the soft lighting and her smile is brighter still. You almost want to shield your eyes as they wave you over. 

Neither of them seems to know if they should stand and greet you or what the protocol is. Good, you think, happy to see them as off kilter as you feel by this very weird and very unnecessary dinner date. 

Why had Hansol agreed to do this again? 

“She keep you late?” Minho asks Hansol, immediately reminding you why Hansol had said yes in the first place: he seemed kind of smug. I thought it was annoying. “You’ll get used to it!”

“Actually, it was me,” Hansol answers smoothly. He pulls out your chair for you, startling you again. You try to fein admiration - it’s not hard - and sit, looking up at him with a little bit of awe. Hansol sits, adjusting his seat so that it’s a little closer to yours. “I was working on an infrastructure request and lost track of time.”

That seems to shut Minho up for a moment. Then he laughs his businessman laugh and you wonder if it’s always sounded that way, hollow and fake and… well, annoying. “Damn, so you’re both like that?” 

“Yep.” Hansol leans back in his chair, stretching his arm so that it rests over the back of yours. He doesn’t explicitly touch you, but you feel the warmth of him radiating like a furnace, a shiver snaking through you at how close he is. “Works well for us.” 

You try not to frown. He’s not going to make it easy for your fake breakup. You’d assumed that you’d tell everyone you just didn’t have time for him, but with the way he’s talking to Minho now, you’re worried it’ll make the impending breakup a little less believable. 

“That’s good, then,” Minho says eventually. “Just don’t schedule any vacations or you’ll both miss it.”

“I never did that,” you scowl. 

Before he has time for a rebuttal, the server is there welcoming you to the restaurant. You shift in your seat, feeling irritated. Hansol senses it, the tips of his finger brushing against your bicep as if to tell you it’s okay. You relax, but only a little, still frustrated. 

Again, you can’t help but feel like your faults are being exacerbated, like Minho is drawing them up to be far grander than they really were. You had missed some dinners and cancelled on some things, but you’d never gone as far as to miss a vacation or a birthday - never the big things. Never the milestones. 

If the server can tell the energy at the table has shifted, they don’t let on. They pour glasses of wine that you let Hansol order while you’re spiraling in your head, and leave with the promise of coming back to take orders when the table is ready. 

It’s Mina who restarts the conversation, glancing at Minho who sucks down the entire glass of wine in a single go. “So,” she says. “What is it exactly that you do?”

“Careful with that question,” Minho jokes. “She’ll talk to you about work for hours.” 

“Which is what makes her good at her job.” Hansol’s voice is even. Smooth. Almost severe, a tone you’ve never heard from him before. Tension ripples from him for just a moment before he looks at you and smiles. “Her job is very cool.”

Unlike her blockhead of a boyfriend, Mina seizes the chance for normalcy and asks, “Marketing, right?” 

Mina (with the glossy hair) is really nice. You like her almost immediately and strangely enough, you’re glad she’s there. Minho is like a stormcloud at the edge of the table, a little pocket of pressure that everyone can feel but tries to ignore. 

Hansol makes your fake relationship look effortless. You have to mask your surprise when he recounts a detail about you that you didn’t expect him to know, or makes an observation that has you warming, ducking your face to hide the smile tugging your lips. 

You know little things about him too. It’s almost like you weren’t aware until you’re saying them, all the small things about him bubbling to your lips like an instinct. 

“He’s such an Aquarius!” You laugh, finish the rest of your steak. “The IT department is full of them, even and they’re all so effortlessly cool and have different interests. Hansol has the coolest case full of Star Wars collectibles and-” 

“Hansol?” 

Minho’s question catches you off guard. You blink at him a few times, confused until Hansol interjects, “That’s my legal name.”

“Damn. Should we be calling you Hansol?”

“Nope. Reserved for my mom and my girlfriend.” 

“Wow.”

Minho sits back and observes the two of you. The plates have been cleared away for the evening and the glasses of wine have dwindled. You’re a little sleepy, ready to go home, but the appraising look in Minho’s eyes as they flicker back and forth between you and Hansol has you on edge.

Hansol seems unbothered, finishing his water. His arm rests against your back properly now and you almost melt when his fingers start to trace a pattern on your arm, almost absently. You’re so acutely aware of him that you’re nearly vibrating, telling yourself over and over again that this is just him committing to the bit. This isn’t something to overthink. His touch is for show.

You don’t want it to be for show. God, you don’t want it to be, but you try not to let it unravel right now, instead finishing your water under the heavy and calculating gaze of your ex-boyfriend, who, over the course of dinner, has made you realize you are so grateful is your ex. 

“Huh.”

“What?” you ask, voice coming out a little more challenging than you intend. He has that look on his face like he’s trying to figure something out, like he’s trying to position himself in a way where he’s not wrong. 

“You guys are really together.”

That makes you stiffen. Hansol’s fingers go still on your arm. “What do you mean?”

“You just didn’t really seem like you were dating at the bookstore. It didn’t even seem like you knew who Vernon was.” 

“It was still new,” You lie. “I also wasn’t expecting to run into you both. That’s all.”

“I guess. Just… find it surprising, I guess. Figured you’d never have time for someone.”

It’s Hansol who says, “She has plenty of time for me. Speaking of time, it’s time we head home. I have to finish up some stuff for work tomorrow and she just finished an insane project and deserves some sleep.”

Again, Minho seems thrown for a loop. You could get used to seeing him like a fish out of water, trying not to let an evil smirk take over your face when Hansol beats everyone to the check. 

There is an edge to Hansol’s movements. You observe him quietly, noting the way his mouth is pinched at the corners and the way his eyes darken when he looks at Minho. But when he looks at you, it’s like the world stops. Hansol’s eyes soften and his lips turn up at the corner, a gentle smile for you.

Only you. 

You’re fucked. You’re fucked fucked fucked and it’s nearly all you can think about as dinner wraps up and Minho and Mina thank Hansol for paying. You want to smack him for offering to pay for the insanely expensive bill, but he takes everything in stride.

Outside, it’s a little cold. Hansol shucks his jacket off immediately, wrapping it around your shoulders while giving Mina some sort of computer advice that goes over your head because all you can focus on is the way Hansol smoothes the jacket over your shoulder, his hand dropping to your waist to keep you close.

You’re dizzy with it. Dizzy with him. You can’t recall a single time you ever felt this affected by Minho, much less anyone else. Despite having two glasses of wine, you know it’s Hansol and not the wine that has you buzzing. Hansol who has you warm, Hansol who makes it feel like there’s static in your brain when he glances at you to make sure you’re still okay after you’ve gone silent. 

Hansol gives you a quick smile and turns to say farewell to the other couple. You’re happy to say goodbye - though perhaps you should have asked Mina her haircare routine - and you wave as Hansol leads you into the parking lot, fingers intertwined.

He turns to you, making you look up at him. “I’m going to kiss you,” he murmurs, barely giving you a warning. “Unless you say no.” 

“I - okay.” 

There is the barest of smiles on Hansol’s face before he leans in, pressing his lips against yours. It’s brief and gentle, so quick that you barely register he’s kissed you at all. He’s already pulling away when you blink, nearing his car as he does. 

“He was a dick,” Hansol explains. “And he was staring at us when we left. So. Let him question what’s real now.” 

Minho isn’t the only one questioning what’s real. You’re hung up on the kiss, despite it being nothing more than a peck. Your mouth is warm, thoughts spinning as Hansol helps you into the car. You say nothing, completely consumed by the feel of his mouth, the smell of driftwood and salt, the barest taste of wine. 

The drive home is quiet but not uncomfortable. Hansol’s hand grabs yours instinctually over the center console, fingers tied together loosely as he drives. But there’s no one to perform for her, no one to show off too. No one who needs convincing. 

It’s just you and the burning desire for him bubbling up inside of you.

You’ve lost count of how many folds you have suffered, but somehow, this one is a little less worse than the others.

-

Hansol cannot stop thinking about you. He’s pretty sure the last time he had brain rot this bad about another person, it was Larcy Dodsen in his senior year of college who had blown him to heaven and back. He’s had better (and worse) blowjobs since then, and doesn’t really think of Larcy Dodsen ever anymore.

But you. You. 

You occupy every corner of his mind. He wavers back and forth between thinking about the way you smell or the way you laugh (a little reedy, but cute) and thinking about how bad he fucked up by kissing you that night. 

Things aren’t exactly weird. The very basis of your relationship - or lack thereof - is weird. He’d agreed to be your fake boyfriend for a month, but with zero terms. No contract outline. No do’s and don’ts. No guidelines. No rules. No regulations. Just an agreement and a fucking dream. 

Now, he’s wishing he had something to go off of, because what started out as an agreement to help someone out has turned into something else entirely. 

Chan was right. Hansol is desperately trying to hide that fact from his best friend, but the way Chan side-eyes Hansol at lunch when he stares off into the distance, he thinks that the younger  man might be onto him. 

It doesn’t help that Hansol is buried in Help Desk tickets the weekend following kissing you, and you’re six feet under in a pile of projects. It isn’t until he goes a few days without talking to you multiple times that it’s occurred to him how much he texts you during the day. 

Hansol finds himself checking his phone again at lunch, swearing that he felt it vibrate. This time, Chan catches him, putting down the fork and clearing his throat to gesture at the phone. “So it happened, right?” 

“What?” Even Hansol winces at his own defensiveness. “I can’t check the time?”

“Do you check the time three times every five minutes? I know you can do math.” 

“Just checking to see how her presentation went.”

Chan laughs and crosses his arms over his chest. “Right. So it did happen.”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

He doesn’t. Chan knows it. Hansol knows it. Chan gets more specific anyway. “You like her. As in, you have feelings for her after… well. This weekend will make it a month. So wouldn’t that be your deal coming to an end?”

Hansol wants to think about anything other than that. “Everything is fine.” 

Chan holds up his hand, a white flag. “You’re an adult. You can do what you want. Just make sure you know what she wants too, is all I’m saying.” 

And that’s the crux of it. Hansol isn’t sure what you want. He assumed that you just wanted to get through this month and your fake breakup, but now he’s not so sure. He thinks of the way you’d look at him during dinner last weekend, the way your expression gets dreamy with a soft smile, eyes glowing. 

Hansol doesn’t think he made it up - his creativity is good but not that good. He had been so sure that you felt something too, swears that you melted into him every time he touched you, every time he turned to check in on you.

And the kiss… it had been brief and born from wanting to rub it in Minho’s face, but Hansol had wanted to do it, too. Wanted it for himself. Wanted to allow himself a single, greedy thing. You’d been surprised but leaned into him, almost instinctual. It had been so short but it haunts his dreams, the phantom press of your mouth keeping him up late at night. 

Even now, Hansol’s fingers trace his mouth, as though he can remember the feeling of your mouth against his. So maybe Chan is right. Hansol likes you - has feelings for you. There is a lingering sense that you might too, but he’s not sure. 

He needs to be sure. 

Finding a window to make sure, is tough, though. He only hears from you once throughout the rest of the day, and it's to shoot him a quick text that the presentation was moved to Monday and that you have to work all weekend on it. 

He feels more disappointed than he lets on. He wonders if you remember his birthday is on Saturday. Not that you owe him that since you’re not actually dating, but in a perfect world Hansol thinks it might have been a good day to tell you how he feels. That he kind of wants to make this thing real. 

On the bright side, you do remember his birthday. On the shitty side, he can’t spend it with you. You’re working on your presentation for the foreseeable future, and Hansol had hesitated to make plans with his friends knowing some of them were celebrating Valentine’s Day late with their partners and because he’d hoped to maybe spend it with you.

It feels stupid, thinking about it now. Of course you weren’t going to spend it with him. He knew what this was when he offered to do it. You were a bright burning star at the top of the company, and Hansol had been someone you barely registered. 

By the afternoon, he’s still sullen. He’s thinking about just spending the evening eating pizza and playing video games online where he’ll get bullied by a bunch of high schoolers when he hears his phone ring and your name flashes across the screen.

Hansol’s heart soars. He all but throws the control across the room, diving to pick up the phone and answer, “Hi!” 

“Please don’t hate me,” you rush out, completely out of breath. “I am panicking right now. My work laptop randomly got the blue screen of death and I’m in the middle of my project and-”

“I’ll come look at it.” He cringes, realizing how down bad he is. It’s his birthday and he shouldn’t have to work, but he’d rather come solve a problem for you than have a bunch of thirteen year old’s tell him that they’re fucking his mom. “I can come over in fifteen.” 

“Oh! Uh… can you make that twenty?” 

Weird. “Sure?” 

“Great! Text me when you’re here and I’ll give you the unit number.” 

Twenty minutes ends up being perfect, because Hansol goes through the mental anguish of what to wear, which is new for him. He showers as quickly and efficiently as he can, hopping with one leg in his jeans and the other missing the hole multiple times. He nearly runs into the wall as he’s pulling on a band tee over his head while also looking for his flannel. 

Hair still damp, he pulls on a hat and twists it around backward, grabbing his glasses because he doesn’t feel like wearing contacts (and because you said you liked them) as he barrels out the house, radiating with nervous energy. 

Hansol wonders if it’s appropriate to tell you how he feels today. It will be face to face but… no. You’d sounded stressed on the phone and he knows how important this presentation is for you, despite not knowing what it’s about. 

He barely remembers the drive to your apartment, blinking and realizing he’s parked and texting you that he’s there. You give him directions to your unit and with shaky hands, Hansol turns off the car. He takes a few steadying breaths before getting out and heading to the stairs, his heart hammering with each step. 

When he finally gets to your door, he double checks that it's the right one. His hands shake when he knocks, and he has to remind himself several times that he’s just here to fix your computer. Sure, he’s thrilled that he gets to see you, but this is on the clock. Not off.

You’re breathless when you open the door. “Hi!” You say a little too loudly. He raises his brows but you open the door and step aside, ushering him in. “Come on in.”

Hansol gives you an amused grin as he walks into your apartment. He’s confused as to why it’s completely dark, a question that he’s about to ask you as you shut the door, but you flick on the lights and he’s met with the world’s loudest shout of surprise he’s ever heard.

He flinches, hand flying to his chest in terror as the lights flood on and Hansol realizes that the reason they were off is to hide the obscene amount of Star Wars decorations covering every part of your apartment. He can’t even picture what your home is supposed to look like, just that it’s covered in streamers and paper Luke Skywalkers and RD-D2s, and filled with familiar faces.

Hansol’s mouth pops open as the crowd screams at him. Chan and Seokmin are at the forefront, phones in hand capturing Hansol as he stands there, dumbfounded. Soongyoung and Mingyu are blowing through noise makers with so much force that the paper on them breaks, and Seungkwan is leading an off-key rendition of happy birthday with Hansol’s friends you’ve never even met.

Slowly, Hansol turns to look at you. You’re standing behind him, hands clasped nervously and tucked under your chin as you watch him, terrified. You’re chewing on your lips, entire frame vibrating with energy. 

He wants nothing more than to walk over to you and kiss you stupid. The flame of desire that licks through him is borderline impossible to tamp down, staring at you like the eighth world wonder as you slip over to him, scanning his face.

“Surprise?” You squeak.

“You did this for me?”

“Well, yeah.” 

You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He wants to pin you against the island counter behind you, but it’s fill with food and beverages and blue fucking milk. “Is that okay?” you ask, suddenly nervous. 

Hansol softens and starts to laugh. “Yeah,” he shakes his head. “It is more than okay.” 

Before he can say anything else, the crowd of people crashes into him. Seokmin and Chan are screaming in his ear, grabbing him and yelling for shots. Mingyu and Soonyoung are chanting his name and his best friend from college manages to squeeze in and give him a hug and a birthday greeting.

How did you even know Minghao existed? Or how to contact him? Hansol has no idea, but before he can ask you any questions about the how or the why, he’s swept into your kitchen for birthday celebrations he thought would never happen, orchestrated by the single person he wanted to see most. 

Fuck was Chan right more than ever. 

-

The thing about being a bad liar is that you found it nearly impossible to hide what you were doing from Hansol. The thing about everyone thinking you’re always busy, is that it was an easy facade to shield the sheer stress of trying to plan a surprise party for him. 

Your apartment is filled with more people than you’ve ever dared to let inside. It makes you a little nervous for all of these people to see this new part of you, but with a little bit of rum and the released pressure of Hansol looking like he’s enjoying himself, you decide it’s worth it. 

Squished in the corner of your couch, you watch as Chan leads a game of cards that he is losing very badly at. Most of these people in your apartment are casual friends, with the exception of Seungkwan who is playing DJ in the kitchen, but they’re all friends that Hansol would want at a celebration for him.

At least, that’s what Chan and Seokmin said. Recruiting them had been pretty easy, but during the process of them helping you plan this, you’re pretty sure they’ve caught on to the AT-AT Walker-sized elephant in the room: you are very much into their friend. In a very Not-On-The-Clock appropriate way. 

Now, you watch as Hansol makes his way over to you, dodging people who stop to talk to him. He seems pretty determined to reach you, clapping someone on the shoulder and moving them aside to continue his journey to you. 

Your stomach flips when he sits on the arm of your couch, perched perfectly next to you. He looks good today, dressed in jeans, a soft looking tee and a flannel. The backwards hat does wonders for you - which you will not be psychoanalyzing now - and his black frame glasses. 

“How did you do all this?” He asks, shaking his head in wonder. “I just… what?” 

“It wasn’t easy, but it worked, right?”

“Is this the presentation you’ve been working on all week?”

“Yes. Please don’t be mad at me for lying.”

He laughs. “I couldn’t be mad at you if I tried.” 

An argument breaks out over cards, Chan and Mingyu yelling at each other about someone cheating. Hansol winces at the noise and you scoot a little closer to avoid the deck of cards Mingyu throws in Chan’s direction.

“Is there anywhere quiet we can talk?” Hansol asks, though he’s laughing at them. “They’re giving me a bit of a headache.” 

You grin. “For sure.” 

Getting up, you lead Hansol down the hall to your bedroom, which is off limits to the rest of the party. The good thing about adult festivities is that no one is a weirdo about going into rooms they shouldn’t, staying exactly where it’s appropriate to be. 

Shutting the door behind you, the noise of the party dies down immediately. It’s dark in your room, save for the single lamp burning in the corner at a low setting. You realize it’s a bit messy, apologizing to Hansol as you kick clothes out of the way. You hadn’t intended on bringing him in here, and suddenly the implication of Hansol standing in your room tingles down your spine. 

“I, uh-” You stammer, looking at him. “Sorry it’s a mess. I didn’t intend on anyone seeing this.”

Halloween yowls, getting up off your bed. Hansol makes a surprised sound and you apoogize again, “It’s just Halloween. He likes to sleep in here. Out, kitty!”

You open the door and Halloween bolts out, going to find Seungkwan who will give him snacks. 

Hansol grins and wanders over to the bookshelf, looking over the titles. You take a few steps to follow him but keep your distance, suddenly very nervous. He points his finger at a title and looks at you, inviting you to step closer to read it in the dim light. 

You recognize the title - you’d bought it the day you’d crashed into him and got some of your books mixed up. 

“This one one of the books you accidentally swapped with me,” Hansol notes, running his finger along the spine. You zero in on his finger - his hands, in general. They’re pretty. You swallow hard, looking up at the ceiling instead. “Have you read it yet?” 

“Not yet. I started one of the others but I’ve been having trouble breeding - reading lately.”

Hansol presses his lips together in a flat line and you can tell he’s trying not to laugh at you. Warmth floods your face and you want to die on the spot, especially when he turns to face you head on, leaning against your bookcase. 

His eyes are dark, drinking you in. Your pulse skyrockets, thinking about that quick kiss he had given you the other night. It’s all you’ve been able to think about, too afraid to ask him if it was just for show and too busy trying to plan this party to work out what to say about it.

Now, alone in your room, the questions fizzle on your tongue at the nearness of him. 

“Thank you,” Hansol says eventually. “For planning this. I… would never have expected you to do that.”

“I wanted to celebrate you.”

He blushes, ducking his head. “It’s sweet. It did make me nervous, though.” 

“Why?”

“I thought you were avoiding me, kind of.”

You blink. “Why on earth would I be doing that?”

“Thought that maybe I took it too far with the kiss.” 

“No. You didn’t.” 

Hansol’s gaze falls on you. It’s razor sharp and there’s something there, burning just under the surface. You swear it’s something like desire, but you’re too afraid to name it. Too worried that it’s just what you want reflected in his glassy gaze, and not his. 

Then, “Did I not take it far enough?” 

The question hangs in the air. You cannot hear anything but the pounding of  your own heart. It’s just Hansol in this dark room with you, looking at you with exactly the same hunger that’s been churning in your gut. 

You don’t know when this hunger started. All you know is that the last few weeks, it’s been there. Every time you look at him you feel it ignite, the desire so raw that you don’t know what to do with it. 

Now, you know he feels it too - see it, in the way he waits for your answer. Patient. Calm. Steady.

“On the clock?” You ask, voice shaky. He shakes his head no. “You could go further.” 

That’s all Hansol needs. He’s gentle when he reaches for you, cradling your face in his hands. You barely get to suck in a trembling breath before he’s kissing you.

This kiss is entirely different from the peck he gave you in the parking lot last weekend. This kiss steals the breath from your lung, his mouth confident and sure as he slots his mouth against yours. He smells like the sea, all driftwood and salt and his lips taste like the tangy drink he’d been sipping on earlier.

Everything else fades to the background. Your hands twist in his flannel. It’s soft, but nothing compared to the softness of Hansol’s tongue as he licks at the seam of your lips. You let him in and he groans, pulling you in impossibly closer as the kiss turns more desperate.

You melt. He kisses you hungrily now, sucking your tongue into his mouth. It makes your head spin, the party long forgotten as you press further into him. The bookshelf wobbles under the weight of both of you leaning against it, making you break, both of you panting.

Hansol’s mouth shines with your spit in the low lamp light and you have the urge to lean forward and lick it. You resist, only for him to give into his urge. He leans forward, tongue pressing to the corner of your mouth gently. 

“What about now?” he mumbles, voice muffled against your mouth. “Too far?”

“No.”

He makes a sound in the back of his throat, hands dropping to your waist. You let him grip you, backing you up toward your bed. It’s a bit clumsy but you don’t care, hands looping around his neck to keep him close.

“Tell me what you want,” Hansol mumbles. Your knees hit the bed and you let yourself fall backward. He follows you, caging you in with both of his planted on either side of your head. “Tell me how far you want me to go.” 

“On the clock?”

“Fuck no. Nothing I want to do right now is on the clock.”

“Good. I want you to go as far as you want.”

He drops his mouth to your neck. A moan slips between your lips when you feel his tongue scrape across the soft skin of your throat. He sounds strained when he says, “You gotta tell me, baby. I need to know what you want.”

“You.” It’s the most honest thing you’ve said all month. “All of it. Everything. But for real.” 

Hansol nods. He presses messy, wet kisses up your neck, along your jaw, stopping at your mouth. His nose nudges yours and he smiles against your lips, giving you a chaste peck. “You’ve got me. For real.” 

Grinning, you slide your hands underneath his shirt. He moans, throaty and delicious. He twitches under your exploration but he lets you brush your palms up the warmth of his stomach, reaching around until your hands are gripping his lower back. 

His mouth attaches to yours again. The kiss is messy and addictive, Hansol filling your senses as he lowers himself so that his weight is rested on top of you. It’s comforting and wanted, your knees squeezing his hips to hold him in place. 

One of his hands leaves the mattress to drop to your hip, squeezing before he scratches his nails against your thigh. You shiver, feeling the stimulation through your jeans. His hand slips under you, gripping the curve of your ass to lift you a little, pressing you closer to him.

A moan slips through your mouth to his when he rolls your hips against him. The stimulation isn’t remotely enough but you like this version of Hansol. His touch is confident, his lips intentful as they leave a trail from your mouth to your collarbone. 

With one last squeeze to your ass, Hansol traces his fingers over the tops of your thigh to drop between your legs. He presses his fingers to the apex of your thighs, working you through your clothes. You let out a desperate sound and you feel the way he smiles against your skin. 

His touch sparks a flame. You tear at his flannel, peeling it from his shoulders. He helps you get it off of him but he’s just as eager to peel you out of your jeans and shirt. A deep curse leaves his mouth when he sees you in just a bra and underwear, your chest heaving as you pant, staring up at him, mouth swollen and tender. 

Reaching for him, you grab the hat and throw it. “Hat is very hot,” you admit. “But I wanted to do this.” 

You slide your fingers in his hair, curling them through the strands to tug him back to you. He smiles into the kiss, tangling his tongue with yours. His hand skims up your thigh, fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps as he goes until he slides his hand back between your legs.

A gasp leaves you as he presses his fingers back to your cunt, pressing the fabric into your aching clit. He whispers a string of curses when he feels how damp you are, resting his forehead against your shoulder for a moment as he teases you over your panties.

“Please,” you whisper, hips rising off the bed. “Want more.”

“Mhmm.” He lifts his head and gives you a quick kiss to the cheek. “I’ve got you.”

Hansol doesn’t make you beg. You like that about him. Your breath catches when he drops to his knees, reaching his arm up to pull the back of his shirt over his head, tossing it. The sight of him between your knees in just jeans, his hair mussed and mouth swollen is enough to make you dizzy.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching with hooded eyes as Hansol grabs you by the calves, spreading you a little more. His hands are gentle and warm, rubbing up and down while he takes his time pressing a myriad of kisses up the right side of your inner thigh. 

It feels so good. Your lashes flutter a little, breath coming in quicker. Everywhere his mouth touches tingles, a little path of buzzing electricity as he makes his way closer and closer to your heat until he switches sides.

You make a sound of protest and Hansol looks up at you through his lashes, grinning. He looks smug, leaning forward to bite your thigh playfully. It stings but it feels good, making your fingers twist in the sheets. 

“Feel good?” he whispers, pressing his tongue to soothe the sting. You nod, mouth parted, unable to speak. He smiles again, dragging his tongue down your thigh. You think you might die right there. 

Hansol makes his way back up. He drags his burning gaze up to meet yours, deliberately making eye contact as he presses the flat of his tongue against your underwear. If it wasn’t soaked before, it is thoroughly drenched now. You suck in a sharp breath, knees closing on instinct to squeeze against his shoulders.

He chuckles, dragging his tongue upward where it presses against your clit momentarily. He brings one of his hands up, pressing his middle finger right against your hole. You feel yourself clench around nothing and you know he knows, his grin wicked. 

"What do you like?"

"I... don't know."

He looks at you, pausing. "You don't know? Like what makes you come?" You shake your head and realization lights his eyes. "That jackass didn't make you come, did it?"

You shake your head and he groans.

“Don’t worry,” Hansol promises with another languid lick to the soaked fabric. “I will make up for all the times you didn’t get to come.” 

“Fuck.”

Vernon (from IT) has been replaced with Hansol (the Menace). He hooks a finger in the crotch of your underwear, pulling them to the side. He drags a knuckle against your pussy on purpose, both of you groaning in unison. 

Eagerly Hansol leans forward, giving you a teasing lick. Your fingers dig into the mattress anyway. You can do nothing but stare at him, watching the way Hansol drags his dark eyes up to watch you as he drags his tongue through your folds again. 

“Shit,” you hiss at him, a shiver wracking your body.

He seems pleased, shooting you a quick smile before he brings his mouth to you again, sucking gently. He avoids your clit at first, working you up slowly. Hansol eats you out like he has all the time in the world, like there’s no where he would rather be than tonguing your pussy. 

It drives you mad, his name slipping from your lips in little gasps. His tongue circles your clit, applying pressure indirectly, working you up and up until finally, he closes his mouth around the throbbing bundle of nerves, suckling. 

“Ohhhh,” you laugh, half delirious. “That. Whatever that is.” 

He hums, parting only to say, “You got it.” 

You see God when he fastens his mouth to you, sucking your clit gently. Dropping back against the bed, you twitch and gasp under Hansol’s ministrations. He sets a rhythm, adding his fingers to the mix as they press against your entrance. He doesn’t push in, but rather traces a pattern, making you squeeze. 

Panting, you drop a hand to his hair. He hums in delight as you tangle your fingers in the strands, bringing him closer to your cunt. You feel like you’re burning up, your sheets sticking to your skin, the room spinning as Hansol eats you out in earnest now. 

No one has ever seemed this dedicated to your pleasure. He doesn’t let up for a second, fingers and mouth working in tandem to bring you to a cliff of insanity. All you have to do is jump and dive head first into an orgasm. 

You do. Hansol works you right to the very edge and you topple over, falling into it hard. You go taught but he holds you down, fighting your spasm as you come hard. He doesn’t miss a beat, the obscene sounds of him slurping at you drowning out the pitiful, high pitched whine that leaves you. 

In a wave of exhaustion, your orgasm subsides. You flop on the bed, still shaking as he removes his mouth in favor of pressing slick, cum-stained kisses to your thighs. You lift your head and his eyes meet yours, flashing wickedly. 

He pauses, looking at your wet, messy cunt back to your face. “Want a taste?”

Hansol (the Menace) is going to kill you.

You nod and he smirks. He runs his tongue generously up your pussy, making sure to dip into your entrance just a little before he stands up and leans over you to press a filthy kiss to your mouth. You suck at his tongue greedily, tasting yourself and him, a combination you’ll never get tired of. 

One of his hands snakes up to your chest, tweaking a nipple gently, testing the waters. You nod, breaking the kiss with a gasp, “Yeah.” 

“Gonna work you open with my fingers,” he slurs. He kisses down your neck again, working his way to your chest. “That okay?”

“More than okay.” 

“God,” he whispers. “You sound so fucking good when you come. Want to hear it again.” 

There is no doubt he will. Hansol rids you of your bra before returning to suck greedily at your chest. Your nails bite into his shoulders, dragging down his sides as he presses a finger into your warmth. 

“God damn,” he laughs. He plucks at a nipple with his teeth and you curse. “You’re so fucking wet.” 

“On the clock?”

“Fuck no. My finger is in your pussy.”

“I am really turned on.”

He gives your other breast a playful bite. “Good. Now I want you to come apart on my fingers.” 

That won’t be an issue. Hansol gets you there embarrassingly fast. He finds the sensitive spot inside of you with ease and doesn’t hold back, pressing another finger in. He works you toward another orgasm like it's easy - and maybe for the both of you, it is. Maybe Hansol was meant to have you like this, gushing around his fingers and babbling nonsense as you come again, his mouth pressed against your hammering heart. 

Maybe he was meant to have you fucked out and light-headed by the time you’re helping him out of his jeans, sliding his briefs down his muscular thighs to free his cock. The tip is dark and sticky, weeping with precum when he pins you to the bed, catching you in a bruising kiss.

Gone is the patient Hansol who had started with gentle kisses to your thighs, replaced by his need to have you. To consume you. You let him, willing to let him do whatever he wants. You want his pleasure just as much as he wants yours, slipping your hand between your bodies to palm his cock, heavy and warm in your hand.

He whispers your name and it sounds like a prayer. His forehead presses against yours, letting you pump him slowly. His hips twitch as though he’s fighting to control himself, letting you have your fun before he growls and grabs your hand, lacing your fingers to pin above your head. 

Hansol scoots you up the bed, putting you where he wants you. Gone is the sweet guy from IT, replaced with whatever this is. You like this side of him equally, listening to him when he asks you to lift your hips so he can slide a pillow under your ass.

With a kiss to your brow that feels sweeter than the moment allows for, Hansol lifts your leg, prying you open for him. His cock is heavy against your cunt and he ruts a little, making you both whine in tandem. 

“You still want this, right?” He asks, voice shaking. “For real?”

“Yes.” You squeeze the hand he has laced with yours, pinned to the mattress near your head. “On the clock. Off the clock. Literally all of the hours.” 

“What if I refuse to change your computer password?”

That makes you laugh. He gives you a glowing smile, kissing the tops of your cheekbones. “Even then,” you promise. 

“Good. Try breathing for me when you come this time.” You give him a look and he smiles. “Did you think you were done? I told you I was making up for lost time.” 

He doesn’t give you a second to retort, his cock pressing in at that exact moment. “Ohhh you fucker,” you moan and he laughs, which makes things worse. You squeeze around him hard, barely breathing as Hansol slides in to the hilt, the pressure and stretch divine. “You did that on purpose.”

“I did,” he admits before trapping you into an uncoordinated kiss. 

With one hand holding yours to the bed and the other sliding under your ass to help lift you with the pillow, Hansol sets a slow pace. You continue to kiss him, just as slow as he fucks you. He is deep, cock brushing against your g-spot on every upstroke. 

Your free hand slides to his lower back, urging him to keep going. His tempo is measured, perfect, the angle of his hips just right. You start to feel insane, mumbling his name, whining between kisses, making a pathetic noise when he increases his pace. 

Hansol fucks like he knows exactly how you like it. Of course he does. Even from the moment in that bookstore, he had you figured out. No one else has been able to adjust to you like he has, no one else has been able to understand - to see you. 

“Fuck,” he hisses when you start squeezing on him for harder and longer. He’s pushing you toward that edge again, so close you’re already seeing stars. “Pussy feels so good.” 

He shuffles up the bed more, folding you a little. You make a wild sound, gasping as the angle pushes his cock in deep. “Holy shit, Hansol.” 

“That the spot?” he asks, and you nod. He starts fucking you in earnest, pace picking up. “God damn I could do this all day.” 

“Keep doing that and I’ll let you.”

He laughs and kisses you again, all tongue and teeth. You start to spasm, feeling the way your muscles clench as you near your third orgasm. This one is tight in your stomach, a pressure that is so compact you feel like you’re going to combust.

“Breathe through it,” he reminds you, out of breath as he chases your high. “You can do that, yeah?”

You nod, saving your breath for when he tells you to use it. 

A few more hard strokes and you’re doing exactly as instructed, taking in a deep breath as your orgasm hits. You see white, shaking underneath Hansol as the warmth of your high blooms in your lower stomach and expands. It’s better than the first two, stretching longer, the feeling reaching to your toes. 

You manage to breathe all the way through it, barely hanging on as he fucks you through the entire length of your high. He presses his mouth to your temple, slowing his pace to let you recover. You feel melted, like your bones and muscles have all gone on vacation, leaving Hansol to do the work for you.

“Good?” he asks, breath fanning your face.

You nod and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close. “You,” you mumble. It’s not a complete sentence, but he gets what you mean, kissing you quickly before chasing his own high, gritting his teeth. 

As spent as you are, you do your part to help him get there, squeezing with what strength you have left, whispering his name, pulling him in close with a leg around his hip. It works, sending Hansol over the edge and spilling into you within a few seconds. 

He curses into your shoulder, pace turning sloppy until he finally stops, hips pressed to yours, cock sheathed to the hilt. Both of you stay like that, trying to catch your breath in a sweaty pile of limbs.

Hansol recovers first, shifting so that he can lay next to you. He pulls out, a mess of cum and fluid going with him. You don’t care, rolling to your side to kiss him slowly. Softly. He rests an arm over your hip, keeping you connected. 

“This is a great birthday,” he jokes, voice hoarse. “I uhhh, forgot there was a party. No one will think we’re fake dating now.” 

You grin. “Whatever. We’re not on the clock.” 

He kisses you again. “Thank god. Cause I really want to do this again in fifteen minutes.”

You smile, really glad that Hansol (the Boyfriend) is on the same page as you.

[fufucuddlyp0ops]

The kind of energy I bring to parties and social gatherings

| Weak Hero, Class 1, Episode 5 |

[mortallyvirtualphan]

it’s alright dan nothing is happening

[jinjinjelly]

Tears Run Down My Thighs (when did you get hot?) | Armin Arlert x Reader

18+ only!! Minors do not interact!!

Ao3 Version, Wattpad Version

Divider from @/firefly-graphics! Pairing: college AU, Nerd!Armin x Pervert!Reader (AFAB, gender-neutral pronouns) Wordcount: 23k (oops) Summary: You've always liked your best friend Armin, and you did a pretty good at hiding it. Any time you thought of him sexually, you would simply reset and erase the thoughts from memory. But when he comes back from the summer looking ... nerdier, you can't seem to get him out of your head. Surely, your methods will still work, right? Warnings: lots of sexual fantasies and female masturbation, multiple orgasms, reader is down bad for nerdmin, oral sex (m and f receiving), nipple play/licking, motorboating(?), unprotected sex, creampie, come eating and swallowing, mentions of alcohol and partying

A/N: I seem to have a theme of writing sexual fantasies, but this is my first time actually writing a sex scene. Yippee! I tried to keep this fic as inclusive as I could, so while the reader has female anatomy, their pronouns are gender-neutral. I also did not include Y/N or nicknames in this story, as I'm not a personal fan of either. Please let me know if I made any mistakes regarding this. This story was inspired by fanart made by @mochikuyo on Twitter. For some reason the specific order of short-haired Armin to nerdy Armin sparked something in my brain, and here we are a month and half later. Links should also be included where referenced in the story if you want to check it out! Also peep the double Sabrina song title lol

You're a disgusting pervert.

…

Okay, that sounds like you need to be put on some government watch list. Technically, you weren't doing anything outwardly creepy, let alone illegal.

The context is this: You were crushing on your best friend, Armin. Hard.

Technically, you always had feelings for him. It was difficult not to, honestly. One day he was your partner for a class project, the next your study buddy, and now you could barely remember him as anything other than your best friend.

However, somewhere along the way, between stolen glances and late night conversations masked under the guise of study sessions, you started to become aware of the fluttering in your chest.

For the longest time, it was a harmless crush: the type that wasn't worth pursuing and risking your friendship over. Unless Armin made it ridiculously obvious that he had similar feelings, any infatuation you had was quickly buried. You eventually grew used to it, and life went on as normal.

That's not to say the want for more didn't sometimes gnaw at you.

Last year, when you first met Armin, he had finished his summer internship in California, and the beach environment was evident in his look. He had a glowing tan for months, which paired wonderfully with his short, blond hair and his open button-ups that flowed in the breeze (you especially liked his blue one; it made his eyes sparkle and look like the ocean he had grown so fond of). One time, his white undershirt was a bit on the thin side, and you caught a faint outline of his abs every time he stretched. You distinctly remember how warm you felt at the sight, and the impulsive urge to risk it all and kiss him silly afterward.

You also remember stomping out the compulsion like an ember. At the time, you had just become friends. This was the second hangout you had that wasn't at some school building or coffee shop. The last thing you wanted Armin to think was that you've been lusting over him this whole time, especially if he saw your relationship as purely platonic.

From then on, any time you caught yourself thinking about him for too long, you immediately stopped your fantasies then and there. These lapses were few and far in between, so you didn't worry very much over your lack of judgment. A quick reset, and it was like the thought never occurred.

But then summer came and went again, and you soon realized how utterly fucked you were.

During the long break, rather than spend another hot summer in California, Armin got an opportunity to study marine biology in the South Pole. He was fascinated with the extremophiles found in the area, and was over the moon when he got accepted to intern at one of the research centers there.

There were some downsides, however. Namely, the difficulties in communication. While he wasn't going completely silent, between the lack of reception and busy schedule, his replies were likely to be on the sparse side. Armin profusely apologized for this, but you laughed it off and reassured him that it was fine.

"Seriously, Min, don't feel sorry. This is literally your dream. You'll probably be enjoying yourself too much to even worry about that. We'll see each other soon enough, alright?"

"Yeah, I know that," he sighs, a shy smile forming. "The opportunity is great and all, I just think— I just think I'll miss you a lot."

You smile back , ignoring the way your heart skipped a beat.

As expected, contact over those twelve weeks were limited. You shared the major events, like when you visited your family or when Armin stumbled upon a waddle of penguins while working, but even those messages felt bittersweet, distorted due to the separation.

The whole break, a part of you was itching to go back to school. Stressful as it is, at least your friend wouldn't be in another continent. One by one, as the summer came to a close, your friends started arriving and coming back to campus, the college town growing louder by the day. Hangouts and bar outings were back on the docket, but they felt lackluster when the person you wanted most wasn't at any of them.

Why did there have to be limited transportation out of Antarctica? Do you have to promote this place as the next big tourist spot just so you could make them have a regular flight schedule?

Eventually, when everyone was mostly accounted for, your friends decided to throw a party the weekend before classes. Connie, Jean, and Marco were the only group that had a townhouse rather than an apartment, and were more than willing to use their space to welcome everyone back.

You were also very much looking forward to the party too: not only could you catch up with everyone, but this would be your first time seeing Armin since the spring. His flight arrived only a few hours ago, so tonight was the perfect opportunity to talk about your summers, no longer constricted to texts and awkward emails.

However, what you didn't think to consider is how much a person can change in twelve weeks. Specifically, how much a person can physically change in that time.

If your messages with Armin were scarce, photos and videos were practically nonexistent, so when he first walks into the house party, you don't fully comprehend that it's him. Rather than hair that cuts cleanly in the back, you're met with long hair that covers his ears and brushes his neck, and small, rectangular-framed glasses that draw you into a pair of familiar, blue eyes. It's a moment of confusion, followed by a moment of recognition, and finally a moment of realization.

You liked this look. A lot. Maybe even too much.

You don't notice that you're staring, not until Eren swoops Armin into a bro hug and drags him to the kitchen. You keep watching him until he rounds the corner, unsure if he notices you and your hot stare.

How would his long hair feel in your fingers? To play with it while you kiss—

Nope. Reset.

You don't give yourself the chance to finish the thought, ejecting yourself from whatever fantasy you were about to have. You take several gulps of your cup, letting out a slow exhale after you swallow. The drink burns the whole way down. While you originally scolded Sasha and her habit of overpouring, you were grateful for the buzz you were surely going to feel soon.

Something you failed to consider, however, was the amount of drinking games you would get roped into, and apparently how bad you were at all of them. If you thought your drink was bad, the last two losing cups were borderline stomach-churning. You're ninety percent sure someone added pickle juice in that last cup.

Luckily, you're still sensible enough to tap out of the next round, only stumbling a few times while walking out towards the patio. For the most part, the backyard looks empty. There must have been a group out here earlier though, judging by the dying flames in the fire pit.

You close your eyes and focus on the smoke wafting in the air. Compared to the drinks you were having, it smelled like heaven. With a sigh of relief, you open your eyes and slump onto the nearest lawn chair. It's comfortable enough, for the most part. If you were drunker, you could easily fall asleep here for an hour or two, though the last time someone (Reiner) did that, someone else (Ymir) drew a penis on their face, so maybe it was for the best.

It doesn't take long for your solitude to be broken. You barely register the footsteps creeping up behind you, too lost watching the fire in front of you.

"Hey," a voice you knew all too well says. You look up to see Armin smiling as he slides into the seat next to you. "Mikasa told me I'd find you here. Heard you lost the last two rounds of boom cup." You can hear the smirk in his words as he takes a sip from his cup.

"Their table sucks. Ping pong balls wouldn't bounce for shit," you grumble.

"Well, you probably just kept bouncing them into puddles of beer like last time."

"… maybe." Definitely.

"At least you quit while you were ahead," he offers. "I saw Connie pour soy sauce into last round's cup."

The image makes you swallow back a gag. The alcohol in your stomach sloshes around, a wave of nausea overtaking you. Armin must catch the grimace on your face, because he quickly apologizes and extends his cup to you. You shake your head, declining the idea of having more to drink.

A hand grabs your wrist and you stop your motions. You're suddenly aware of how close Armin has gotten, his body leaning into yours. He pushes the cup into your open palm, and your fingers instinctively lace around the plastic.

"Don't worry, it's just water. I stopped drinking a while ago," Armin says. Once you have a firm hold, he takes his hands away and relaxes back into his chair. You try to ignore the feeling left behind on your wrist. "You seem like you need it more than me."

"Yeah, probably. Thanks," you croak.

You look down at Armin's (now yours, technically) drink, noticing a mark on the rim closest to your mouth. There's a faint shine to it when it catches the light from the fire, similar to a lip gloss stain. It was no doubt from Armin and the chapstick he always wore: he had a terrible habit of picking at his lips and licking them afterward. The waxy smudge probably had his spit mixed into it.

Without a second thought, you bring your lips to the cup, matching them to exactly where Armin's once were.

An indirect kiss.

Your sips are slow, to not upset your stomach or to keep your mouth on the cup for longer, you're not sure. The chapstick isn't flavored, but you wonder if it would taste different if you caught it from Armin's mouth directly. If his lips would feel rough underneath the greasy layer, and if his tongue would work into your mouth, licking with the same fervor he uses against his own. If your tongue met his, would you be able to taste the liquor that didn't get washed away?

Stop. Reset. What the hell is wrong with you?

You grip the drink, the plastic denting and making a loud pop noise. Tilting your head back, you proceed to chug the rest of the water, possible stomachache be damned. You finish the cup with a soft groan. Were you always this easily aroused when drunk?

Armin clears his throat. You snap your head back toward him, almost forgetting he was watching you the entire time. He's looking at you with slight worry and confusion.

Shit, how long did you space off for?

"Uh, guess I was thirstier than I realized. Sorry," you say.

"It's okay," he reassures. His stare feels more calculating than observing. You can't tell if he actually believes you. "I've been meaning to find you for a while. I was going to right when I came over, but Eren kept dragging me around."

You snort, the awkwardness quickly fading. "Sounds like he missed you." You knew the feeling. "How did you end up getting away?"

"He's currently arguing with Jean about whether you can make tea in a microwave. Got pretty heated, no pun intended, and I slipped away in the middle of it."

You weren't surprised at the news. The two of them always get into some weird debate at these things. Assuming that they're both drunk, and they probably are, you give it another ten minutes before they're crying into each other's arms and profusely apologizing. Their relationship was weird like that.

"And before that?" you ask. "Did you have a good time?"

Armin hums in consideration before answering, "I'd say so. Nice to see everyone before the school year starts. Reiner's pretty wasted, though. He thought I was Historia when I first said hi to him. That was … something." There's a wince at that particular memory. "I guess I do look a bit different, so I don't really blame him."

You let yourself look at him, your blinks slow and heavy in your inebriated state. His hair shines in the faint light and looks soft to the touch. Some strands look a bit wild, messy from the antics of the night. It was candid. Boyish.

Thoughts from earlier resurface, and your fingers twitch in want. You catch the action, and promptly dig your fists into your lap.

"I suppose being MIA all summer doesn't help either. Not that you could really do anything about that," you eventually respond. "Do you at least like it? The haircut?"

"No strong opinions, to be honest." He pauses, tilting his head and mulling it over. "It just kinda happened, really. There's not exactly any barbershops over there, and it was nice to have something to cover my ears so they wouldn't freeze." Armin tucks a piece of hair behind his ear at the memory, like he just figured out he doesn't need to worry about that anymore.

"Clothes were a similar story. Sweaters got a bit bulky under all the layers, so it was easier to wear a thermal and some vest over it." He motions down to his current outfit: a t-shirt for some punk band Mikasa probably got him into over a white, wrinkled long-sleeve. "This was my attempt at a summer-friendly version of it. I think it's growing on me though, what do you think?"

You look good, you think to yourself. You look so good. You were always attractive and handsome but right now you're making me go crazy and—

"It suits you." Images of you kissing Armin's neck and sucking bruises into his collarbones so they're barely peeking over his shirt now plague your mind. "You should keep the haircut too." Hopefully he doesn't catch your selfish intentions.

Armin smiles at your praise and looks away from you in slight embarrassment. It's short-lived as he catches the time on his watch and says, "It's getting late, do you want a ride home? I just had the one drink from earlier, so I'm good to head out."

A part of you wants to say no. Take a breather and properly reset your hormonal brain. On the other hand, a free ride is a free ride.

You quietly agree with a nod. Soon enough, you're sitting in the passenger seat, a mix of sleepy and tipsy settling in your bones. You watch Armin as he reverses out of the driveway and pulls onto the main road. A car from the opposite lane passes by, and the bright headlights shine through your window and send a glare across his glasses.

"I never realized you wore glasses," you murmur, almost like it's some secret between you two. "How long have you had them?"

Armin shrugs. "A while. Sometime in middle school, I think."

"So what? You just never wear them? Are you walking around blind all day?"

That makes him laugh. "Usually just wear contacts, but I can read most things if they're close. I see most things perfectly fine, if that's what you're worried about."

You huff at his teasing. "I guess I just don't see why you never wore them in the first place. Seems like it be easier to."

"It kind of depends, really. During the summer, my glasses would fog up outside, so I wore contacts. But the cold made my contacts dry out my eyes, so I wore glasses whenever I was working inside. I haven't gotten around to grabbing more contacts yet—"

"I like them. Your glasses." You turn away from him, too timid to look at him while you make your confession. "They … they look really good on you."

A blush creeps up Armin's neck. "Oh. Uh, thanks. That's nice … that's nice to know."

The rest of the ride is silent. Mortification sets in; curse your drunkenness and loose lips. You shouldn't have said anything, but your body must have panicked. An ugly, possessive part of you wanted him to know, to know how attractive he was with his glasses. That you would pray to some higher being for him to ditch the contacts altogether.

Would his glasses fog up if you kissed him? If your hot breaths met his needy pants? He would be blindsided as you dragged him closer into your face, moaning into his mouth as you gently pushed his bangs away from his eyes. You could peck the tips of his cheek before moving further back, nipping his earlobe and kissing the space behind, making him let out a whine. When you pull back, his glasses would be slightly askew, his face all the more flustered.

Stop. Eject. Abort. Literally anything. Just stop it.

You will your mind to turn off whatever sick television is playing up there. Your body doesn't get the same message, however. As you tense, physically trying to reset yourself, your legs press together and squeeze. The complete opposite effect happens and you ache from the pressure. You press your thighs together a tad harder and shift your weight forward, almost rocking into the pleasure. A particular bump in the road makes you clench down.

Fuck, what is wrong with you? Why can't you stop thinking about him?

The car thuds into a stop, and you hear the click of the door unlocking when Armin puts it into park. It makes you focus back into reality, a quiet gasp leaving your lips. Your legs relax and pull away from each other.

"You okay?" Armin asks.

You quickly nod. "Mhmm." A light cough escapes your throat. "Still a bit out of it, I guess."

"Right, yeah, of course. Here, I'll help walk you to your place," he offers, ever the gentleman. You should've known better.

"You know what? I suddenly feel a lot better. Fully sober, even." You sound like a frat guy being pulled over by a cop. Your hand is on the door handle and you're making a break for it before he can unbuckle his seatbelt. "I'll be okay. Thanks though."

You're only a few feet away before he calls your name, the window now rolled down. "Let me know when you're free. We should hang out and catch up … I've missed you," he says. Even when he's shouting out his car, there's something about his voice that's still so gentle. Almost fond. When you turn around to face him, you're met with wide eyes and an expectant smile.

Guilt hits you. At the end of the day, Armin was your friend. The long distance was just as evident for him as it was for you. He's trying to make up for lost time, the same as you before you started spiraling out. The least you can do is meet him halfway.

"I missed you too," you reply, voice just as affectionate. Armin looks relieved, his smile more relaxed. "Thanks again for the ride. I'll text you when I'm home."

He nods. You say your goodbyes and Armin watches you go inside before driving. A short walk up the stairs later, you enter your apartment, do a half-ass job of washing your face and brushing your teeth, and climb into the comfort of your bed.

It was an off night. A true reset with eight hours of uninterrupted sleep will do the trick, you think. Partying with all your friends that you haven't seen for months, combined with the buzz still circulating in your body, was bound to lead to heightened emotions. Now that you're home, you'll feel relaxed and refreshed in no time. You repeat these affirmations in your head as you let your eyes shut.

By what seems to be the hundredth repeat, you start to lose it. Checking the time on your phone, more than half an hour has passed, and you groan in frustration. Your body feels nowhere near relaxed.

At that exact moment, your phone buzzes in your hand. A text.

[Armin 🌊]

I'm guessing you're probably asleep or something, but I just wanted to say it was nice to see you tonight! Even if it was only for a little bit lol

Are you free Tuesday? I need to write a reflection paper on my internship this summer, so I was thinking of hanging at the library if you wanted to join. I know it's only the first week, but I figured the company would be nice. Let me know if you're free!

Have a good night :)))

God, was his texting always this cute? Of course you would say yes. Armin could ask you to help clean his bathroom, and you'd be ready with a bucket and scrubber in hand.

You text back a quick yes and goodnight before tossing your phone onto your nightstand and landing back into your pillow with a grunt. Why were you being so weird with him right now? Just because Armin looks different (hot), doesn't mean your relationship with him has changed. You were friends and nothing more.

The same heightened emotions from the party probably just made your feelings for him go into some weird overdrive. Prior to tonight, none of your daydreams have ever been so physical. So, well, freaky.

It wasn't fair of you to act like this. To push him away because you can't keep it in your pants. But your reset methods clearly aren't working, so you needed a new approach. At least right now.

…

Oh.

The answer is obvious, isn't it?

"Goddammit," you grumble to no one. Were you seriously considering masturbating to your best friend? That was completely invasive. Your friendship was built on mutual respect and appreciation of one another. It would be wrong to use their trust like that.

… Then again, wouldn't it be respectful to get your horniness out of the way before it affected your friendship?

Your counterargument, combined with the fact that it's two in the morning and your roommate is staying the night at her girlfriend's, is enough to get you to shimmy out of your shorts.

If you're going to actually go through with this, might as well let yourself indulge in some of your fantasies.

You think back to what would have happened if you stayed in the car, if you didn't panic and leave. Maybe in another world, if you were a bit more confident and you were sure that Armin felt the same way, you wouldn't have ran. Maybe you would have went toward him instead, climbing out of your seat and leaning over the car console.

Inches away from wide eyes and parted lips, you'd close the distance and offer a gentle kiss. Something to test the waters, to see if he wanted more. He lets you tip your weight onto him, steadying you with one hand on your shoulder blade and the other balancing the both of you on the seat of his chair. When he doesn't back away, you let yourself deepen the kiss, cupping his cheek as you work his mouth open.

Your other hand would trail down his body, starting from his slim shoulders down to his firm chest, finally stopping at his soft thighs. You rub the inner part of his leg and swallow the whimper that escapes his throat. It's all the assurance you need to bring your fingers higher up, grazing his crotch.

You let one of your hands travel under your shirt and cup your breast, the same hand that fantasy you is using to palm Armin's length. Your thumb brushes against your nipple, the bud quickly hardening under your attention. You switch to your other breast as you let your mind wander.

With your fingers skimming across his stirring cock, giving it the bare minimum pressure to work himself into a fuss, Armin's kisses start to grow slow and sloppy, barely keeping up with your hungry lips.

He pulls his face away from you with a soft moan and dips it into the crook of you neck. His breath warms your skin as he utters a whiny, "please," and lets his hand drag down your back and settle right above your ass. You give his now hard dick a sure squeeze, and you smoothly climb over the gearshift in the time it takes to let out a desperate groan.

Your fingers find the band of your underwear, stretching and playing with the elastic. You travel lower and cup the heat radiating through the fabric. The tip of your middle finger presses into your folds, making you hum at the sensation. You stroke the entrance of your slit and feel the dampness soaking your panties.

Guess you don't really need foreplay when you've been blue-balling yourself for more than a year.

You pull your underwear to the side, the air chilling on your exposed pussy. Taking your same finger from earlier, you pump your knuckles into the warm muscle. You clench hard on your digit as you whimper in desperation. You add another finger to relieve the ache, groaning at the fullness. A particular curl of your fingertips nearly knocks your knees together and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing.

With your legs settled on either side of Armin's, your cunt sits perfectly on top of his boner as you start a desperate, dirty grind against his length. The motion jostles his arm and makes his hand lower, hovering over the swell of your ass. His broken moans come out uncertain, unsure of what's happening and what he should be doing.

A forceful yank of his wrists pulls his hands right where you want them, and he grabs your ass with a needy squeeze.

It doesn't take long until Armin's practically shaking under you, gripping you like a lifeline as you continue to rock your hips to meet his. His attempts at kissing your collarbones are messy and consist mostly of licking the skin and the occasional light nip when the tip of his dick feels your movements.

You tilt his chin to sit below your sternum. A brush of his bangs exposes his forehead, and you leave a kiss on the skin before you push your shoulders and trap Armin's head between your chest. He shamelessly wails at the contact, letting himself be smothered by your tits.

A heat bubbles low in your stomach. You're so close already, your limit fast approaching. The emptiness when you pull out your slick fingers makes you whine, but when you start massaging your clit, the noise quickly dissipates into a choked-out gasp.

You cover your mouth with your palm, trapping the air escaping your lips. It's a futile attempt at silence: the sounds of you smearing your arousal are lewd, echoing in the quiet of your apartment. Even with no one else home, you're left feeling shameful and dirty. Yet that makes you all the more horny.

A particular flick against your clit makes you clench down hard. Everything felt like too much and not enough. You bring your fingers back down and give your needy cunt something to throb on. A tightness grows above your cervix after a few pumps, and you pull out to frantically rub your clit.

"Oh fuck—oh god. Please let me come, please, please, please," a voice rumbles against your heart.

The thought of Armin coming in his pants makes your eyes shut tight as you ride your high. You bite the skin of your palm that still covers your mouth and stutter out short pants, your body twitching under the waves of pleasure.

You don't think you've ever came so hard so fast before. Several seconds are lost from your memory as your vision turns white, and your lower body jerks at the aftershocks. When you move your fingers away from your abused clit, you wince, the area now sensitive.

Clarity comes after your pulse slows down, the realization of what you just did sinking deep in your gut. You grimace when you can feel the stain your wetness left on the bedsheets when you shift your body, and it takes you longer than it should to clean yourself and change your underwear. Your motions are hesitant, embarrassed even if there's no one to see the events that transpired.

But again, this was a one-time thing.

Probably.

Hopefully.

When you're back in your bed, you hate how sated your body feels, and how quickly sleep finds you soon after.

The floor of the library vibrates under your foot. Your leg has been incessantly bouncing for the past ten minutes; you'd be surprised if you didn't leave a dent in the carpet.

A few days have passed since your … incident. That following morning, you woke up with a surge of energy and determination. You were drunk, had some pent up emotions, and masturbated them out. Things could be normal again.

Then again, you have yet to test this theory. Since the party, Armin's been busy unpacking or submitting papers to get class credit for his summer research. The texts you've sent one another in the meantime seemed normal enough. It may have taken twice the time for you to send them, double-checking each message before hitting send because you were paranoid you would say something along the lines of "I jerked off to the idea of us dry humping in your car", but still.

Today was the true test. The two of you agreed to meet at the library after your classes, with your last class ending a few minutes earlier than expected. You were hoping the extra time would give you a chance to steady yourself, but no matter how hard your leg bounces, the nerves can't seem to be shaken out. The end of your pen starts getting abused as your thumb continuously clicks against the spring, however it's short-lived when you notice the nasty side-eye from the grad student working the front desk.

"I don't think I've ever seen the library this empty before," a voice beside you says. Armin proceeds to slide into the seat across from you, ruffling his hair away from his face. You exercise restraint and look away, suddenly finding your notebook interesting. So far, so good.

"No one's exactly studying on the second day of classes. Unless you're, you know, a nerd," you smirk.

"Well you're the one who agreed to hang out with a nerd. So what does that make you?"

Fucking whipped. Some creep that's potentially edging themselves by being near you. "A good friend, obviously."

Armin hums. "Can't argue with that." He stares at the notebook in front of you, the page still freshly blank. "Do you have anything you're working on? I'd hate to bore you while I work."

"Not really, but it's okay, I could always look ahead. Or play minesweeper if I feel lazy," you shrug, both of you knowing the latter was more likely. "How's your work coming along?"

"It's just busy work, really. I just need to explain what I did over the summer and what I learned, so it shouldn't be too hard. They just need proof that I actually did something worth earning credit for."

He opens his laptop and starts settling into the space. His long, slender fingers rapidly type across his keyboard faster than your eyes can comprehend. The dexterity leaves you mildly impressed, wondering how they move against your clit.

Stop it. Get a grip.

"—uh, you know," you start, drawing a stop to Armin's motions. "You never really got to tell me what you did over there. At least not the specifics."

"Oh." His eyes widen, staring at you like a lost puppy. It's entirely too endearing. "I didn't think anyone would care that much."

That leaves a sour taste in your mouth. While you did have ulterior motives to your question, wanting to use it as a distraction from your impure thoughts, you also wanted to hear about his passions. In what world would Armin ever be boring?

"Of course I would care. You seemed really excited to go there, I could only imagine it was like a dream come true. I want to know everything."

"Okay. Well, if you're sure,"—Armin sits up, face relaxing into a soft smile—"So there's still a lot that's unknown regarding the world and its microbial diversity, but that's what makes it super cool. We can be one of the first to research it, which is also kind of frustrating, since there's so much information to look at and few references to compare it to, but it's crazy to see how these organisms thrive in climates that we find uninhabitable. If we can learn how they're able to survive, we can apply it to so many different things to improve people's lives. We could slow down the spoilage of food to aid starving communities; preserve stem cells and embryos; prevent hypothermia during medical procedures."

His hands are waving all over the place, words coming out a mile a minute. "And even if we can't apply these functions to our world, it's still really interesting. We also went along the peninsula to find these micro-animals called tardigrades in the moss cushions, they're honestly pretty cute. I mean, you have to see them through a microscope and then some special imaging to get a good illustration of them, but still cute nonetheless."

You always liked the way Armin explained things: passionate, never condescending, always detail-oriented. It was one of the main reasons why you wanted to keep studying with him: even as the semesters pass, and the two of you no longer have any shared classes, you still find yourself captivated in what he has to say.

But never had his words made your mouth water. That shouldn't have been as hot as it was, and have you been staring at his mouth this whole time? You nearly choke on your spit when you swallow.

"Oh! I could show them to you, if you want," Armin continues. "There was a section about them in this one biochemistry book I looked at before my internship. It had a cool visual of the types of environments they were found in too."

"Mhmm, sure." You had no idea what he just said. When he starts getting up from his chair and motions you to follow you, you move without a second thought.

Fucking whipped.

The science section is further back in the library than you expected. It seems like you pass every subject before Armin stops at a particular shelf. You can't tell if the old smell is coming from the wood of the shelf or the yellowing papers. Probably both.

It was so quiet in this section. Even when classes pick up, you doubt many students travel this deep into the building.

God, the things you could do to him here without anyone noticing.

No, fuck. Stop. Are you seriously going to get horny in the middle of the library?

You force yourself to read the titles on the shelves. You get to a textbook titled Supramolecular Chemistry: Fundamentals and Applications when Armin mutters to himself, "It's either on this shelf or the one above it ..." He's tracing his finger across the book spines, rapidly scanning each title on the shelf that's eye-level to him. "Not here …"

Armin proceeds to go one shelf up and start searching. Unbeknownst to him, his shirt rides up and exposes the lower half of his stomach.

Great. As if the repeat of the long sleeve and t-shirt combo wasn't torture enough.

Your eyes lock on to the bare skin like a Victorian man seeing ankles. His stomach looks muscular yet soft, you can almost see the faint divot of his belly button at the top. Looking further down, his jeans are slung low on his hips, the band of his green, plaid boxers peeking out of the denim. But what really gets you is the vertical line that connects the two.

Dark blond, nearly brown hair travels from his navel and disappears underneath his boxers. It's probably only a centimeter or two wide, the hairs straggly and zigzagging ever so slightly down. It's the sexiest thing you've ever seen in your life.

You want to push him against the shelf hard enough to make the near-rotting wood splinter. You want to give him a searing kiss to his parted lips and slacked jaw before getting on your knees for him. You want to yank the zipper of his pants down with such force that it nearly rips off the teeth. You want to follow the hair down and see if it darkens around the base of his cock.

Jesus Christ, what is happening to you? Look away. Now.

You don't listen. You're too far gone.

The show continues as you picture yourself nuzzling the happy trail while kissing the skin above his underwear. Armin's looking at you with wide eyes as he lets out a choked gasp. He looks like he wants to tell you to stop, but there's something about the way his eyes glaze over and how nostrils flare that makes you think he wants you to keep going.

A harsh pull on his clothes frees his growing cock. You savor the moment and give gentle kisses up his length, feeling him harden after each peck. A wet lick across his tip makes Armin groan and brace himself on the nearest books behind him. You swallow the bitterness of his precome and moan at the taste. Without warning, you suck his length into your mouth, letting your tongue drag against the underside.

Armin sinks into the shelf with a gasp as saliva pools and leaks past your lips. The messy sounds of your sucking grows, and a choking noise echoes loudly in the room. You're desperate to take every inch of Armin down your throat, and his poorly muffled moans only spur you on. His knuckles whiten as his grip on the shelf tightens, but it's a feeble attempt at restraint when he's subconsciously thrusting himself deeper into your mouth.

When you come up for a breather, you press a sweet kiss right below his belly button, letting the drool dripping down your chin soak the hair beneath it. It matches perfectly with the wet patch smeared around his base. Your hand jerks his slick cock and you can feel him twitch in your palm. You can't decide if you want to swallow his warm load or spit it into the mess you already created.

"Here it is, someone didn't shelve it right. How hard is it to follow the LCC system?" Armin pulls the book down with an exasperated sigh. "Give me a second to find the sect—are you okay?"

You look like a nervous chihuahua. Your shoulders are pulled tight toward your body and your eyes are bulging out of their sockets. You don't think you've been breathing for past twenty seconds.

You feel guilty. Wrong. You need to get out of here before you melt onto the floor.

"Sorry," you barely muscle out. "I just realized that I promised Sasha that I would help her with her uh … laundry."

Armin lowers the book down, closing it between his thumb. "Her laundry?"

"Yep. Poor Sash, sometimes she just doesn't know when to wash and when to … dry."

"… Huh?"

What the hell are you talking about?

"Anyway! I should really get going, don't want her to ruin her clothes and all that. Check out that book and I'll look at it next time, alright?"

"Uh, yeah sure—"

"—perfect! Amazing! I'll see you later!" You don't give Armin a chance to say goodbye before you're sprinting down the hallway. You pass the spot where you were sitting earlier and swipe your backpack off from the floor, ignoring your pens and paper that are scattered across the table.

The run to back to your apartment happens in a blur: all you can feel is the burning in your lungs and the blood pounding in your head. Your leg muscles feel like they're one wrong step away from tearing off the bone, but you still somehow make it to your place in half the time.

You immediately strip your clothes off and jump into a freezing shower. For the most part, the cold water soothes the burn in your body, no doubt helping whatever soreness you're bound to have. You stick your face directly into the spray, hoping the water can wash away your shame.

God, you feel like you're under some spell. Some crazy, twisted spell cast by some outcast pervert that wanted to watch the world endlessly fuck one another. You can't seem to flush out the mixture of adrenaline and arousal that scorches your gut. Drops of water hit your pebbled nipples in a way that makes you crave the chill rather than pull away. Everything feels like torture, but you can't do anything but want and want.

You support yourself with one hand on the wall in front of you while your other hand snakes down to your heat. A wetness that's definitely not from the shower coats the pad of your fingers, and you can't help but dip a knuckle inside you.

The relief, although small, makes you let out a shaky breath. It doesn't take long until you're grinding against the base of your palm and pumping your fingers into your tight hole. Your hand is cramping and you're leaning your forehead against the wall, moans airy and faint against the running water.

A curl of your fingers makes you come with a silent scream. The inside of your thighs are left a slippery mess and your bicep is still aching after you loosen your wrist from your cunt. You come back to your senses and remorse kicks in. Something deep inside you still simmers, and you have a feeling this was only the beginning.

"Fucking hell …" you whisper with a huff.

Grabbing the shower knob, you move the water to a reasonable temperature and clean yourself up.

… You can't stop masturbating.

If you weren't in class, you were in your room with your hand shoved down your pants, too pent up to even take them off. Even with your frequent showering (your water bill is going be insane this month) and wipe downs, you constantly felt damp and icky.

Your underwear was either wet with arousal or sticky with your come that somehow continues to leak out of you hours after touching yourself. The window in your room is permanently propped open and your candle is barely holding on, but you can't seem to waft out the smell of sex. You might as well wear a sign that says "World's Biggest Pervert" when you walk around campus.

One thought of Armin, and you feel a pulse between your legs. Your dreams were plagued with him and all the different ways you could make each other get off, making you wake up to a sopping mess in your shorts the following morning and filthy visions that you can't help but touch yourself to for real.

It was especially agonizing on the days you met up with Armin. Fortunately, logic hasn't completely escaped you yet, and you made sure all your hangouts have been in public spaces the past couple of weeks, using the library or coffee shops as buffers for your dirty mind. It worked, for the most part.

You ignore the time last week when Armin took his glasses off to clean them against his t-shirt, and how his tongue darted out between his lips when he buffed a particularly stubborn smudge, making you thankful for the thick seam in your jeans. It was enough to relieve the ache in your clit until you got home, where you immediately shoved a pillow underneath you and humped the thing within an inch of its life.

You also ignore the time two days ago, when he saved you from being taken out by some idiot student and their motorized scooter by grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the middle of the sidewalk and into his chest. Your face was surrounded by the earthy musk of his cologne, leaving you feeling warm and dizzy afterward. Later that night, you notice how the smell lingers on your shirt, and you ride your fingers while sniffing the fabric.

…

Okay, so maybe you weren't doing so great. At least you weren't doing this in public, which is … the bare minimum, technically, but it's still something.

Eventually, the weekend comes around, and it's both a blessing and a curse: you could stay at home and get yourself away from the source of your dirty fantasies, but now that you had no actual plans or obligations, you were left to your own devices, and you severely underestimated yourself.

When you wake up to a vivid dream of Armin's mouth between your legs, you try to match the sensation with your fingers until you're squirming under the covers. When you take a shower to clean yourself up, you use the pressure of your shower head on your clit and picture Armin with you, naked and kissing down your neck. When you try to distract yourself by reading a book on the couch, you imagine your head in Armin's lap and his fingers in your hair, and somehow that makes you horny enough to throw the book on the coffee table and grind against the armrest like a dog in heat.

Your afternoon passes in the haze left by your orgasms. You lost track after the fifth one, and your head feels like it's full of fog as you try to stay cognizant. Your pussy is spent and swollen from your constant abuse, but you know if you worm your hand back down it'll be aching for more.

You're in the bathroom cleaning up after yourself after your latest session (an ad for a cruise trip to the Bahamas played on your TV, and you couldn't stop picturing Armin shirtless afterward) when your phone vibrates on the sink counter.

[Armin 🌊]

Are you busy this weekend? I saw they released the new season of that one anime you told me about, did you want to watch it together? My place is free! :)))

The text makes you check your calendar in shock. You've been so frazzled from your new… interest? Habit? Addiction? You honestly forgot all about the show in the light of recent events, but you're more shocked that Armin somehow remembered this.

You told him about the news months ago, a few weeks before he left for the South Pole. It was a comment in passing, when you were searching the manga section of the bookstore to find your next read. You pointed out the series and mentioned you were excited to see them animate the next arc, since it was one of your favorites. From what you knew, he didn't watch the show, let alone read the manga, and you definitely didn't expect him to think twice about what you said.

Armin was attentive, you knew that for a fact. Quiet, but always paying attention. Yet experiencing it first-hand, at a time where you're nothing but self-destructive and avoidant, makes it especially touching. For the first time all day, your mind feels a bit clearer, and you text back that you'll be over in an hour before you change your mind.

A familiar rush of blood ripples through you. Unfortunately, the idea of seeing Armin excites you more than it should.

You put your phone back down by the sink, and with a frustrated groan, your hand finds its way to the eager spot between your thighs.

You're still waiting at Armin's door a couple minutes after you text him that you're here. Confused, you slowly knock on the wood, the rhythm choppy and awkward. Was he not home for some reason?

You're about to send another knock when the door swings open, an out-of-breath Armin on the other side.

Specifically, an Armin wearing gray sweats and his gaming headset around his neck. You're embarrassed at how attractive you find him right now, and how your breaths are just as heavy as his.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," he sputters out. "I ran as soon as I got the chance, I thought me and Eren would be done with this game before you got here. There's a couple seconds left until the last round starts, you cool just hanging out in my room while I finish up?"

You're not sure how he said all that in one breath, or if you caught most of that. "Hm? Uh, sure. Don't worry about me, I can wait."

Your agreement is enough for him to start jogging back to his room. "Great. Thanks." He brings his headset back to his ears and adjusts his mic. "Jesus, Eren, I'm heading back. You can literally hear me outside your door right now. Don't do anything stupid before I get to point ..." His voice grows quieter as you take your time to catch up to him. You let the initial shock subside and take a deep breath to slow your racing heart.

Armin doesn't pay you any mind when you enter his bedroom, already focused on catching up to the rest of his team in the game. His room looks the same as it always does, though you haven't been in here since the spring. You always thought the space was quite cozy, with his preference of using lamps over the fluorescent overhead light and his bookshelf that contained just as many mementos as it did books.

On the middle shelf, you spot his vintage camera that his grandpa gifted him, along with what looks like to be a vial of water. It's a new addition, probably from the Southern Ocean that he's been surrounded by for several weeks. You make a note to ask if he brought anything else back from his trip.

Your eyes eventually land on Armin's bed and you freeze. It's the same bed as it's always been, with slight chips in the headboard and those navy blue bedsheets that are so stereotypical and dude-ish that it's almost comical. You've sat on his bed plenty of times; it was your go-to spot whenever you came over to hang out. You even made the space your designated nap area when the two of you were studying for finals, the mattress the perfect balance of firm and soft that you couldn't help but shut your eyes for a few minutes.

Sitting on his bed right now, with everything you've been feeling lately, seems wrong. It somehow felt too intimate, an invasion of privacy despite your familiarity. But you're trying to be normal, and it's not like there's ample seating options in his room, so you bite the bullet and sit on the edge of the bed.

You're dragging your nails across the seam of his comforter, letting the mouse clicks and mumbles of Armin's voice drown in the space, when you hear a loud bang from Eren's room and an annoyed groan from across from you.

"Dammit, I told you, Eren, you have to back up. Their tank probably has ult, and we need to save our cooldowns if we don't want to topple over," Armin commands into his mic. "And I can't heal you if you're around a corner, so stop complaining."

Armin's shoulders are hunched over his desk, and his back curving into a position that he'll surely feel later tonight. His right hand whips his mouse in controlled, sporadic directions while his glasses slip down toward the bridge of his nose. He's deep in concentration, you're not sure if he would notice you if you did anything.

What could you get away with while he wasn't looking?

Ew, no. That's terrible, stop it.

You were curious about it, though. Horny, yes, but also curious. Like you mentioned earlier, he was often observant around other people. Is that the case when he's at home, relaxed and in his own world?

Were you part of that world?

Would he notice if you laid yourself down on the bed, your head nestled on his pillow that smelled of his shampoo? Would he be able to pick up on the sound of your pants slipping off your legs and onto the floor? The wet pop of your mouth after you suck on your fingers?

How long could you play with yourself before he turned around? Would he finish the rest of the game and chat with Eren before he even looked your way?

Did you want to distract him? To make him look at you and ruin his game?

You bite your lip at the idea, suddenly feeling hot all over. Out of all the fantasies you've had of Armin, and you were racking up a heavy amount, this seemed the most wrong. Like you were taking advantage of him at his most vulnerable.

But then Armin nearly growls at his monitor, and all rationale flies out the door.

"Fuck! Fall back, Eren! It's a 2v5 right now, we can't win this!"

God, could make that noise at you? Your daydream resumes, and now you're purposefully making noise in the background of Armin's game, letting the squelch of your cunt echo in his room as you let out a moan. You wouldn't stop when he turned around, indulging in the pleasure building in your stomach. You picture him and his eyes narrowing in on you, the look he often makes when he's starting to get irritated at something. Or in your imagination's case, someone.

He'll mumble something to Eren and mute his mic before he even gets the chance to respond. Just when you think he might actually be upset at you, he'll stand up and hover over the edge of his bed, and you'll notice the way his cock stirs in his sweatpants, already half-hard.

It would be all the reassurance you would need to whimper and say, "I'm sorry, I couldn't help it. Need you so bad." You would let your leg reach toward Armin, moving your foot up his thigh and grazing his dick, before stopping and playing with the top of his pants, signaling him to take them off.

You're acting coy, a smug smile playing on your lips. You think you have Armin right where you want him, but then you feel a tight grip around your ankle, the same one that hovers in front of his pants. In one quick motion, your whole body is dragged several feet closer to him, your feet now dangling off the bed.

The abrupt change makes you gasp and your cunt clench on nothing, your hands now at your sides as you prop yourself up. Your shock makes Armin smirk.

"Don't worry. I'll give you everything you need…"

Fuck, you're so horny. If you don't stand up soon, you're going to leave a wet spot on his bed.

You high-tail it for the bathroom across the hall, mumbling an excuse that Armin definitely didn't hear over the chaos happening on his screen. For the best, you think. It'll give you more time to put yourself together.

When you're in the bathroom, you hold yourself over his sink and stare at your reflection. Is this what your friendship with Armin is going to be like from now on? Getting turned-on by your best friend, then feeling guilty and avoiding him, only to jerk off to him anyway? Is he wasting his time on someone who's nothing but a complete pervert?

Your brain feels like it's being strung out in a million different directions, but it's still nothing compared to the throbbing deep in your cunt.

You double-check that you locked the bathroom door before you pull your pants to your feet, goosebumps raising on your exposed lower half. The wetness from your pussy sends a chill through your body, but you soon warm up when your fingers slink down and past your folds.

With perfect precision, you continuously hit the spot deep inside you that makes your toes curl. The knot in your belly tightens and a wave of pleasure starts creeping in. You're so close, putting more of your weight against the sink as you ride your hand to your orgasm—

There's a knock on the bathroom door.

"Sorry to bother you," Armin begins to say. "Eren and I finished our game, so I'm going to get the show set up in the living room. Do you want any snacks or anything?"

The noise startles you, making you nearly trip on your pants that are still on the floor. Your heart is pounding against your ribcage and your eyes are bulging, staring at the door like it's about to swing open and reveal your dark secret.

Armin calls your name when you don't answer right away. "Everything good?"

Shit. "I'm fine! Sorry, I was just thinking … maybe some popcorn? Or whatever you're having is fine … I'll be out in a minute!" You swear your heart is going to burst out of your chest.

"Alright, sounds good."

The sounds of footsteps fade away from the door and down the hallway. The beeping of the microwave confirms he's in the kitchen, and you quickly pull your pants up and wash your hands, ignoring the dampness in your underwear sticking to your skin.

What the hell is wrong with you? You're at Armin's apartment for crying out loud, you shouldn't be trying to get yourself off in his bathroom. Eren's in the damn room next to you right now. You should at least have the decency to pull it together until you got home.

You opt out of drying your hands and place your palms on your hot face, letting the cold water calm you down. When you feel like you're at a reasonable temperature, you open the door and head to the living room.

Armin's already sitting on the couch with the TV on and popcorn on the table in front of him, sending you a quick smile when you pop into view. Eren's sitting next to him, hunched forward and staring at his phone.

"Oh, hey Eren. Are you joining us?" you ask, relief starting to set in; he would be the perfect buffer between you and Armin.

"Nah, I'm just hanging around. I'm waiting for Mikasa to pick me up so we can get dinner together." He glances back down at your phone, not noticing how your body deflates at the news. Armin does, though. "Actually, it looks like she just parked, so I'll see you guys later." He stands up from his spot on the couch. "Have fun with whatever you're watching, I'm sure it'll be good. I'll be back later tonight, so could you leave the door unlocked for me?"

"You know you could make a copy of a key for like, three dollars, right?" Armin points out.

Eren shrugs, taking the comment as a yes. "Then I guess I'm three dollars richer. See ya guys."

You laugh at Eren's irresponsibility and wave him off. When he slams the door on his way out, you feel a weight land back on your shoulders as you're left standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room.

Armin scans you with concerned eyes before breaking the silence. "I saved a blanket for you, if you need it."

He points to the blanket lying on the back of the couch. It's the same blanket that you always use when you're over. No matter the weather and what you're wearing, your legs always got chilly whenever the two of you watched something. The sweet action stirs terribly in your insides, making you feel disgust for yourself. You don't deserve him.

You mumble a quick thanks, grabbing the blanket and sitting down. You make sure to put extra space between the two of you before bringing your knees to your chest and tucking the blanket under your feet. While you're trying to get comfortable (a task more difficult than it should be), Armin's doing the same, sitting cross-legged on the cushion while grabbing the popcorn and placing it in his lap.

He grabs a handful of popcorn, pointing to the bowl with his other hand and asking, "Want some? I added extra butter for you."

You stare at the sight at bit longer than acceptable. Luckily, Armin is already looking away from you, searching for the remote and hitting play. "Yeah. Thanks," you gulp, trying not to think of the implications of his actions just now as you grab a few pieces.

He was offering you popcorn, not asking you to grab his dick. Get your mind out of the gutter.

The first episode drags; not because it's bad, honestly you had no clue what was happening, despite having read the manga. No, you were more focused on looking like you were paying attention. Your eyes haven't left the screen once, and you haven't even made a grab for the popcorn bowl even though by this point, you usually would be debating if you should pop a second bag or not.

It's not until the outro song plays that you snap back into reality, the music playing several volumes louder than the rest of the show. Armin cringes at the loud noise, quickly turning the tv down to a reasonable level.

"Hate when that happens…" he mumbles, putting the popcorn back on the table and getting comfortable again.

First, Armin stretches his neck, extending his head back and forth with a low groan. Then, he stretches his legs and spreads them further out, his left knee almost knocking into your right foot. Finally, he settles back into the couch, and if you stare hard enough, you can see the print of his dick just barely outlined in his sweatpants.

The things you could do with him right here on this couch…

The sight makes drool pool in your mouth, and it reminds you just how soaked your panties are from earlier. Your cunt aches all over again, starving to be satiated after you stopped just before your release.

"So, what do you think so far? I know you mentioned something about a bus hijacking arc? Does that happen in the next episode?" Armin asks, reaching for a few more pieces of popcorn.

"Good. It was good." It feels like the blood has rushed away from your brain and toward your pussy. What are you saying 'good' to again?

Your lack of answer leaves Armin confused, mouth pursed and debating if he should repeat himself. For whatever reason, he leaves it at that. "Uh, alright. You cool to start the next episode then?"

You offer a gentle hum in agreement and he presses play, both of you now awkwardly staring straight ahead.

Great. Now you're horny frustrated and non-horny frustrated. Why can't you at least act normal around him? You need to do something to calm yourself down.

You need to come so bad.

…

No. Absolutely not. You are not going to masturbate in his bathroom again.

It would be obvious, even more so, that you're being weird. Even if it wasn't weird, he would probably think you had a stomach bug or something, which is just as embarrassing. If you went to the bathroom, he would pause the tv so you don't miss anything. You couldn't have Armin wait on you while you came to the thought of riding his thigh.

…

Although, you could just do it here on the couch.

Technically speaking, if you were subtle enough, he wouldn't notice anything under the blanket, especially if you left your legs pulled up toward your chest. It would also eliminate the issue of him waiting on you, since the show would just keep playing.

It was a crazy idea though, and way too risky. Just pay attention to the episode, make a couple comments about it, and everything will sort itself out.

Your pussy throbs, almost like it's fighting against your logic. Apparently, it wasn't taking no as answer, and in retaliation, you're flooded with dirty visions of Armin and his hand creeping under the covers and finding the spot you're trying so hard to ignore.

His middle fingers drags across the seam of your pants, making it dig between your folds and right on your clit. It's teasing, the pressure not enough for how wet you are, but it still makes your legs snap shut as you whine. With a firm hand, he moves away from your center and pushes on your inner thigh, forcing your leg back to where it was. Your other leg moves back too, taking the instruction.

"Don't move," Armin whispers, voice gravelly. "Just keep watching your show. I'll take care of you."

Your whole body feels hot. You want to kick away the blanket and let yourself cool down a bit, but something is stopping you. A part of you that wants to touch yourself and come till you see stars.

With slow, measured movements, you move your hand off the couch, moving it to the middle of your body. Your fingers inch further down, relaxing against your pants as you cup your heat. It's a small comfort as you continue to clench on nothing. Your legs form a tent shape with the blanket, making the action unnoticeable. You could easily move your hand away at any time, and no one would have to know.

Yet the risk to push further entices you.

Armin thumbs the edge of your pants, making your stomach tense at the gentle graze. He pushes the band away from your skin, letting his hand go past the barrier. The tips of his fingers trail down your body with deft precision before they're pushing past the side of your underwear and drawing circles over your entrance.

Your cunt pulses, desperately pleading for his fingers to fill you up. Your breathing comes out unevenly as you try to focus on the scene in front of you. You must be doing a decent job of paying attention, because he sinks a finger inside you, sopping up your arousal before pulling out and spreading it around the outside of your pussy. He was making a complete mess out of you, and you wanted to beg for more.

"I'm going to get some water real quick, do you want some?" Armin asks.

You blink, hand still cupping your mound. "Sure, that would be nice. Do you want me to pause the show?"

He shakes his head, already walking to the kitchen. "It's cool, I shouldn't be long. I'll still be able to hear it from over there."

The moment his body disappears, you spring into action. You bump the volume of the tv up a few notches, letting the noise muffle your own as the hand that's been cupping your clothed core slips fully under your pants. Your hips jerk at the coolness of your slick pussy no longer sticking to your underwear, and again when you finally touch your clit. With how pent up you are, you honestly might be able to come before he comes back.

You imagine your fingers are Armin's, rubbing the hard nub of your clit and making your eyes flutter shut and your head feel fuzzy. Everything is so sensitive under his controlled motions and your skin feels like it's on fire. You're ready to strip off your clothes and plead for Armin to fuck you so good, so deep right here on the couch.

The door opens, making Armin's fingers freeze.

"Hey guys, you still watching your one show?" Eren greets, taking off his shoes by the door. Your eyes are wide, panic thrumming through your body at being caught in the act.

Well, almost caught. Eren hasn't picked up on anything yet.

"Yeah, it's pretty good so far," Armin replies. He starts moving again, dragging a line from your slit up back up to your clit. It's as if he was testing you. Not to see if you would say no—he knew how badly you wanted his fingers. How badly you wanted him to keep going.

No, he was testing to see if you could be quiet enough.

The familiar ache right before you come is hitting you with full force as you continue to stroke yourself with fervor. You're about to let go and fall off the edge when footsteps grow louder.

"Looks like I didn't miss much," Armin mumbles, setting two glasses down. You haven't stopped your motions, going just slow enough to keep your orgasm at bay. He seems to be oblivious at the crude activities happening under your blanket, sitting back down like everything was normal.

Your breaths are heavy and your chest is nearly heaving under the covers. You just need to come at this point. Get everything out of your system, and you'll be back to normal.

Your fingers speed up, your brain on high alert for any suspicious movements that you make.

"You want to watch with us?" Armin asks Eren, barely dipping a knuckle into you. Your cunt tries to grip him, to suck him in deeper. He takes the hint, pushing another digit in and fully fingering you. You bite your lip so hard you nearly break skin, trapping your moans in your throat.

"Eh, sure, why not?" He shrugs, staring at the screen and slumping into the recliner next to you. If he turned a little to his right, he would be face-to-face with your dazed expression and Armin's arm snaking underneath your blanket. Yet Armin was unrelenting, continuing to work you open while his friend sits less than ten feet away.

You can feel the coil in your stomach ready to snap.

Armin angles his hand and lets the base of his palm grind against your clit, and you're creaming on his fingers with a shivering breath. Eren isn't fazed, not even noticing when Armin's hand leaves your body and the blanket, bringing his fingers to his lips and nonchalantly cleaning off your come with his tongue.

A flick of your clit sends you spiraling, your pleasure releasing in waves as you helplessly throb. You let out a deep sigh as you come, hoping that it passes off as a normal breath. There's a thrum of ecstasy that circulates through your veins, but it's nothing compared to the heavy shame that it comes with. Your muscles in your abdomen tighten until they cramp, and the comedown leaves you feeling utterly pathetic.

Your hands feel slimy when you wipe them off on your underwear, and you start to feel even worse. You can't believe you just did that. What the hell possessed you to make you think that this was okay? That you could pretend to be a normal friend after this?

You're an absolute monster. A total creep. You have completely ruined your friendship with Armin and you need to leave. You don't deserve his kindness, not after what you just did.

A layer of sweat clings onto you, and you're sticky with humiliation. "Actually, I'm getting a bit tired. I should get going," you say, moving off the couch and pulling the blanket off you. You're grateful you didn't leave some stain on the upholstery.

"Oh, really? I mean, you just got here, are you sure you don't want to stay a bit longer?" Armin pauses the tv, the second episode barely halfway through. He's looking at you with worry, but you can tell by the small pout of his lips that he's trying to hide his disappointment.

Your heart aches at the sight. It feels like every choice you make is the wrong one.

"Yeah, sorry. Just a long day and all that." Not technically wrong, you did masturbate about a dozen times today. "Plus, might as well walk home before the sun sets. No need to worry about me." You're making a dash to the exit, your shoes half-on before you swing the front door open.

"Wh—okay. Uh, have a good night then. I'll see you later?"

The door closes before he finishes the that last part. Your hand is still on the doorknob, and you're tempted to open the door again just to agree that yes, you'll hang out again. That everything was okay. But that would be a lie, and that would probably just make things worse.

You couldn't keep dragging him through this cycle of trying to be his friend and then pushing him away when you failed. Until you could get yourself in check, you were a burden.

You walk away from the door, unsure when you would let yourself see your best friend again.

"Alright, you're pissing me off," Eren says.

You look up from your spot in the coffee shop, confronted with irritation personified. "Uh … sorry?" You're not sure what's happening right now, and it doesn't help that Eren is just an intense person to begin with. He could be mad at anything. "… did I forget we made plans? Or like, forget to say 'bless you' or something?"

"What?—no. At least, I'm choosing to excuse your bad manners on that right now, but next time it wouldn't hurt you to say it at least once! Allergies are no joke! Ragweed could kill me. Do you want your lack of common courtesy to forever be stuck on your conscience?"

"Considering that ragweed is probably not deadly? I think I'll be fine," you reply with a blank stare.

"Ugh, whatever. I'm not having this argument again." Who else was he having this conversation with? "I meant what's going on between you and Armin?"

The mention of his name gets your attention, a pang of guilt hitting you like a freight train. Eren must notice how you tense, his eyes narrowing in on you.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you bluff, hoping he'll drop the conversation, even though you know he won't. Not only is he intense, but also freakishly determined — a dangerous combination. "Plus, why would I tell you of all people? You're his best friend. You'd either tell him about this or get mad at me and take his side. Or both."

"Well, maybe."

Eren stops.

"Probably."

Another pause.

"Okay, I would, but there's clearly something wrong between you two. Whenever you study here, Armin's usually with you. Instead, he's sulking in his room because you've been ignoring him all week, and I know you've been ignoring him all week because he looks at his phone all lost and disappointed, and you're the only other person he texts on a regular basis. So you better talk to him and fix whatever is wrong with you or I'll—"

"—you'll what? You don't have anything on me, Eren, and you definitely don't scare me."

"Told you," a voice behind you says.

"—fuck! Were you there this whole time?!" you shout, turning in your chair and locking eyes with Mikasa's.

She ignores your question and simply takes the seat next to you. "Look, we just want to help you. Both of you. Something clearly happened between you two. Or at least, something happened between you two that only you know about. I don't think it's fair to keep Armin in the dark. So if you don't want to tell him right now, I think you should at least tell someone what's bothering you."

You sigh. "Look, I appreciate it, but I promise you there's nothing—"

"—I'll tell Historia that you were the one that shrunk her favorite sweater in the dryer."

"Oh fuck you. I thought you were doing a good cop, bad cop thing," you scoff.

Ever since that night at his apartment, you went no contact with Armin. It might not have been the best strategy, if you can even call it that.

You ignored his text checking to see if you made it home okay, then his ones asking if you wanted to study at the library, followed by his ones where he linked a particularly interesting YouTube video defending fanfiction and asked for your thoughts. That one took a lot of strength to ignore, and you now have a saved paragraph in your notes regarding the topic.

But the worst messages were probably his last ones.

[Armin 🌊]

Is everything okay? Haven't heard from you in a while

Did I do something? Because I'm not sure what

I'm sorry for whatever I did, and for not knowing what I did :/

Can we at least talk about it?

I want to figure this out

I miss you

You had to shut your phone off after that last one, and when you turned it back hours later, you couldn't help but feel disappointed that he hasn't said anything since.

It was especially excruciating when you were on campus. Earlier in the week, you were leaving the lecture hall with Annie when you spotted Armin waiting for you by a nearby bench. Before he could spot you in the crowd, you grabbed Annie by the arm and dashed back into the building, mumbling something about forgetting your laptop charger inside.

A couple days after that, Connie caught you walking past the courtyard while he and Jean were tossing a frisbee across the lawn. While he was trying to convince you to check out his next DJ set at the local nightclub, Armin was walking your way, steps getting more urgent when he realized it was you.

In a panic, you told Connie to 'go long' and toss the frisbee to you in the opposite direction. Halfway through chasing the disc, you made a break for it and sprinted away, much to everyone's confusion.

("… I'm not sure they get this game," you heard Jean yell to the two.)

Since then, it was safe for Armin to say that you wanted nothing to do with him. You got exactly what you wanted, and you've never felt more horrible.

You honestly didn't expect anyone to notice the change, but you should've accounted for Eren and Mikasa's unwavering loyalty. They knew Armin better than you, being childhood friends and all. Like you, they would do anything for him, including interrogating and threatening you until you spilled your secret.

"Look, you're right," you sigh. "Armin doesn't know anything, and he definitely didn't do anything wrong." Other than get super attractive and make all your feelings toward him impossible to ignore. "Things between us just got … complicated, and it's just easier if we keep some distance. I swear, I'm doing this because I care about him."

Eren huffs, though he can tell that you're being honest. "I just don't get it." He crosses his arms and tilts his head, glare still as harsh as before. "If he didn't do anything wrong, and you supposedly didn't do anything wrong, what changed?"

Mikasa hums in thought, turning in her chair to stare you down as well. "For once, he actually makes a good point …"

"For once? What's that supposed to mean?"

"—do you not have feelings for him anymore? Is that why you're avoiding him?"

What?

"What?" you blurt out. "You knew?"

Mikasa leans away from you, brows furrowed. She shifts her gaze to Eren, who looks equally confused, then back to you. "Was that … not public knowledge?"

"No!" You're not sure your voice is an appropriate volume for the coffee shop anymore. "It is very much not public knowledge! It's not supposed to be anyone's knowledge! Especially you guys!" You're pinching the bridge of your nose and praying that this conversation can't get any worse. "Please tell me that at least Armin doesn't know I like him."

"Like him? As in, present tense?" Eren catches.

Dammit. The conversation was getting worse.

"Yes, as in present tense," you mutter under your breath, admitting defeat.

"Oh, well that's easy enough," Eren shrugs. "You like him. He likes you. Problem solved."

What?

Mikasa hums again, this time in disagreement before butting in and saying, "Not exactly. They've always liked each other. It still doesn't explain the change."

What?

"Ugh, you're right." Eren slumps back into his seat.

You wish you could melt onto the floor and get mopped up by an underpaid barista. You're frozen in place, helpless under their hot, blinding looks. A pounding thumps in your skull and your brain is trying to stay still and process the information Eren just told you.

"I'm sorry, can we go back to what you guys just said?" you somehow manage to squeak out.

Eren lets out a dramatic groan and an exaggerated eye roll. "You both like each other, keep up. All of us see how you two look at each other. Armin always has googly eyes and this stupid grin whenever he's around you." He then lazily motions to you. "And you … well you used to look at him like that too. Actually you still do sometimes, but now sometimes you look at him all spaced out. And you breath weird … like you're trying to stop yourself from having a panic attack or something … whatever the hell that's supposed to mean."

"—wait, oh my god! You have the hots for Armin!" Sasha yells behind you.

"Oh come on! You too?" you angrily shout. "Were you listening to us this whole time?"

"Well, I work here, so I was originally going to top off your coffee," she explains, gesturing to the coffee pot in her hand. "Then I got nosy. So I eavesdropped instead."

You look down at your cup. "… Sasha, I got a matcha."

"Oh. Guess I was just nosy then." She sets down the pot on the table. You're not sure if she realizes the damage the hot pot is going to do on the wood. "But just hear me out: Armin comes back from his summer of isolation looking like a total nerd, no offense, and now you're acting all weird around him. Eren just described the telltale signs of sexual attraction. Clearly, his new look is doing it for you, and now all these horny thoughts you're having is making your body go into overdrive because of your already strong feelings for him."

Sasha moves her hand in the air like she's solving equations in her head. "You liking him for a year or so, multiplied by the average horniness it takes to want to have sex with someone, divided by the three weeks he's been back …" Her eyes widen, cracking the code. "Oh wow, that's rough. Yeah you probably would have jumped his bones the next time you saw him, no wonder you're avoiding him now."

Your tongue feels like lead in your mouth. Any excuse you could possibly make dies before you can find the words. The three of you are looking at her with varying degrees of shock, disgust, and in your case, complete embarrassment. Someone should tell her never to do math again. But someone should also tell her she may be the next Sherlock Holmes.

"Yeah, I think we're done here. Let's go, Eren." Mikasa stands up.

"Wait what? What happened to you guys helping me out?"

"Listen, I love you and all, but that was before I knew you wanted to do … that with Armin," she shudders. "He's like my brother. And now I can't stop picturing him naked."

Sasha snorts in your direction. "Well neither can they."

"Please stop talking," you mumble back.

Mikasa grimaces and takes a deep breath before talking again. "Just talk to him, okay? And we can pretend this conversation never happened."

You quickly nod. "Gladly."

Mikasa can barely look at you as she heads for the door. Eren slowly starts to follow her, but before he leaves, he turns to you with pursed lips. "So ... that was probably my fault."

He then walks away, not elaborating.

"Wh—a sorry would have been nice," you stammer. Was that payback for his 'bless you' argument earlier? Maybe he had a point about the common courtesy thing after all, though you would never say that to his face.

You let your head drop onto the table and bury your face in your homework with a pained groan. Sasha still lingers behind you, unsure if she helped or not.

"Uh, want some coffee to go?"

You nod into your notebook. "… Yes please."

You let the idea of reaching out to Armin linger. For about a day, that is. Because the following morning, there's a pounding at your door.

Armin is already letting himself in before you register he was at the door.

"Is Historia home?" he asks.

"You know she never is." She practically lives at Ymir's ever since they started dating last spring. Thank god too. You couldn't imagine how much worse your situation would be if she was around.

"Cool. That means I can yell at you here."

The door closes with a quiet click, Armin already standing in the middle of your living room. You're taken aback by his fervor, only responding with a quiet "huh?"

"—look, I was going to let you have your space. I took the hint and left you alone. But yesterday, I said hi to Sasha on the way to class and she basically laughed in my face. And then Mikasa comes over later that night and barely says a word to me. Hell, she couldn't even be in the same room as me without getting war flashbacks or something. And when I finally decided to come over so we can talk things out, Eren tells me to 'have fun' and 'be safe'? Like what is that supposed to mean? Why are all of you being so weird around me?"

And yeah, okay. You kind of deserved this.

Armin's face is red, lungs heaving as he finally lets himself take a breath. He finally meets your gaze, and he deflates. Now that the initial anger has worn off, he looks incredibly hurt.

"I feel like a little kid all over again. Like there's some joke that I'm not in on," he whispers. "Did something happen over the summer?" He pauses, scared to ask the big question looming over his head. "Do you not like me? Are we not friends anymore?"

"What? No—no that's not it at all. Of course we're still friends." You finally snap out of it, walking towards Armin. You want to grab him by the shoulders, to reassure him that he has the completely wrong idea, but you resist the urge. If you got too close, you were worried you wouldn't be able to control yourself.

"Then why does it feel like I'm doing something wrong?"

"It's not like that. You're not—"

"—then explain why you're doing this! You have been weird with me ever since I came back. And now you're ignoring me? Clearly, you have some issue with me, and I seem to be the only one that doesn't know why. I don't want to bother you if that's what you want, but I just don't see what's changed between us." He looks down at himself, hand on his chest. "Do you not want to be seen with me?"

"What?" That's the idea he got from this?

"Were you just being nice to me after I came back? Do you think I look … bad?"

Definitely not. "Armin, please I—"

"—are you embarrassed to be my friend? Is it the hair?"

The complete opposite: you want to pull his hair and see if he moans at the pain. "Armin …"

"—the glasses? The shirt? I know it's goofy, but I thought the Minecraft reference would come off more ironic than serious …"

The shirt is more sexy than funny, actually. That's what the problem is. How is he not getting this?

His ramblings are utter nonsense. Your left eye twitches in irritation. There's an ache in between your legs. You want him to shut up, and you're debating between smacking him upside the head and kissing him to do so.

"—I want to fuck you."

Well. That works too.

"Wha— huh?!" Armin chokes out, jumping out of his skin. The sudden jerk of his body makes him lose his footing for a split second, and his glasses slip and balance themselves lower on his nose. If you weren't making a total fool of yourself, you would find the sight endearing.

"I want to fuck you. Or you fuck me. God, I'd let you do anything to me." The laugh you let out sounds pained and borderline psychotic. "Honestly, I've gone through a million different scenarios at this point, I've probably thought of it all." Your heart rate is going so fast it would probably break a monitor. "Yes, it's the hair. And the glasses. And your freaking clothes. But not liking them? That couldn't be further from the truth."

"I-I don't understand."

You bury your face in your hands and shake your head. Armin is looking at you like you're a stray dog, unable to decide if it's safe for him to help you with whatever is wrong with you. "I can't stop thinking about you, Armin. I've always liked you. I tried to ignore those feelings. I thought I was doing a good job of not letting it ruin our friendship. But then you show up after months away looking like that," you motion toward him, "and my mind starts playing a porno every time you're near me. Even when you're not around me, I'll dream up some perverted fantasy of us and jerk off to it."

Armin sputters. "Y-you what? To me?"

Shit. Did you not mention that?

"So that's why you've been acting off lately?"

You slowly nod. "Pretty much." No use hiding anything now.

Armin's jaw hasn't closed for a whole minute. His eyes keep flittering from one half of your face to the other, completely mystified. It's taking him longer than you expected to wrap his head around this. You're not sure if that's bad or beyond awful.

"So—so that night? At the party? You weren't sick, or—or drunk?"

"I mean, I technically was drunk. At least when you first found me," you begin to say, "really, I couldn't stop thinking of shoving my tongue down your throat."

He gulps. "And when I dropped you off? After you went home?"

"Tried to go bed right away and figure my shit out. Ended up masturbating to the thought of dry humping you in your car."

"Cool. That's uh … nice," he mumbles. His gaze feels darker, his breaths evening out and deepening. The room suddenly felt smaller. "Then what about the library? You didn't have to meet Sasha then?"

You shook your head. "Took a cold shower after I kept dreaming of sucking your dick. Didn't work, though. Actually, it just got worse after that."

He raises his eyebrow at the word 'worse'. The lamp next to you now burns bright like a spotlight. Why did it feel like the tables were turning on you? "So last time, when you came over …"

"Yeah … I tried to figure that out in the bathroom." You feel your throat dry up, and you let out short cough. "I had the urge to touch myself and distract you from your game, so I left to go try and take care of it … but you kinda knocked at a bad time." Your mouth presses into a flat line. "I was about to finish then you scared me off."

"Oh. Um, sorry? I guess?" Armin says. "Is that why you left so early? To go home and uh … finish?"

"Eh, not exactly …" Your body is so warm right now you could burst into flames. You let out an awkward laugh and tilt your head, considering your next words. "I left early because I already … did. Finish."

His face was still, but the blush gave him away. "When would you—but you were on the couch. You didn't get up, so when …" He's struggling to put the final piece of the puzzle together. All it takes is a look from you, and his eyes widen.

"The blanket," he whispers, like he discovered the secret to the universe. "I was right next to you? When you were …"

You give a small nod, keeping your chin down. "Kept thinking that it was your hand instead of mine. That Eren came back early, and you let him watch the tv while you secretly touched me." You scratch the back of your neck. "I guess that fantasy was a bit on the nose, now that I think about it …"

It's quiet after that. This conversation now feels like a trial, and Armin was the judge that decided your fate. All you could do was wait for his response, and pretend you weren't completely dreading it. You stare at the ceiling, sending a prayer to whoever is listening that you make it out of this with some dignity intact.

While you were wishing for a miracle, Armin clenches his jaw. He takes a moment to himself to consider his word, and puffs out his chest before speaking.

"What are you picturing right now?" Armin asks. He senses your confusion and explains himself further. More insistent this time. "Right now, when you're looking at me, what are you thinking about?"

The question makes your stomach tighten. "I'm thinking about how I'm scared out of my mind. That I ruined everything. How I should've looked into those culty celibacy classes more."

He shakes his head and takes a step forward. "You're thinking that way because you're assuming the worst."

"Can you blame me?" you scoff. This feels like a trick question, like you're the one not in on the joke now. Is he toying with you before he inevitably ends your friendship? "What should I be assuming, then?"

"Assume that I feel the same."

It's your turn to be in disbelief. It's like someone shook you like a soda can, you can feel the bubbles fizzing in your system. You're not sure if you like it or not.

"I don't—what do you mean?"

"You're assuming the worst right now, that everything you just said is going to scare me off. So assume the best instead," he says. "Assume that I feel the same. That I've had a crush on you ever since you hugged me after we got an A on that class project."

He takes another step forward. "Assume that I told Connie at the party that he could shave my head. Assume that I had to beg him the next day not to actually do it, after you told me you liked my hair. Assume that I binged the two seasons of that anime the week I came back so I could talk about it with you. Assume that I fall for you more every time you want to listen to my boring info dumps about the ocean."

"They're not boring," you say under your breath, looking away from Armin.

"Exactly," he mutters back, a smirk on his face as he takes another step. "Assume that you're hottest person I've ever met. That I wake up every day wondering why you let me hang around you, let alone be your friend."

His words make you stutter. You lower your head, fiddling with the hem of your top. He takes another step.

"Assume that I always make you take the stairs before me so I can stare at your ass. And that every time we go out to a bar, I'm purposefully sipping my drink all night and pretending I'm not looking down your shirt." A gentle finger nudges your chin up, Armin now inches away from you, cheeks rosy and radiating heat. When did he get so close? "Assume that I want to those all those things you thought about, and then some." He bites his lip, eyes darting across your face. "What are you thinking about?"

Armin's hand still sits under your chin, and it's the only thing stopping you from sinking into the carpet and letting the floor swallow you. You blink owlishly at him. Everything else in the world is frozen except for him.

While you could picture an infinite number of sexual situations with Armin, you only pictured this conversation going a few ways, all in varying degrees of bad. From asking for time away from you to giving you a number for a local therapist, the idea that he would confess his feelings (in such a rom-com way, at that) was nowhere near your perception of reality.

This was better than anything you could have come up with.

Eyes still wide, there's a pause before you finally say, "I guess what I'm thinking about is,"—you tuck some of his hair back, leaning toward his ear—"is if your shirt should stay on or off when I ride you."

"Christ," he chokes out, leaning into you. His face is an inch away from nuzzling against yours. "You're gonna kill me. Can we go back to a minute ago when you were about to have a panic attack?"

You giggle into his hair. "We could … but then we'd be further away from seeing each other naked. Hey though, if that's what you want—"

You don't get a chance to finish whatever shitty joke you were about to make, Armin quickly tilting your head to give you a bruising kiss on your lips. It takes you by surprise, but you soon fall into the rhythm of his mouth when his hand cradles your cheek. His other arm wraps around your waist, making you lean into him. You ground yourself by gripping the collar of his shirt and fuck, it looks so stupid, why does he make it so attractive?

The frame of his glasses presses against the tip of your nose, but neither of you budge at the obstacle. Armin kisses you like he's been waiting for you to tell him about your filthy desires; he kisses you like he's trying to convince you that he feels the same, and that if he stops, he'll never get this chance again. It's intoxicating and entirely mind-numbing, all you can do is go pliant in his arms and enjoy the feeling.

The thin layer of his chapstick smears onto your lips, and the flavorless wax does somehow taste better on him. A carnal craving awakens in you as you lick Armin's bottom lip, slipping your tongue in when his mouth opens in response, deepening the kiss even more. He meets you halfway and groans at the wetness of your tongue. It makes your core ache. You want everything he has to offer.

"My room," you mumble between kisses. A squeeze on your hip tells you he heard your request, and you tug him down the hallway, wet kisses trailing along his jaw and down his neck as you shuffle. Armin's breath hitches when you suck above the bump of his collarbone, and you smirk and make a mental note for future purposes.

In the rare chance you do forget, a red hickey is left as a friendly reminder.

By sheer luck, you make it to your bedroom without any issue. You lock the door behind you — on the rare chance Historia comes by, you would rather not scar her. And you were definitely not holding back on Armin now that you finally had him.

You're back to kissing him as you drag him toward your bed, laying yourself down across the mattress and pulling him on top of you. Armin tries to settle his weight on you as gracefully as he can, his arms on either side of you as he holds himself up. It only lasts for about a minute. You buck your hips to meet his and grind against the growing bulge in his pants, and he collapses his chest into yours with a choked whine.

"Oh fuck," he says, breath fanning the curve of your neck. He attempts to leave open-mouthed kisses on your skin, though they're nothing more than pitiful moans he matches the motion of your hips, hesitant at first, but overpowering now, his eagerness getting the better of him. "Can—can I touch you?"

If you weren't so turned on, you would find the ask a bit silly, considering you're dry humping one another already. But something about the neediness in his voice, and how hard he feels under his pants, makes you moan a yes. "Please, Min. Want you so bad."

"Fuck, okay." Leaning to one side of you and lifting himself up, Armin lets his opposite hand hover over your breast for a moment, waiting for you to stop him. When you don't, he pulls his lip between his teeth and lets his hand cup your chest, kneading you through the fabric of your shirt. You both take a deep breath, yours giving way to a moan as his thumb brushes over the peak of your nipple.

Armin gulps. "Are you not wearing a bra?"

You shake your head. "Never do when I'm home."

"Oh. Cool," he mumbles, "that's uh, good to know," he squeezes you again, "so if I took your shirt off, I would, um …"

"—you would see my tits?"

You're trying to hide your smile as Armin's ears turn red. "Don't laugh at me. I'm nervous, okay?" he jokingly pouts. "It's a lot to take in. This has been my wet dream since forever."

"I'm nervous too," you reassure. "My heart is going crazy right now. Want to feel it?"

"… is this your way of making me grab your other boob?"

You wrap your hand around his and guide him to the other side of your chest. "Can't it be both?"

Your hand curls, forcing Armin's to do the same. He must feel the way your heart thumps under his palm, judging by the way his shoulders lower and his eyes crinkle. Another soft squeeze later, this time on his own accord, he takes a deep breath and says, "Okay, think I'm a bit better now, thanks." He pecks the underside of your jaw, the spot tingling afterward. "Can you sit up a little for me?"

Nodding, you push yourself up as Armin sits up and leans back on his heels. His fingers lace around the hem of your shirt and slowly tugs the material up. When your shirt moves past your stomach, you raise your arms out and let the fabric slip off the rest of your torso. You lower yourself back down onto your bed, giving him a full view of your tits.

"Oh wow. Okay," he croaks out, "those are … really nice. Fuck, you're so hot."

You hide your face into your pillow. Armin was the perfect mix of hot, pathetic, and endearing. One second you're horny out of your mind, the next you're teasing and bantering, and now you're flustered at his honesty. It was a whiplash that you couldn't get enough of.

Familiar hands trace up your sides, holding you just below your breasts. You turn and stare down at Armin, who peppers kisses up your sternum. At the top of your chest, he meets your gaze and places a sweet kiss on your lips before moving to take his glasses off.

"Wait no, I like your glasses," you pout. "Why are you taking them off?"

Armin just smiles. "I appreciate your enthusiasm for them, but they'll just be in the way when I do this."

"Do what? Kissing earlier was fine with them, I don't see what—oh fuck."

The view below you was obscene: Armin firmly cups both of your tits and brings them closer to his face as he goes back to kissing the center of your chest. His thumbs skim over your nipples until they pebble under his touch, and a moan vibrates your ribs as he nuzzles your chest, suffocating himself between your tits.

You keen under his touch, holding his head down as your shoulders push forward and brings your chest closer to him. He moans again at the added pressure of you, kissing the center of your breastbone one more time before he lets himself breathe.

"Fuck, I love your tits. I'm never going to get these out of my head now."

The space between your legs starts to throb endlessly. He could take a picture of them for all you care, but one dream at a time. "Don't stop, please."

Armin eyes your hard nipples and kisses up one of your breasts. When he gets up to the center, his lips parts and he sucks on the hardened nub, making you cry out.

"Holy shit, Armin. That feels so good," you whine. He rubs your other nipple and continues to mouth at the other, his tongue occasionally flicking the bud. The warmth of his mouth sends shocks of pleasure through you, and you can do nothing but whimper under his touches as he switches from one breast to the next, wetting your other nipple with his tongue.

A light pinch at the base of the nub makes you gasp so loud you shock yourself. The barely-there pain makes your brain short-circuit, and you grab the sides of Armin's face and bring him up in a feverish kiss.

"Need more," you beg. "Want your fingers inside me."

Armin hums in agreement, moving his weight off you while you continue to kiss. Your hands fumble on the waistband of your pants and you awkwardly kick your legs to shimmy them off, leaving you in just your underwear.

He sits himself between your now spread legs, the wet spot in the middle of your underwear front and center of his vision. "You're so wet," he says in astonishment.

"Because of you," you mewl. "You always get me this wet, Armin."

He groans. "God, that's so hot."

His fingers graze up your thighs and draw closer to the center of your body. He pushes the pad of his middle finger onto the wetness of your underwear, nudging himself between your folds. The wet spot grows as more of your arousal floods the fabric. Armin swears you actually soak his fingers as you whine under his touch.

Every inch of you was buzzing. You were a horny mess whenever Armin was in the same room as you, the fact that he was touching you, however small, was driving you crazy. He starts drawing a line between your slit to the nub of your clit, and a sudden, but well-acquainted tightness pulls at your abdomen. It's too good, too fast. He draws another line, and you realize too late what's happening.

"Armin, wait. I think I'm—"

Your words die off as his finger skims over your clit. On instinct, your legs clamp together and wrap around Armin's hips and you shudder out a surprise orgasm, his hands snapping to your knees to hold you during the tremors. Shutting your eyes tight, you gasp out quiet, strained moans as a wave of euphoria washes through your body.

You let yourself ride through the quivers of your aftershock, your legs relaxing back onto the bed as you start to open your eyes. Once you adjust to the brightness of your room, you're met with a slack-jawed Armin.

"Did you—did you just come?"

"Ugh, yes. Sorry." You cover your eyes with your hands, cringing at yourself. "I don't know how that even happened, honestly. I guess it's been a while."

"Definitely don't be sorry. That was the best thing I've ever seen." He shakes his head, eyebrows drawing together. "I just didn't expect that to happen so fast. Or at all, really. I figured it would take another try or something …" He winces at that last part, then quickly clears his throat. "I guessing that you haven't … you know, all week then? Since we haven't seen each other for a while?"

"… Uh, yeah. More or less."

"More or less?" he asks.

"There may have been a … moment." You let out an awkward laugh and push on your palms until you feel the sockets of your eyes, "Do you remember that video Jean sent to the group chat? Of you and the guys at the gym?"

Armin does a double-take. "The one where I almost bounced a basketball into my face? Seriously? That did it for you?"

"I mean, it was the gym shorts too …" They were weirdly baggy and long on his lanky legs, like he borrowed them from Connie or Eren last minute. In the video, he was attempting a free-throw and messed up before he even tried for the shot, dribbling the basketball right underneath himself and nearly knocking his teeth in when it bounces straight up. It was equal parts pathetic and adorable, even in your time of sorrow.

Later that day, you found yourself lying in bed, crossing your thighs together and rocking into the pressure on your clit as you thought of licking the sweat off his neck and palming him through the mesh fabric of his shorts. Out of all your Armin-related orgasms, this one was probably the most subtle one, but also the most desperate.

Your strategy wasn't perfect, okay?

The mattress shifts, and there's a hold on your wrists. Not too tight, but firm enough to snap you back into the present as you let Armin move your hands away from your face. His fingers trace up and interlace with yours as he brings them close to him, twisting your wrists so he can kiss the tops of your knuckles.

"I think I need a redo," he mumbles on your skin. Even with your hands in the way, you can make out the shy grin on his face. "Need to see if that was a fluke or if I'm just that good."

You scoff, as if you're not dying for him to do more, for him to make you come so many times that your brain turns to mush. Joking or not, he can have this ego boost if it means he keeps touching you.

"Yeah, whatever," you eventually say, smiling back. "I'm all yours, Armin."

That makes his grin deepen. He kisses your knuckles one more time and lowers them down to your sides, his fingers starting to hook around your panties.

With a gentle nod of encouragement, you lift your hips and let Armin slowly drag your underwear down your hips. His fingers graze the middle of your thighs before the center of your underwear finally unsticks from your dripping cunt. A think, honeyed line of your come and arousal still connects the fabric to your core, and Armin groans.

"So messy …" he says to himself. He cuts off the connecting web with a pinch and scoops as much of your slick as he can, smearing it between the pads of his fingers. You see the pink of his tongue between his lips when he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks. The action makes you whimper, but Armin isn't fazed, pulling back his now clean fingers and saying, "You taste good, too."

As flattering as that was, your cunt was aching for more. He must notice the way you're clenching on air, because he mumbles a quiet "sorry" and finishes pulling off your underwear, hooking it off one ankle then the other.

You can't tell if he's trying to be sneaky when he tucks your panties into the back pocket of his pants, but you don't comment on it. He could do whatever he wanted with them, it was only fair after all. Plus, it was incredibly sexy to see him stake a claim on you. You save the fantasy of him jerking off into them for future use.

Armin adjusts and moves further back on your bed. His eyes struggle to focus between your slick core and the rest of your naked body, but the fire behind them is evident, scorching you from head to toe. "You're so beautiful," he whispers.

You lightly kick his foot with yours. "Arminnn" you whine. "C'mon."

"I know I know, I'll hurry up now. Just needed you to know that."

His ears are red again, and you almost feel bad for being so needy and impatient when he was being so sweet with you. Almost. He slinks another couple feet down on the mattress, working himself into a lazy plank with his mouth fanning the spot you need him most.

"Tell me if I'm doing something wrong, okay?" You can practically hear his voice rattling your insides.

"Of course Min, just, please."

Without any other warning, Armin licks the same pattern as earlier, dragging his tongue from the bottom of your entrance to the tip of your sensitive clit. You let out a sigh of relief at the contact, but it soon turns into a desperate wail when he keeps his tongue around on the bud. From there, it's a steady pattern of languid strokes and soft sucks as he makes out with your clit. The wet kissing sounds echo in your room, and you can feel your arousal leak out of you at the sight of Armin between your legs.

"God, that's good," you keen. "Your tongue's so good, fuck. Please don't stop."

A moan vibrates against you at a particularly rough suck. He keeps the same force on your clit and grabs at your thighs, pulling them up toward his head and squeezing at the plush muscle. It was like the longer his mouth stayed on you, the hungrier he got.

You were rapidly starting to lose yourself in the pleasure, and you hold his hair to ground yourself. Your fingers thread through the strands until your nails gently dig into his scalp, and Armin hums at the new sensation.

His lips part from your clit and down to your slit as he licks the drooling mess on your cunt. A thick, slurp noise erupts from him when his tongue pushes past your folds and soaks his mouth with your juices. The noise you let out would put porn to shame, and you can't help but grip Armin's hair tighter as you ride his tongue until your thighs tremble under his hold.

"Close …" you trail off with a moan.

Armin continues to work you open with his tongue and kiss your folds, his eyes dark and hazy with lust as he stares up at you. Maybe it's the way his nose nudges your clit, or the fact that he's clutching the base of his length to calm himself down, but you topple over with a shaky exhale as your cunt spasms around his mouth. Your toes curl into your comforter as your thighs trap Armin, who's still tenderly sucking and swallowing the come spilling out of you.

Eventually, your hips start to writhe away in overstimulation, and he slowly pulls away from your core, looking as disheveled as you. His hair is messy from your death-grip and his eyes are glazed over, but what's the most damning is his bright pink, swollen mouth and the shine that glistens his chin. His chest is heaving, deep breaths syncing up with yours.

"I'm guessing I did alright then?" he asks.

"Something like that," you heave out, still reeling from your orgasm. Your eyes dart down to the lower part of his face. "Um, sorry for the mess."

"Hm?" He follows your gaze and blinks. "Oh, that's fine. I mean, it would probably look bad on my part if it wasn't." Armin wraps the bottom of his shirt into his fist and uses it to wipe off his chin, steeping the fabric with you. You don't think he realizes how attractive that is. "That reminds me, did you want the shirt on or off?"

Definitely doesn't realize.

"On for sure," you murmur, staring at the drying, white stain on the dark green of his shirt, "though I would definitely like to see it off next time."

"Hmm, I like that."

"What—being shirtless?"

"That there's going to be a 'next time'," he blushes. "I know we said we liked each other and all that, but I don't know, I guess it's nice to hear a confirmation of it."

You push on your hands and sit up, your face right under Armin's as you try (and fail) to smooth down his hair. "I like it too." You peck his cheek, watching his flush deepen. "Now, I'm going to need you to take off your pants. I'm dying to see your dick."

He chuckles, leaning into you for a chaste kiss. You can feel his grin against yours. "Hopefully you weren't picturing anything crazy in your fantasies. I'm pretty average."

"With how hot you are, I'm sure it'll be the prettiest, most average dick ever."

"Thanks? I think," he questions, fiddling with the button of his pants as he stands up. A sense of pride flows through you when you see the dark spot of precome on his plaid boxers, the light blue stripes looking shades darker under the stain. You already have a faint idea of what his dick would look like, based on how it was pressing against his clothes, but when he finally exposes himself to you, your brain freezes and has to reboot.

Armin wasn't being modest, he really was an average size, not that any of that mattered to you. But you too were honest earlier, because it really was the prettiest dick ever. You admired the way his hair around his base was neatly trimmed; it was also a tad darker than the happy trail above it, meaning your daydreams were both erotic and accurate.

As you made your way up his length, you could see how his tip was shiny from his precome, and how he looked so hard that it made you throb back in sympathy. With his size, you probably had a decent shot of deep throating all of him, and you were more than eager to try and find out.

You're an animal on the prowl as you start crawling toward the edge of your bed, staring at Armin with big, hungry eyes. "Need you in my mouth," you purr, and his cock twitches in response. Your wanting mouth is right in front of his tip, and just when you're about to revel in the salty taste of him, he winces and yanks you by your hair until you're at least a foot away from him.

"Shit—sorry." His hand clasps around his cock with such vigor, you're worried that's he going to pop a vein. He tightens his grip one more time before letting go with a relieved sigh. When he looks back at you, his whole body deflates and he hangs in head in embarrassment.

"Sorry, that was totally out of line," he says, shaking his head. "That sounds really hot, but I'm like, this close to coming." He winces again, as if the mere thought of coming was about to send him over the edge. "I think I got more worked up from eating you out than I realized, so I probably won't last much longer, and I really want to come while I'm inside you. Is—is that okay?"

You weren't sure if you should mention that you quite liked how hard he pulled at your hair, or how hearing how worked up he got from you was such a turn-on. It was white noise compared to him basically begging to fuck you.

"More than okay," is what you end up saying, a sly smirk forming. "Do you still want me to ride you?"

"God yes. Please do that, fuck," he rambles, frantically agreeing.

"Alright," you reply, your smile turning mischievous when you notice that how his cock is bobbing so close to your face. With Armin still in his daze, you couldn't help but send a quick kiss to the head of his dick. A sharp gasp escapes him as he nearly keels at the contact, gripping himself again.

"Jesus—fuck!" His face is as red as his tip, and his knees buckle so hard you're worried you completely broke him. "You're such a—oh god—I don't even know what to call you I'm so fucking horny. Please keep going before I blow my load on your floor," he begs, ignoring the amusement on your face.

Armin looks delirious when you guide him back to your bed, if he had his glasses on (and you'll be sure he does next time) they would probably be a fogged-up mess with how heavy he's breathing. Excitement courses through you thinking of how much worse he'll be when he actually feels you.

Without a second thought, you swing your hips over him and support yourself on the top of his chest. You lean forward and kiss his lips, the tangy taste of your come still lingering on him as he weakly kisses back. Your nose bumps against his as you mutter, "Is now a bad time to mention that I'm on birth control?"

His groan is borderline agonizing. "It is if you're trying to go for longer than a minute."

"Hey, give yourself some credit. I bet you can make it for at least two."

He wants to banter back, but the conversation soon ceases when he feels the wetness of your folds soaking his shaft, the two of you whimpering at the feeling. Armin feels velvety under your grasp, and when his head prods at your entrance, his stomach clenches and his hands fly to your hips. You feel his fingers dig into your flesh as he restrains himself from pushing into you, letting you take him at your own pace.

Even with how soaked you were, and how well his tongue worked you open, the stretch was still overwhelming. You have to pause halfway down his length and take a deep breath, your cunt giving Armin a small squeeze as you take a deep breath. He's staring in complete wonder at the sight of where you two meet, awestruck at the way your hole swallows his cock.

In all of your fantasies, this part was always the fuzziest: your fingers were never enough to replicate your visions, too short and too small to imagine as Armin. But now, as you're buried to the hilt and your heart is in your throat, you're realizing that even your dreams couldn't live up to the real deal.

Armin was the perfect length for you, and the thought makes you swell with fondness. The fullness stretches you so good. The longer you sit on him, the likeliness that you won't last much longer than him increases.

"—fuck, you're so tight," he sighs, "this is better than anything I could've imagined."

You laugh, though it comes off a bit strained. It was like he read your mind, which would have terrified you less than a day ago. Now you want nothing more than for him to know just how obsessed you are.

"I'm gonna start moving now," you say. Armin bites his lip and adjusts his hold on your waist, anticipating your next movements.

The wind is immediately knocked from him when you rock your hips, the drag of your cunt on his cock is all but torturous with how good it feels. Your rhythm is awkward for the first bit, angles varying a couple of degrees here and there while you try to find what feels best. Though to be honest, it all feels amazing. If Armin was able to focus on anything other than his breathing, he would probably agree.

The next roll draws a surprised moan from you, the new angle hitting a spongy spot that makes your eyes roll back. Chasing the feeling, you pick up your pace and start bouncing on Armin's cock, wet, smacking noises echoing where your ass meets his skin. It blends in wonderfully with the creaking of your bed frame and Armin's guttural groans.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, you take me so well. Your pussy is so perfect," he says in awe.

You whimper at his praise and your cunt throbs in response. It makes Armin curse under his breath. "It's so deep in me, Min," your voice comes out hoarse. "Your cock feels so good."

"Yeah?" he asks. His hands lower, his fingers pressing into the swell of your ass and helping your lift yourself up and down his length. "Fuck, don't stop then. Take what you want."

His words make you gasp, spurring you on. Your nails dig into his shirt like you're clawing for the pale skin underneath, and your movements become fervid as you relentlessly slam yourself down on his cock. When you feel a burn zip through your thighs as you start to lose stamina, you quickly switch your motions and grind hard against the base of Armin's length, circling and poking that delicious spot deep that sends sparks through your nerves.

Your drooling cunt soaks the hair around his cock up to the edge of his shirt. Armin looks down and moans, "You're making such a mess on me. Want you to come on my cock so bad. Can you do that?"

You nod so fast your head spins. The pit in your stomach tightens as your legs start to shake, your movements growing tired as you try to push through and find your peak. Armin catches your frustrated whines and shifts under you. Confused, you purposefully slow yourself down, ready to ask if he's okay, but any concern is erased from your consciousness when you feel a wet press of his thumb rub against your swollen clit.

"Oh fuck—right there. I'm gonna come, Min," you say with a hard clench. Your previous exhaustion is forgotten as adrenaline gives way, the added pleasure sending you into overdrive. His thumb flicks your clit the same time you slam down, and your mouth drops open in a silent scream, your cunt unrelenting as you come, holding Armin inside you like a vice.

"Shit—you're gripping me so tight. Come here," he pleads, but it's more of a demand when his hands slide to your back and push you into his chest. It's more teeth than mouth when he tries to kiss you, lips far too needy to properly meet, but it's satisfying all the same.

Armin's slowly rocking into you, your walls still trembling out the last of your orgasm, and his nails scrape into your sweaty skin as he hisses. "Fuck, I'm gonna come. I want to come so bad," he grunts against your lips.

"Want your come," you whimper back. "Fuck me until you come, please."

The next few moments are a bit cloudy, but somehow you end up rolled onto your back, legs wrapped around Armin as he thrusts into you with abandon. Your cunt feels like it's on the brick of overstimulation, but you welcome the sensitivity when Armin pants into your neck with such desperate determination.

His hips start to stutter and his whole body tenses as he comes with a shudder. You can feel Armin's cock pulse inside you, spurts of thick come covering your walls as he keeps coming and coming, just about crying from the satiation he's finally given in to.

After an especially hard jerk of his hips, he sighs and goes limp into your arms with a small oomph. "I—sorry, just give me a second. Fuck, that was so good. I think you killed me," he half-laughs, trying to catch his breath.

"I don't mind," you smile, sending a peck to the top of his head while you run your fingers through the ends of his hair that stick to his neck. "This is kind of comforting."

"Yeah, it's pretty nice. I just worry that if I stay inside you, I'll just have a permanent boner, and I'm not sure what the health risks are regarding that."

"Thank you?" you joke while Armin sits up with a grunt, his (still hard) cock slipping out of you. You whine at the loss.

He stares at the space where you separate, tongue darting to lick his lips as he looks at your cunt. "Fuck, I came so much inside you, it's starting to leak out," he mumbles. In a trance, his two fingers make its way to the dripping line of come down your slit, collecting the spill and delicately pushing it back inside you.

You're caught by surprise at first, and despite the puffiness of your folds and the near-pain sensation aching inside you, you found yourself craving the possessiveness and the fullness from his release. You don't think Armin fully registers what he's doing until you softly moan at a curl of his fingers inside you, making him quickly retreat out of you.

"Shit, sorry. Too much. That was weird of me," he cringes.

"No no, it's okay. Feels good," you mewl. "Keep going. I want to be stuffed with your come. Please."

Armin checks your face, and when he sees that you're being serious, his eyes darken and his fingers find you again, repeating the pattern of scooping and pumping his come deeper into you. You force your breathing to deepen as you push yourself through the slight sting, a pit of pleasure forming deep in your gut.

Your cunt starts to indulge in the tender feeling, subtly sucking Armin in deeper just when he's about to pull out. "Such a needy pussy …" he says, his words toeing the line between observing and taunting as he keeps moving. "You can't seem to get enough. Guess I have my work cut out for me. Need to make sure you're always full of me."

A chill goes down your spine at the unexpected dirty talk, making you shiver out a small orgasm. It goes as quickly as it comes, but the bliss it leaves still soothes your system. Your come mixes with Armin's and oozes out of you and past his knuckles. It's too much to push back in, much to your dismay, but Armin seems to have other plans.

He scoops your combined releases, but instead of bringing his digits to your entrance, they meet his tongue as he sucks himself clean. A puny noise from your throat escapes you as more of your come starts to leak out of you. Armin seems to understand, because his fingers massage your folds again and he asks, "Wanna taste?"

You don't trust yourself to speak, so you weakly nod and let your mouth loll. Creamy, white fingers dip past your teeth and sit on your tongue before your lips wrap around him. Your sucks are slow and unhurried, savoring the heady saltiness of Armin and the tanginess of you. You let out a sated hum as you swipe your tongue across the tips of his fingers, and out of the corner of your eye you see a twitch from his semi-hard cock. You also notice the ring of cream sitting on the base of his shaft, and you're both embarrassed and aroused at the mess.

"You're amazing," he admires. Armin moves his fingers out of you with a faint pop of your mouth and places them underneath your chin while he leans in. His kisses are different than before, not fiery like the first time, or quick like the ones in between your lewd actions, or even clumsy while he was on the brink of coming.

They're … precious. Loving, even. You hope you kiss him back the same way, despite your deep stupor.

He rolls off you without crushing you as best he can, the two of you lying side by side, looking up and focusing on the weird water stain on your ceiling. If you squint, it kind of resembles a man riding some titan-like creature. Weird.

"Are you okay?" Armin double-checks. "I didn't like, hurt you or anything, right? I know I got carried away at certain parts, and I hope you didn't say yes on my account or anything—"

You kiss the top of his shoulder, smushing the side of your face into your pillow. "I'm fine. Will definitely feel this later today, but fine. I wanted to do it. All of it," you reassure, and Armin relaxes, drawing his attention back to you.

"Okay, another serious question then," he starts, "what exactly about me makes you so …"

"—horny? Ready to fuck you at a moment's notice?"

"Uh, yeah. That," Armin blushes, as if he wasn't literally feeding you his come earlier.

"I don't know, you just look more … you? If that makes sense? I don't think your look necessarily changed how I felt about you romantically. You were always attractive, and you looked great before, don't get me wrong … there's just something about your 'nerdy' look that makes you look like a virgin that would come in his pants, and I guess I'm really into that?" You scowl. "Sorry, that sounds bad. I'm explaining this terribly."

Armin brushes it off with a wave. "It's alright, I think I kinda get it, plus I did almost come in my pants earlier, so you're not wrong there." He purses his lips, trying to think of an explanation. "It's like how certain styles or colors look better on some people compared to others, but more sexual? Everyone has their preferences at the end of the day—I always like those white pajama pants you wear around your place. The ones with the pink flowers on them? I could always see your underwear when you bent over, it drives me crazy."

You scoff in mock offense. "Creep. Why is this the first time I'm hearing this?" You wore those pants all the time, they were the softest pair you owned and a personal favorite of yours. Maybe all those wash cycles thinned out the material, though.

"Like I said, you're not the only one with a dirty mind. And who are you calling a creep?" He bumps your shoulder with his. "You came how many times? Once from me barely fingering them, might I add."

You cross your arms with a huff, wishing you were under your blanket so something could cover your naked body. "In my defense, I didn't expect to be so pent up, or for you to be so good at … everything." You grow warm recounting his skilled tongue and thick cock.

"Would it turn you on if I said I learned most of it from webtoons?" he smirks.

You cover your face in shame and let out a dramatic groan. "Ugh, yes. Why is that so hot?" The bed shakes as he laughs. At least he's entertained.

There's a stretch of comfortable silence afterward. You eventually pull your hands away from your eyes and bask in the afterglow. A part of you wants to scream in your pillow and kick your feet up like a schoolgirl. Another part of you wants to crawl into Armin's chest and slump your body into his. They're both silenced by the puddle forming underneath you. You're now extremely aware of how sticky you are, and you can't help but recoil a little.

"I should probably clean myself up." An idea forms in your head. "… would you want to take a shower with me? Might be easier that way, and I wouldn't mind seeing you shirtless a bit sooner."

He narrows his eyes at you. "Are you trying to wash yourself or check me out?"

"I can multitask. What, you don't want to shower with me?"

"Oh I definitely do," he clarifies, coming closer into your space. "I never got the chance to check out your butt. Without pants on, that is."

The back of your hand lazily smacks his chest. You start picturing the warm water of the shower and Armin's hands denting your skin as he takes you from behind, your chest and hands pushed against the steamy glass of the door as you leave imprints for future you to find. A memory of Armin's cock pounding into you until you saw stars. You wonder if he could leave another memory on your ass too, spanking you until your skin is sore and tingling.

"Oh wow, are you doing it? Are you having a fantasy right now?" Armin asks, sitting up on his arm to get a better look at you.

You tune back in, blinking away your dream. "Huh? What?"

"You just spaced off and started breathing weird," he points out. "Were you thinking about me just now?"

"Maybe …" A beat. "Yes."

You can't believe Eren actually made a correct observation about you. Were you really that obvious? Mortification takes over as you try to scrub out the dream from your head. You literally just had sex. Great sex, in fact. You should at least wait a few hours before you start conjuring up erotica in your mind.

In your spiral, Armin grabs your hand and traces circles on your wrists. "Well, if you want, we could turn it into a reality," he offers, sending a kiss to your knuckles.

"What—right now?"

"Sure, why not? I don't have much going on today," he shrugs.

"I mean, I don't either but … don't you think you might need a minute? You know. Down there."

Armin lets out an awkward laugh. "Yeah … I don't think you need to worry about that." He looks down at his cock. "I don't think it's gone down this entire time. I might need some more help."

Oh. You would very much like to help him with that.

You draw your hand back in and pull yourself up, trying your best to ignore the gush of come that spills out of you. "Alright, don't threaten me with a good time. I am going to need a food break or something afterward, though, so don't get your hopes up for round three." You pause, reconsidering. "At least not right away."

"Fair enough." He rubs the back of his neck as his skin flushes. "If that's the case, maybe I can take you to that bakery that opened up nearby? For a date?"

That shouldn't turn you on so much, but it does. It also makes your heart sing and your stomach flutter, and your cheeks are about to cramp with how hard you're beaming.

"I would love it if my boyfriend took me out on a date."

Armin's dick twitches and he gulps. "Okay, yeah, I'm definitely ready for whatever you're planning. Please call me your boyfriend again."

You barely get out the words, "I want my boyfriend to bend me over in the shower," before Armin is dragging you to your bathroom with a grin on his face.

[yellow-moon-phase]

ok tea

[thceseus]

he does melt! ⨾ Peter Parker

pairing: bsf!Peter Parker x reader

summary: 'seeing if he melts into a kiss' trend with your best friend, Peter Parker.

tags/warnings: FLUFF YAY! friends to lovers, first kiss with each other, tooth rotting sweetness, no usage of y/n, both are already in college.

wc: 1k words.

a/n: saw this trend too much. decided to write about it. also i feel like andrew's peter can suit this story really well, but i decided tom's peter it is.

masterlist

You walked in unannounced into Peter's cramped apartment. The air was filled with the aroma of instant coffee, the chinese takeout he ate last night, and his laundry detergent that wasn’t quite doing its job.

You quickly found your way into his humbly sized room. The sticky notes filled walls were familiar now as you had been close friends since orientation week. You drop your bag beside his desk, before settling yourself down onto the thrifted rug you helped choose a few months ago.

He was rambling as usual, of course. He started by complaining about his annoying professors,  before switching to talk about a new physics theory he had learned, then continuing to complain about his irritating professors again. 

“I swear,” Peter said, tapping his pen on the edge of his notebook as he followed you down onto the floor. “If Professor Connors assigns me another group project on Magnetism, I will freak out–hell, I will drop out!” His brows furrowed like an angry hound—well more of a puppy, really.

“God, Pete. You're being dramatic,” you rolled your eyes, tossing a piece of chip you had stolen from his kitchen cabinets.

He immediately caught it without looking up and popped it into his mouth. “I’m not being dramatic!” He whined. Sounding more like a petulant child. You couldn’t help but snicker.

“Are the people in your class really that bad?” As you continued typing your anatomy notes on your laptop. Munching on those chips all the while.

“Yes they are! I feel like they came in here just to ruin my life sometimes, you know?” He scoffed and stole the bag of chips from you. “Hey!” You protested, before you snagged it back onto your side.

You both continued working on your own tasks for at least two hours after that. Both of you still complaining about the people in your classes, the stupid physiology test you have next week, how Peter’s newest web shooters had broken after only one week of use.

You huffed, “I can’t do this anymore.” Standing up, plopping yourself down onto his double-sized bed.

He looked up, “What?” With a small tilt of his head.

“Tired.” You mumbled to his pillows where your face was smushed. “I’m gonna take a break.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fifteen minutes?” He looked back to his books. Getting a confirming hum in return.

You then pulled your phone from the floor, to check notifications. Replying to your friends’ group chat, seeing reels people sent to your Instagram DMs, before you open up TikTok to doomscroll.

Your For You Page was just like usual—videos of cute cats, makeup reviews, a thirst trap edit of Jonathan Bailey, until a video pops up.

Forever by Barbara Mason was played in the background, the words ‘seeing if he melts into a kiss’ written on the video. The video was of a couple, where the girl lifted her arms out, making her boyfriend follow, before she leaned in closer, caressing her lips onto the boyfriend. And sure enough, the boyfriend immediately wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in closer. Before melting into the kiss.

You clicked on the sound, finding more and more videos of the trend. You sighed as you felt how lonely it was. How you also wanted to be the one on the other side of the screen. Making stupid trends like that with someone.

“You really like that video huh?” Peter’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. You glanced over to him, already looking at you. The gesture of his pen tapping against his notebook was familiar. 

“Yeah.” You replied quietly. Holding his gaze for a beat too long before looking back down on your phone.

“Fifteen minutes up?” Finally sitting up on his bed.

“Mhm.” He hummed, back to focusing on his notes again.

You stayed seated on the edge of his bed, your gaze focusing on him. On how his brows knitted with every confusing part of the theory, how he ran his fingers through his soft brown curls as a sign of stress, how his tongue would stick out to wet his lips once in a while–.

“You okay?” As he finally felt your staring, head tilted slightly.

“Y–Yeah.” Your voice squeaked, cheeks heating up at being caught.

“Uh-huh… sure.” His eyes narrowed.

“I wanna try something,” eyes widening as you realize that you said it out loud.

“Try what?” He was definitely more confused now. The pen tapping against his notebook stopped.

“Just—something.” Standing up, you set your phone on his desk. “I’m gonna record this, okay?”

“What? Is this a prank?” But he stood up anyway. Wiping away crumbs of chips stuck on his MIT sweater.

“Do you trust me?” You held his gaze, fingers finding his for comfort.

He held your hand, “I don’t know if I do now,”

“Just trust me.”

“Fine.” He huffed.

You then opened your camera app, making sure that the both of you were in frame, before hitting the record button.

“Follow me, okay?” As you turned your back against the camera, facing him fully.

You then began to do the trend. Lifting your arms high up your shoulders. Him following. Before you carefully drop your arms around his neck, leaning closer to brush your lips against his.

He froze. 

“I’m sorry– That was stupid, wasn’t it–” You rambled.

But he cut you off, by pulling you in closer, settling his lips on top of yours. His body molded, melted against your soft curves. Arms wrapping around your body, pulling you deeper and deeper into the kiss.

His lips were soft. It tasted like chips you shared and the vanilla chapstick he likes to steal from you.

You began to forget that you were recording. Only separating yourselves to breathe, before diving back in again.

When you finally pulled back, Peter rested his forehead against yours. A huge grin carved onto his face, making you giggle.

“Where did that come from?” His fingers tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

“TikTok.” You sighed in content.

“Oh you kissed me just for a TikTok trend?” His hands now found your sides, pinching it lightly making you squirm.

“I did.” You chuckled, before kissing him again. And again. Till your lips were swollen and bruised.

Save to say, Peter Parker does melt into a kiss.

© thceseus, 2025 ༝ likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. thank you for reading! ᢉ𐭩

[thceseus]

THANK YOU FOR 2K NOTES WHAT THE FUCK!!!!

[karsyntries]

It’s Jacksepticeye’s Birthday Today!!🎉🎂

I decided I’d send him a sweet thoughtful birthday message on Instagram for his special day 😌💚

Hope he sees it 🥺

[therealjacksepticeye]

[rainedravens]

"holy shit they finally confessed, what comes next--"

[remnants]

if haruka and hikaru don't put on the matching lipsticks that they bought together and make out then what's the point.

[academyofbrokenhearts]

I HAVE ASCENDED

[alxina]

Okay, hear me out, sometimes dramas aren't the best possible versions of what they could be, but there's no reason to throw the baby out with the bathwater. So I present to you: Hikaru from Cinderella Closet, who has me by the throat currently.

Sassy. Stunning. A bit of a tsundere. But most importantly, an icon. Did I also mention crossdresser? Because yes to that too.

More under the cut!

It's been ages since I saw a crossdresser in a j-drama who looked this confident in their skin since Joshi-teki Seikatsu with Shison Jun, yes, THE Shison Jun, now Kazushi in Glass Heart.

Again, the reason for pointing this out is because it's not just a stigma for the characters in the narrative, but also a stigma for the actors, as well. So if they look awkward in drag, they are considered having done a good job—ergo, that was the entirety of their role, to look cute and awkward for one scene and then we can all laugh about it to dispel the horror, because it is a horror, right? Right?

And then in Cinderella Closet we have this:

A character who is not at all afraid to embrace the performative femininity that comes along with the crossdressing, because as he points out in another scene, is that the sole reason he crossdresses is because he likes beautiful things. And the word that he uses in that conversation is 美しい (utsukushii) which roughly translates to "beautiful," but I feel that the closest correlate is with the idea of something that is pleasing to the senses, and not just sight. So what Hikaru is in effect saying here is that he is attracted to the sensuality inherent in being a woman, and he wants to embody that, literally.

And the interesting part is that his crossdressing isn't even the central conflict in this series—the female lead's crippling lack of self-esteem is. And it's interesting how they complement each other—both have something the other person doesn't, and that's how they become such good friends.

But it's not just the female lead who accepts his crossdressing with a refreshing good-naturedness, because what she sees is not a man crossdressing as a woman, but Hikaru, the person, whether he's in a dress or slacks (and let's face it, he looks gorgeous either way) but also the other characters, especially other men, who generally have a knee-jerk reaction to crossdressers are shown to have rather interesting reactions.

So on one hand, we have the female lead's clueless boyfriend, Kurotaki:

(And yes, you saw it right, I think this qualifies as a kabedon as long as there's pinning and a wall involved) whose only reaction to finding out that Hikaru is a man is that, wow, you have awesome makeup skills! And then who proceeds to recommend him for a job and accepts as part of the situationship with Haruka.

And then on the other hand, we have whatever the hell this is:

AKA Hikaru's nepo baby friend who apparently flirts with Hikaru on his free time (and he has a lot of it, too, nepo baby, remember?)

What I love most about this narrative even if it's blessed by the manga gods to be blissfully open about gender fluidity and queer identities (because let's not even begin with the gender roles between Hikaru and Haruka and Haruka's fantasies of seeing Hikaru in a wedding dress) is that they treat Hikaru as a normal person—an alluring person, definitely, but as a person who is part of their lives. And even Kurotachi's ex is spellbound by him after learning that he's a man (after hilariously assuming Hikaru to be Kurotachi's girlfriend, and she wasn't even that far off, because the poly vibes in this drama are immaculate).

Hikaru remains a fascinating character who has chemistry with everyone because of what he brings to the table.

And the whole reason behind that chemistry is that beneath all his layers, Hikaru is incredibly kind. He helps Haruka out when he had no reason to, and then he keeps helping her—it's not because he was already in love with her, intrigued, yes, but not in love. It's because he sees himself in Haruka—as an insecure, shy, awkward woman who's afraid to be in her own skin because of what society has made her believe. And while we haven't had the backstory yet in the series, I can already tell that Hikaru has struggled to be where he is now, and he recognizes that struggle in others, and isn't afraid to point out that it's okay if you're judging yourself by your standards, but if you're judging yourself by society's standards, then you can tell society to go fuck itself.

I shall leave everyone with this visual and then whatever the fuck it is: is it yuri if you want it to be? (I definitely want it to be) and the idea that sometimes dramas are not the best vessels for the characters they contain and then subsequently unleash on the world.

[respectthepetty]

The golden retriever

And the black cat who loves her

I would die for them.

[nabi-unveiled]

Pausing to scream again, because THIS needs to be memorialized right now.

Haruka! Look at you being proactive like the penguins!!!

I'm happy and smiling like an idiot too. I LOVE IT HERE.

[troubled-mind]

CINDERELLA CLOSET [EP 1 vs CH 1] Manga by Yanai Wakana

They. Are. Precious.

[hermusicpersona]

Just a quick thought, kids absolutely love Giyuu and they will follow him around, like they re just drawn to him. And he s very calm and unbothered about it so he doesn t shoo them away or anything, he just notices he has a few littles behind him probably saying how cool he looks and he ll just. Feed them and let them stick to him during the day.

Proof for this : when Tanjiro made Giyuu question his life's decisions by sticking around his house and following him everywhere, Giyuu still brought a small table with food for him even if he was absoutely exasperated . "This child that i saved in the past will not let me exist in peace. But oh while he s here, i shall feed him regardless."

[bambidollies]

forbidden fruit - yang jungwon 𓈒ིུ ❤︎ ˖ ݁

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ . Demigods series

Synopsis: At the halfblood camp, there exists an unwritten but unbreakable rule: no romance between demigods. You, daughter of Athena, are known for your intelligence and wisdom, always following the rules to the letter. However, your life takes an unexpected turn when you fall in love with Yang Jungwon, son of Poseidon. Though your feelings are deeper than ever, you know this relationship is dangerous. Not only because of the rule that separates you, but because any discovery could put your lives at risk. As you struggle to keep your love a secret, you must use all your cunning to hide what is growing between you two, but how long can you conceal what you truly feel before everything falls apart?

Content: +18MDNIfem! reader x jungwon, pjo au, poseidon's son! jungwon x athena's daughter! reader, kind of emotional, based a little on percabeth, soft vanilla sex, praising, a little bit of dirty talk, oral (f.rec), unprotected sex, creampie.

taglist at the end, likes and reblogs are appreciated !!

You were everything a daughter of Athena was expected to be.

Sharp-minded. Disciplined. Untouchable.

From the moment you stepped into Camp Half-Blood, eyes  followed you, not out of admiration, but respect laced  with fear. You were the kind of girl who could outsmart a son of Hermes in chess, shoot a bullseye blindfolded, and recite the Iliad in Ancient Greek just because someone said you couldn’t. People came to you with problems they couldn’t solve. Cabin Six called you their pride. Children asked for advices, girls from other cabins wanted you as their friend and as their ally in Capture the Flag.

You were born into legacy.

Not just the legacy of Olympus, but the sharp, gleaming, heavy weight of Athena’s name. Wisdom, logic, order. Your very existence was curated by divine intention. You weren’t an accident, or the result of fleeting desire like so many other demigods. No —Athena had chosen to bring you into the  world,  and that meant something.

You loved strategy, planning, puzzles. You loved the satisfaction of a well -constructed battle plan,  the thrill of  solving a prophecy no one else could make sense of. When there was a quest to be assigned, Chiron often consulted you first. Not because of favoritism, but because your insight had saved lives more times than anyone could count.

You were your mother’s pride.

Athena didn’t say it often, not in words.  But when she appeared to you in dreams or left offerings by your bedside,  you knew. You felt it in the way she would look at you , composed, proud, maybe even a little possessive. You weren’t just her daughter. You were her creation, the living embodiment of everything she valued.

So you never gave her a reason to doubt you. You never broke the rules. You never chased chaos, or love, or anything that could make your legacy fragile.

Not until Jungwon.

He wasn’t part of the plan.

You had read about Poseidon’s children, powerful,  unpredictable, ruled by instinct more than reason. And when Jungwon stumbled into camp, dripping wet, dazed, and wide-eyed after slaying a Minotaur with nothing but a broken blade and his bare hands, something in your gut twisted.

He didn’t look like a hero. He was clumsy, unfocused, always a little out of place among the well-trained campers.  But he had a quiet strength to him. He smiled like he didn’t care what anyone thought, and he moved through the world like it was his to claim, even when he  tripped over his  own feet.

You should’ve ignored him. You tried to ignore him.

Jungwon couldn’t strategize to save his life. He fell asleep in Chiron’s history lessons. He called Ares kids “mean jocks”  to their faces. He once asked if drachmas could buy snacks at the mortal mall.

You were the camp’s brightest mind. He was the camp’s biggest walking contradiction.

You were ice. He was waves.

And when he smiled at you, really smiled,  like he wasn’t  supposed to, your world tilted.

You didn’t like him.

You couldn’t like him.

But feelings have a way of creeping in, soft and slow, like tidewater kissing the shore. And before you knew it, his clumsiness wasn’t annoying. It was endearing. His dumb questions made you laugh. And his smile?

It stopped being dangerous.

It started being home.

͏ ͏ུུ̑̑ 🌊𓇼

Yang Jungwon wasn’t what anyone expected.

When he first stepped into Camp Half-Blood, the whispers followed him like a storm cloud. Son of Poseidon. The boy who killed the Minotaur. The one who could charm any creature, monster or god, with just a flash of that smile. He was supposed to be a legend in the making. But no one had warned you how annoying he’d be.

He wasn’t tall like the sons of Ares. Nor broad-shouldered like those of Hephaestus. But when he walked into the Big House with his hair wet from rain and eyes wide with curiosity, the air around him shifted.

There was something wild, untamed about him. Like the ocean, unpredictable and a little dangerous. He didn’t give the vibe of a camp hero, he didn’t try to. He strolled into camp with the same nonchalance as a guy picking up coffee on a lazy Sunday morning, and within minutes, he was the center of attention.

It wasn’t his looks, although those storm-colored eyes and those dimples on his cheeks were enough to make the unspoken rule about no romance feel like a joke. It was the way he didn’t care about anything. He had no reverence for the gods. No fear of the monsters. Not even an ounce of caution when he crashed headfirst into a pine tree during his first battle training session.

His lack of self-awareness made you want to strangle him and kiss him all at once.

“Do you always fight like that?” You’d asked, irritated beyond belief after watching him swing a sword around with all the grace of a toddler trying to hold a knife.

His sheepish grin had been all charm.

“Not really. But I do like to make things… interesting.”

And in that moment, with your brows furrowed in a mix of disbelief and growing interest, you knew it wasn’t just the Minotaur he had killed. He was dangerous in a way you hadn’t seen coming.

Not because of his powers or his lineage.

But because you couldn’t figure him out. And gods, that was the most infuriating thing of all.

͏ ͏ུུ̑̑ 🌊𓇼

You started getting closer after an almost-failed mission. It was supposed to be simple, in and out.

You were given the task of retrieving an ancient artifact hidden deep in the woods, a task normally reserved for the more level-headed demigods. Naturally, you had the strategy already mapped out. Every move, every potential threat, every path through the dense forest was accounted for in your mind.

And then he showed up.

“Hey! I’m here to help,” Jungwon called out as he came bounding up to you, his sword gleaming in the sunlight, only to trip over his own feet and nearly crash into a tree.

You sighed before even speaking.

“This isn’t a joke, Jungwon. Stay focused.”

His grin was unrepentant.

“I am focused!” He pulled himself up, dusting off his clothes. “Just… you know, having fun out here. Who said strategy can’t be a little bit of adventure?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, annoyance bubbling up.

“This is a mission, not a game.” You motioned ahead, where the shadows deepened in the trees. “We’re not just collecting souvenirs. We’re in danger.”

“Danger’s my middle name,” he said with a wink, slinging his sword over his shoulder with a nonchalance that made you grit your teeth.

You knew he wasn’t serious, but the way he treated everything like a joke, like nothing mattered, drove you insane. Everything had to matter. Especially here.

As you both ventured deeper into the woods, the atmosphere grew heavier. It wasn’t long before you heard the low growl, something large, lurking in the underbrush. You shot Jungwon a quick glance.

“Stay back. I’ll handle this.”

Before you could take a step forward, Jungwon was already charging at the beast. The wild, uncoordinated way he swung his sword almost sent you into a panic. The monster, a Chimera, its scales glittering black under the dim light, charged, its massive horns aiming right at him.

“Jungwon, no!” You shouted, trying to reach him in time.

But it was too late. Jungwon lunged forward, his sword missing the Chimera’s flank by inches as it swung its tail toward him, knocking him off balance. He fell, hard, straight into a pile of fallen branches, his sword clattering to the ground.

You froze for a second, but instinct took over. The Chimera roared and turned its fury on you, its fangs flashing.

You weren’t sure how you did it, maybe it was your strategic mind, the hours you spent reading Athena’s scrolls, or the training you’d put in, but in one fluid motion, you darted forward, dodging the beast’s attack and slashing at its underbelly. The Chimera screeched and staggered back, leaving it open for another strike.

You didn’t look back at Jungwon, but you knew his eyes were on you. The moment passed in a flash, the beast falling with a thud as you stood over it, breathing hard.

Silence followed.

“Not bad,” Jungwon called from behind you, a bit winded but amused. “I mean, I did most of the work, but—”

You whirled around, cutting him off with a glare.

“You almost got yourself killed, Jungwon! What the hell were you thinking charging in like that?”

He took a step forward, a teasing smile playing at his lips.

“I was thinking I could’ve handled it.” He dusted off his shirt, completely unbothered by the mess he was in.

“You can’t just charge in and hope for the best!” You were practically seething now. “This isn’t some game where you can rely on luck. You could’ve gotten us both killed!”

He stopped, his grin faltering slightly as he met your gaze. For a moment, you thought you might’ve seen something more in his eyes, something other than his usual teasing. But it was gone too fast for you to read.

“You’re right,” he said, tone shifting a little. “I messed up. But it was… kind of fun watching you work.”

Your breath hitched at the unexpected compliment. It was disarming. But you weren’t about to let him off that easily.

“Don’t make a habit of it,” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not saving your ass again.”

His eyes softened just slightly.

“I wouldn’t want you to.”

And just like that, the air around you both seemed to change. It wasn’t the usual playful tension. This was something new, something you hadn’t expected. Something that made your heart skip a beat, and your mind race with thoughts you had no business entertaining.

“Let’s just finish the mission,” you muttered, turning on your heel to walk ahead.

Behind you, Jungwon chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “Sure. Lead the way, smartypants.”

͏ ͏ུུ̑̑ 🌊𓇼

It didn’t happen all at once. Love never does, not the kind that consumes you slowly, like a tide pulling you under before you even realize you’re drowning.

At first, it was just casual interaction. Reluctant partnership. Jungwon had been assigned to your combat team for a short mission, and you’d bristled at the idea. You still thought of him as the clumsy new kid with waterlogged shoes and a crooked grin who stumbled into Camp Half-Blood dragging the corpse of a Minotaur behind him. Powerful, sure, but chaotic. Undisciplined.

You were precise. He was impulsive.

You spoke in plans and formations; he spoke in jokes and instinct.

And yet… it worked.

He followed your lead, even when he didn’t understand it, because he trusted you. Not blindly, but with an openness that unnerved you at first. He never made you feel like you had to prove yourself. And despite how annoying he could be, how distractingly pretty his eyes looked in the sunlight, he listened when it mattered.

Over time, the mission ended, but the partnership didn’t.

Jungwon became a fixture in your life in ways you didn’t expect. You’d find him waiting for you after training, hair tousled, cheeks flushed, grinning like a fool. He’d bring you snacks you liked without you ever telling him. He never let you study in peace, always interrupting with some stupid joke or question, yet somehow, it became your favorite part of the day.

You started meeting him by the lake. At first, just to talk. He’d skim stones across the surface, and you’d tease him about his form, even though you secretly liked watching his arms move when he threw them. The conversations became deeper. The silences more comfortable. You shared things with him you never told anyone, about the pressure of being Athena’s daughter, the loneliness of being seen as perfect, the fear of disappointing someone who wasn’t even really there.

He never judged you.

Instead, he told you about the ocean, not just his powers, but how it made him feel. How it calmed him. How it made him homesick for something he never had. He told you how scared he was of being the son of Poseidon, not because of the power, but because he didn’t know if he could live up to the name.

You touched his hand one night, just for a second, and he didn’t let go.

The first time you kissed him, it was after a sparring match. You had him pinned to the ground, knees on either side of his hips, sweat running down both of your necks, breaths tangled. He looked up at you, his chest rising and falling fast.

And then he said, “You’re not going to let me up, are you?”

You didn’t know why you kissed him. You just did.

And he kissed you back like he’d been waiting for it since the day he met you.

From that point on, things changed.

You were still careful. You had to be. Camp had rules, strict, unspoken rules. No romantic entanglements between demigods. The gods watched. The camp leaders enforced. Love between two children of Olympus wasn’t just frowned upon. It was dangerous. It could tip the balance of power. Destabilize alliances. Invite disaster.

You both understood what was at stake.

So you didn’t walk too close in the daytime. You didn’t meet at the campfire. You never touched hands in public, and you definitely didn’t look at each other too long. You became experts in secrecy. A glance across the archery range. A coded phrase in training. A scribbled note hidden in a book.

But when the sun dipped below the horizon, when the camp fell silent and the stars came out, that was when you belonged to each other. He would sneak into your cabin through the window. You’d lie together, tangled under thin blankets, whispering about dreams and fears, about what it would be like if things were different. If the rule didn’t exist. If love wasn’t forbidden.

Sometimes he kissed you like you were fragile. Other times, like he couldn’t believe you were real. Either way, he always held you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

You didn’t realize how much you’d fallen for him until the thought of losing him made your chest ache in a way you’d never known. Not even the fear of disappointing Athena compared to the fear of being forced to let him go.

He felt the same.

You saw it in the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. Like the whole world narrowed to your presence. Like you were the only thing in the universe he’d fight for.

Now, a year later, the love between you was no longer something soft or budding. It was all-consuming. It was fire under your skin and salt in your lungs. It was dangerous.

And no one could know.

Not if you wanted to stay together. Not if you wanted to survive.

But every day, it got harder to pretend. Harder to keep your hands off him. Harder to lie to your friends. Harder to look your cabinmates in the eye and say you were still Athena’s perfect, logical daughter.

Because you weren’t just that anymore.

You were his.

And if the truth ever came out, you didn’t know what you’d do.

͏ ͏ུུ̑̑ 🌊𓇼

The camp was quiet, blanketed in the kind of silence that only came after curfew, when the cabins were dark, the training fields were still, and the stars felt just a little too close. You stood at the lake’s edge, barefoot in the cool grass, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The moonlight shimmered across the surface like broken glass, glittering reflections catching in your tired eyes.

It was always the lake.

You didn’t come here just to think, you came to feel. The way the air hung heavy with mist. The way the water moved like it was alive. The way it reminded you of him, even when he wasn’t there.

But tonight, you weren’t just feeling.

You were unraveling.

You weren’t supposed to be like this. Not you, daughter of Athena. The one who had always followed the rules, who had always been told she was her mother’s pride, sharp, unshakable, destined for greatness.

You remembered what it felt like the first time you saw your mother in a dream. How her voice, cold and elegant, filled you with something like reverence and fear all at once. You remembered her saying, “You are my legacy. Don’t let me down.”

You’d lived by those words for years.

And now, every kiss you shared in secret with Jungwon, every whispered “I love you” spoken between cabin walls and stolen glances, chipped away at that legacy like cracks in marble.

“You okay?”

His voice, low and familiar, broke through the quiet like sunlight through storm clouds.

You didn’t turn around. You didn’t have to.

“I had a feeling you’d come,” you said softly, barely louder than the wind.

“I always do,” Jungwon replied, and a moment later, you felt his warmth behind you, his presence grounding. “I saw your bed empty and figured you were here again. Couldn’t sleep?”

You shook your head, still watching the water ripple under moonlight.

He didn’t press you. He never did. Instead, he stepped closer, standing beside you now, close enough that his arm brushed yours. He glanced at you, eyes soft, thoughtful, and then tilted his head slightly.

“You’ve got that look,” he murmured, half a smile on his lips. “The one where you’re about to tell me the world’s ending and it’s probably your fault.”

You let out a broken laugh, the sound small and tired.

“Maybe it is.”

Jungwon’s smile faded. He turned to face you fully.

“Hey. Don’t do that.”

You finally looked at him.

He was in his hoodie and sweats, damp hair curling over his forehead, eyes reflecting the lake like mirrors. There was something in his expression, something aching and wide open .and it undid you completely.

“I keep thinking about her,” you whispered. “About what she’d say if she knew. About what I’ve become.”

Jungwon blinked slowly.

“You mean… someone who feels too much and thinks too hard and loves too deeply?”

You swallowed, throat tight.

“I mean someone who disobeyed everything she was raised to believe. Someone who’s risking everything for something that might not even last.”

His brow furrowed, and then he stepped forward, cupping your face with both hands.

“Don’t say that,” he said, voice quiet but intense. “Don’t you dare say we won’t last.”

You closed your eyes.

“I want to believe that,” you said, your voice cracking. “But there are gods, Jungwon. Real ones. My mother watches everything. And if she finds out, if Chiron finds out — if anyone finds out — I don’t know what they’ll do.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

“I don’t care what they do,” he said. “They can throw me in Tartarus for all I care. I’d still choose you.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

“I don’t regret loving you,” you said, tears finally slipping free. “I just wish it didn’t feel like a crime.”

He pulled you into his arms like he was anchoring you to the earth.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he whispered into your hair. “You’re not a crime. You’re my choice.”

You clung to him, arms tightening around his waist as he rocked you gently, the lake lapping at the shore like it, too, felt the weight of your love.

For a long moment, the world faded. There was no camp. No prophecy. No gods.

Just two broken kids trying to build something out of the pieces they were given.

You pulled back slightly, your noses brushing, eyes wet and locked. He kissed your cheeks first, soft, reverent, like he was trying to erase your tears with his lips. Then your mouth. The kiss was slow, tender, almost shy. But it deepened quickly, desperation curling in every movement, a quiet ache that said, I need you. I need this. I need to feel like we’re still okay.

His hands tangled in your hair as your fingers slipped under the hem of his sweatshirt, touching the bare skin of his back. You kissed him like it might be the last time, even if you prayed it wasn’t.

When you finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against yours.

“I don’t know what the gods have planned,” he whispered. “But I’ll fight them. All of them. I’ll fight Olympus itself if I have to.”

You let out a soft, shaking breath.

“I don’t want a war,” you murmured.

“I don’t either,” he said, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “I just want you.”

And in that moment, with the stars watching, the lake shimmering, and his arms wrapped around you, you wanted to believe that was enough.

Maybe it had to be.

͏ ͏ུུ̑̑ 🌊𓇼

It began with waves.

Not soft or rhythmic, but slow, creeping things. Sludgy, dark. Pulling back and forth like something was breathing beneath them. You were standing on a desolate beach you didn’t recognize.

The sky was grey, sickly. The sand under your feet was coarse, colorless, almost like ash. Wind ripped through the air in sharp howls, but there was no sun, no moon. Just the shriek of gulls that never landed and the heavy, endless crash of water. You were barefoot, your clothes torn at the edges like you’d come from battle.

You turned, searching for something, anything familiar.

And then you saw him.

Jungwon.

He was standing at the edge of the water, barefoot like you, a few paces ahead. But something was wrong, his shoulders were hunched. His back was turned. And his hands were shackled in thick celestial bronze chains that trailed into the ocean, disappearing into the depths.

“Jungwon?”

Your voice barely carried in the wind. It was swallowed like it didn’t matter. You tried to run to him, but the sand was too deep. Too heavy. Like it didn’t want you to reach him.

Still, you pushed forward, breath stuttering in your chest.

“Jungwon, please—”

You were almost there, so close you could touch his shoulder, when the sky cracked open with a terrible, familiar voice.

“So this is what you’ve become.”

Your blood froze.

She stood at the top of the dunes, her armor glinting silver, her owl perched on her shoulder. Your mother, Athena. Radiant and cold. Her eyes glowing with power and disappointment. She descended the sand like a queen to her execution.

“All that I gave you. All the wisdom, the discipline. All the years I spent shaping your mind, your spirit. And you throw it away for this?”

She gestured to him, to Jungwon, still shackled, still silent, as if he were nothing but a stain on your honor.

“The son of the Sea. You let emotion cloud your wisdom.”

You shook your head, breath ragged.

“He’s not weak—he’s good, he’s kind—”

She was closer now, towering. Godlike. Her voice thundered across the sky.

“You think this is love. But love is foolish. Dangerous. Weak.”

Lightning struck the sand nearby, shattering it to glass. You stumbled back, hands raised, but she kept coming.

“You were supposed to be a warrior of thought. My legacy. My pride.”

“I am!” you cried, voice cracking. “I still am, I—!”

“No.”

She stopped before you, her expression carved in stone.

“You are no daughter of mine.”

The chains around Jungwon yanked suddenly, violently. He gasped, the first sound he’d made, as the ocean pulled him backward. His eyes found yours, wide and scared and betrayed.

“Y/N—!”

You sprinted, reaching for him, screaming his name, but your feet sank deeper, the shore crumbling beneath you. Your hand brushed his just as he disappeared beneath the water, swallowed whole.

“Jungwon!”

You collapsed where he’d stood. Salt stung your eyes. The waves receded.

And Athena?

She was gone.

Only the owl remained, circling overhead, shrieking and shrieking until—

You jolted awake.

Your scream caught in your throat. Your sheets were tangled, soaked with sweat. Moonlight poured through the cracks in your cabin walls, bathing everything in silver, but it didn’t soothe you. You were shaking.

You sat up slowly, pressing a hand to your heart. It was racing, too fast, too loud. Your mouth was dry. Your skin clammy. You felt like you’d drowned.

But the worst part wasn’t the fear.

It was the guilt.

Because even in a dream, even in your own subconscious, you hadn’t protected him. You’d stood still. You’d let her take everything.

You covered your face with both hands, trying to breathe through the rising panic. But the shame settled in your bones like frost.

You were Athena’s pride.

Until you weren’t.

And now… you were nothing but a girl caught between what she was born to be, and the boy she couldn’t stop loving.

͏ ͏ུུ̑̑ 🌊𓇼

You’d been quiet for days.

Not the kind of quiet that passes unnoticed, like skipping lunch or keeping your nose buried in a strategy scroll. This was the kind of quiet that carried weight. That pressed between you and Jungwon like a wall, invisible but suffocating. You could feel him watching you during practice. In the mess hall, at the stables. Always hovering just close enough to reach you, but never close enough to touch.

And it was killing you.

Because you missed him. Gods, you missed him like air. But every time you looked at him, all you could see was your mother’s face in that nightmare. Her eyes, the disappointment, the thunderous silence that followed.

You’d never known fear like that.

Not from monsters. Only from the thought of losing everything you were supposed to be.

So you started pulling back. Quietly, strategically.

You stopped meeting him behind the cabins after dinner. You skipped his favorite spot by the lake. You turned your back a little too fast when his hand brushed yours during training.

He noticed, of course he did.

You were halfway through sharpening your dagger after sparring when you felt his presence, steady, warm, uncertain , standing behind you.

You didn’t turn around.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

His voice was careful, gentle. Like he was trying not to startle something fragile. He always spoke to you like this, with so much swetness and kindness and love, and it would always drive you crazy, the velvet sound of his voice.

You kept your eyes on the blade.

“I’ve been busy.”

“Y/N.”

Just your name, but something in his tone made you pause. You exhaled, sharp and shallow, and finally turned to face him.

Jungwon stood there in his armor, hair damp from training, cheeks still flushed from effort. He looked beautiful, he always did, his dark hair and his blue eyes staring directly at your soul. But he also looked tired. Not from battle, but from you.

“Did I do something wrong?”

The question landed like a knife.

Because no, he hadn’t done anything wrong. Not once. He’d only ever loved you. Gently. Openly. Like you were something worth choosing even when it hurt. He was perfect, he was the sweetest boy ever, the bravest warrior you'd ever known.

But you couldn’t say that.

So instead you lied.

“I just think we should cool off,” you said, forcing your voice to stay even. “Keep some distance. It’s getting too risky.”

He stared at you, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

“So… you’re cutting me off.”

“It’s not like that—”

“Then what is it like?” he asked, stepping closer. His brows furrowed, confused. Hurt. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you don’t want this anymore.”

Your throat tightened.

“You know I do.”

“Do I?” he whispered.

You looked away, jaw clenched.

How could you explain it? The nightmare. The weight of being Athena’s daughter. The way your whole life had been a blueprint for greatness, and how one look from him, one stupid smile, could unravel every careful thread you’d ever laid down. The way that, even if you did love him, with a strength that was greater that the whole Olympus, your pride was always speaking for you, always taking you over. How you didn't want to lose him, but you also didn't want to lose the glory that being your mother's favorite brought to you.

“This… this thing between us,” you said slowly, “it’s not just reckless. It’s selfish.”

Jungwon just stood there, motionless, as if you'd just stabbed him right into his heart. He blinked, and you saw his beautiful ocean eyes glisten with tears he clearly was starting to hold.

“So love is selfish now?”

You winced, the ache on your chest growing by every second, by every word that came out of your mouth, that you didn't mean, but you had to say.

“I’m not ashamed of you,” you said quickly, before he could twist your words further. “I just… I can’t be weak, Jungwon. I can’t afford it. Not with who I am. Not with who she is.”

He was quiet for a long moment. And when he finally spoke, his voice was lower. Raw.

“Do you think I don’t know what’s at stake?” he asked. “You think I haven’t thought about it? Every day? Wondered when they’ll find out, when we’ll be punished, when you’ll leave me to save yourself?”

Your head snapped up. He knew, of course he knew.

“I’m trying to protect us,” you said, eyes stinging. “From them. From everything.”

“But who’s protecting me from you?”

The words knocked the breath from your lungs.

Because you had nothing. No defense. No brilliant answer.

“I wake up every morning wondering if you’re still mine,” he said, stepping back like it hurt to be near you. “And for days now, it’s felt like you’re not.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

He shook his head, blinking too quickly. A single tear fell down his cheek, drowning in the deep dimple that appeared when he swallowed hard.

“I thought you were brave enough to fight for us. I thought… I thought I was more than a mistake you regret.”

“You’re not,” you said, stepping forward, hand reaching for his. “You’re not a mistake.”

But it was too late.

He had already taken a step back.

“Then why do I feel like one?”

And with that, he turned and walked away, his shoulders rigid, his fists clenched, the ocean in his blood rippling with heartbreak you couldn’t soothe. You didn’t stop him. You couldn’t.

Because the truth was… you didn’t know how to love him and live up to the legacy you were born to uphold.

And for the first time since you fell for him, you didn’t know which one would survive.

͏ ͏ུུ̑̑ 🌊𓇼

Jungwon sat on the edge of his bunk, arms resting on his knees, fingers twisted together in a way that made his knuckles pale. He hadn’t taken off his training gear. He hadn’t moved much at all. His sword leaned against the bedframe, untouched. The scent of sea salt still clung to him like a second skin, but it brought no comfort now.

He swallowed hard and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“I’m not ashamed of you.”

He replayed those words again and again, like they were supposed to soothe something. But they didn’t. Because if you weren't ashamed, then why did it feel like you were hiding him?

It wasn’t the secrecy that hurt. He could live in the shadows if he had to. For you, he would. But the way you looked at him lately, distant, careful, like you were trying to build walls again, that was what made his chest feel too tight to breathe.

“I can’t be weak, Jungwon.”

As if he was the weakness. As if loving him was a flaw you had to crush before it ruined you. He knew who you were. Athena’s daughter. The pride of Cabin Six. The girl with sharp eyes and a sharper mind, who carried the weight of her legacy on her shoulders like it was carved into her bones. You were beautiful, you could easily pass as an Aphrodite girl, the way your hair rested lazily over your shoulders, the way your smile made his knees week the first time you saw him, the way you whispered his name when he was making love to you, making him addicted to you.

So why did it feel like you were already forgetting what that meant?

Jungwon let out a shuddering breath and tilted his head back against the wall, blinking up at the rafters until the blur of tears broke the lines apart.

He hated this.

Not you — never you — but the helplessness. The way love could feel so big and still not be enough to fix things.

“I thought I was more than a mistake you regret.”

He hadn’t meant to say that. Not out loud. But once it slipped, it tasted true. And that terrified him. A tear rolled down the side of his face, catching on his jaw. He didn’t wipe it away.

He let it fall.

Because for the first time since meeting you, since killing the minotaur, since arriving at this camp and watching you from across the arena with his heart in his throat, he wasn’t sure where you two stood anymore.

He loved you. More than he’d ever said. More than he probably should. And gods, it hurt. It hurt that you were slipping through his fingers and he didn’t know how to stop it.

It hurt that he was starting to wonder if maybe love wasn’t enough.

And it hurt worst of all that even though he knew you were pulling away to protect you both, to survive the wrath of your mother, and the drowning rage of his father, part of him still felt like a boy on the shore, watching the tide steal everything he cared about.

So he curled his hands into fists, pressed them to his chest, and let the waves inside him crash, quietly, endlessly, for the girl who once swore she’d never let go.

͏ ͏ུུ̑̑ 🌊𓇼

“Nice form today, Y/N.”

You turned at the sound of Nicholas’ voice, heart already racing before you even saw his face.

Nicholas, Hermes cabin. All charm, all mischief. The kind of camper who never took anything seriously except getting under people’s skin. You hated how he always smiled like he knew more than he should. Like everything was a joke to him, and this time, you were the punchline.

He leaned on the railing beside the water barrel, tapping his fingers idly. You could feel his gaze scraping over you, too casual.

“You’ve been a little distracted lately,” he said. “Something on your mind? Or… someone?”

You straightened your spine, jaw tightening.

“Spit it out, Nicholas. Whatever game you’re playing, I’m not interested.”

He tilted his head, smirking.

“I saw you the other night. By the lake, with Poseidon's son, looked… intimate.”

A cold weight dropped into your stomach. Your throat dried instantly.

You said nothing, but your silence said too much.

Nicholas caught it, like a vulture spotting blood.

“I mean, hey,” he continued, mockingly light, “who hasn’t had a little rendezvous in this camp, right? But rules are rules. And Athena’s daughter, of all people—”

“Shut up,” you snapped, harsher than intended.

His grin widened.

“Oh, I’m not judging. I think it’s cute, actually. But others? Well… they might not be as forgiving if the truth comes out. Especially when the guy in question is the boy of the prophecy.” He tapped his temple and stepped back, smug and infuriatingly calm. “Just a friendly tip: secrets don’t stay secret for long around here.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving his words to fester like poison in your mind.

You stood frozen in place, your breath shallow, eyes locked on the dirt beneath your boots as the weight of his insinuation wrapped around your chest like a vice.

And then, without thinking, you ran.

You didn’t stop until you reached your cabin.

Slamming the door behind you, you stood in the middle of the room, eyes wild, fists clenched, lungs desperate for air that didn’t seem to exist.

Everything was crashing down.

Everything you’d buried. Hidden. All the stolen kisses, the nights spent wrapped in his arms under the stars, the softest parts of you that only Jungwon had ever seen, all of it could be ripped away in an instant.

You couldn’t breathe.

You staggered back until you hit your desk, and then you were sliding to the floor, the sob escaping your lips before you could swallow it. It came out of nowhere, violent, raw.

You pressed a trembling hand to your mouth, trying to keep quiet. The daughter of Athena did not cry like this. Did not fall apart over a boy, no matter how good, no matter how kind, no matter how in love she was.

But it wasn’t just about him.

It was your pride. Your legacy. Everything your mother had molded you to be, sharp, brilliant, composed.

You were Athena’s pride.

The one who always knew the answer. The one who played by the rules. Who walked with her head high because she earned it.

And now?

Now you were a hypocrite. A traitor to your own name.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whispered into your knees, your voice cracked and desperate. “Gods, I don’t know what to do.”

You curled in on yourself on the floor, letting the panic crest and break over you like waves you couldn’t swim through.

What if someone told Chiron?

What if the gods already knew?

What if your mother — your mother — had already seen it in some cruel vision and was just waiting, disappointed, silent?

What if this love ruined everything?

And yet… you couldn’t let go of him.

Not when his voice still lingered in your ears. Not when your heart still beat his name with every breath.

“I love him,” you choked out, barely audible. “I love him, and I can’t stop.”

The cabin was silent except for your broken sobs.

You’d never felt so torn, between what you were expected to be, and what you wanted.

͏ ͏ུུ̑̑ 🌊𓇼

You didn’t knock.

Jungwon’s cabin door creaked open under your trembling hand, and the moment you stepped inside, he was already standing. Shirt loose, curls mussed from tossing and turning in bed. He hadn’t been sleeping. You could tell.

His eyes widened the second he saw your face.

“Y/N—?”

“We have a problem,” you blurted, stepping in and shutting the door a little too hard behind you. “A serious problem.”

Jungwon’s heart leapt.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

You started pacing.

“No. No, I’m not okay. I’m freaking out.”

“Talk to me,” he said gently, stepping forward, but your hands went up between you.

“Nicholas knows,” you said, breath shallow. “He saw us. By the lake. I don’t know what he saw exactly, but he knows something. He’s already smirking at me like he’s got dirt to use. And it’s only a matter of time before—before he tells someone or it slips or—gods, Jungwon, this can’t happen.”

He froze.

“You’re sure?”

“I felt it,” you said, eyes wide and panicked. “In the way he looked at me. Like he was holding something over me. And I—” You trailed off, your voice beginning to crack. “I’m scared. I’m scared, and I don’t know what to do, and I’ve worked so hard to be good. To be worthy. And now it all might fall apart because I couldn’t stay away from you.”

He flinched, like the words stung more than you intended.

You didn’t mean it like that. But gods, it felt like that, didn’t it?

You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling the first wave of tears threaten your vision.

“You don’t understand, Jungwon. I’m Athena’s daughter. I’m supposed to be better. Controlled. Above feelings. I’m not supposed to break like this. Not for a boy. Not even—” You swallowed hard. “Not even for you.”

That landed somewhere deep in him.

Jungwon’s chest rose and fell sharply. His hands curled into fists at his sides, the candlelight flickering across the tense set of his jaw.

“So… what?” he said, voice quiet but edged. “You regret this?”

“No,” you snapped, stepping toward him before you could stop yourself. “No, I don’t regret you. I regret that loving you makes everything feel so dangerous. Like I’m walking on a tightrope every second of the day.”

His eyes flicked over your face, searching for something, maybe the part of you that still wanted to run. Maybe the part that still belonged to the version of you your mother had carved out.

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with you,” you whispered, like it hurt to say aloud. “But I did. And now I feel like I’m suffocating. Like every day I’m waiting for it all to collapse.”

Silence followed, taut and raw.

And then Jungwon stepped forward, slowly, deliberately, until he was standing so close you could feel the warmth of his body.

“You think I don’t know that?” he murmured, voice tight with emotion.

You blinked, breath catching in your throat.

“I know your pride matters,” he continued, softer now. “I know your mother matters. Your legacy. Everything you’ve worked for. But I’d give up everything I am if it meant I didn’t have to watch you look at me like this — like I’m something you have to hide.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks then, warm and silent.

“I’m not ashamed of you,” you said, voice cracking. “I’m ashamed of how much I need you.”

His breath hitched.

The air between you felt electric, your pain mingling with his until it became indistinguishable. A mess of fear and want and love, too much love, pressed tightly between your chests.

You didn’t think, couldn’t.

You just reached for him.

The kiss that followed wasn’t soft.

It was desperate.

Your mouth crashed into his with a kind of aching hunger, your hands sliding into his hair, gripping like you needed to collide yourself to him completely or drown. He gasped into you, a small sound of surprise that melted into something deeper when your lips opened beneath his. Jungwon's arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you flush against him. His kiss was fire, slow and steady and building, like it had been waiting, simmering, and now it couldn’t be stopped. But his addictive taste was the same as always, yours.

You pulled him closer, felt the hard lines of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt, felt the way his breath stuttered when you whispered his name into his mouth.

“Y/N…” he murmured between kisses, voice thick, full of too much.

You pressed your forehead against his, eyes shut tight.

“I can’t lose you,” you whispered.

“You won’t.”

Another kiss. Deeper. Slower. His lips traced yours with reverence now, hands trailing up your back, cupping your face as though you were breakable and holy all at once. You tugged him backward toward the bed, your fingers laced in his.

And he followed, every inch of him trembling with restraint, devotion, and a need that had been buried too long.

“I want to stay,” you whispered.

He looked at you like you were the most precious thing the gods had ever made, his ocean blue orbes glistening, maybe from tears he was holding back, maybe from love, maybe from need and lust.

“Then stay.”

And as you fell into his arms again, heart pounding and lips seeking his, you weren’t Athena’s daughter or the camp’s golden girl or the girl who always followed the rules.

You were just his.

Everything else faded the moment he kissed you again, slower this time. Deep, careful, like he was memorising the shape of you, the way your lips parted for him with such natural ease. Jungwon’s fingers grazed your jaw, tilting your chin up slightly as his mouth trailed to your cheek, then your neck. You gasped when his lips found the spot just beneath your ear - the place he knew made your knees weak - the sensation lighting something warm and dizzying in your stomach.

“I’ve missed this,” he murmured against your skin. “Every night. What it would feel like to have you under me again. Just… you. Mine.”

Your breathing was shaky, legs trembling where they were tangled with his. Tilting your head so you could give him more space, you let your hands trail around his body, above the clothes, shaky fingers in his perfectly built figure.

“Jungwon…”

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. His expression had changed, darker, softer. Tender and commanding all at once. Not even with the lust taking over his whole body, the sweetness in the way he looked at you went away. And that's what got you even more worked up, what really got you about the way he touched and needed you.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered, brushing your hair from your face. “Tell me if it’s too much. We stop whenever you say.”

“I don’t want you to stop.” The words came out in a breath, trembling but true. “I’ve missed you too”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his chest heaving, like the need was too much, like the fear of losing you was too much.

“Okay,” he said softly, kissing your forehead. “Then let me take care of you.”

His touch grew more confident now, fingers skimming down your arms, your sides, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt like he’d dreamed of it a hundred times. His palms pressed to the skin of your ribs, and you squirmed under him, the touch sending a shiver through your whole body, every pore jumping like it knew you who you belonged to.

“Off,” he said gently, tugging your top. “Let me see you, my pretty girl.”

You nodded, heart pounding, and lifted your arms. He peeled the fabric away with reverence, like unveiling a secret. When his eyes met your bare skin, he let out a slow breath, even if he already saw you like this thousands of times, he always looked at you with the same glow in his blue eyes. You were left in your bra, and he didn't waste time before cupping your breasts with his hands, squeezing, never tough, just needy, like he couldn't believe you were his. A whimper left your mouth as you arched your back.

“Beautiful.” His voice was hoarse. “You always are, gods, I don’t think I’ll survive you.”

Your face burned, but he kissed the blush across your cheeks, your collarbone, your chest, like worship. Like you were sacred. He took his time undressing you, undoing each layer with soft kisses and careful hands, murmuring praise against your skin.

Once your pants dropped to the floor and you where left in your underwear, he bit his lip and hooked his fingers on the waistband, not pulling yet, just teasing himself and you. You were dripping, pooling wetness against the thin fabric, always so needy for him, for his touch.

Then he lowered his face, pressing soft kisses on your chest and abdomen.

“So pretty,” he whispered against your stomach. “So fucking perfect for me.”

And when he finally hovered above you, his hand cupped your cheek again.

“I want to make love to you,” he said, voice trembling now too. “Not just fuck you. Not tonight.”

Your eyes welled.

“Me too.”

He kissed you again, slower than before, hips pressing gently into yours. Every movement was deliberate, soft friction, just enough to make you ache, enough to make you reach for him. He was already hard beneath his pants, you felt him, familiar, thick, throbbing against you, and you rocked your hips too just to feel him more.

You felt his hand trail between your legs, until he reached under your panties, fingers slipping between your pussy folds with ease because he already knew every part of you. He watched you unravel beneath him, whispering your name as your breath hitched, soaking his digits with your wetness.

“You’re soaking, baby,” he murmured, eyes dark and full of want. “You want me this badly?”

“Please,” you whimpered. “I need you.”

He groaned softly and kissed your lips, your throat, your chest, until you were gasping and arching and begging. In one move he removed your bra, in the next second he slipped your panties out of you, throwing them on the floor. You were naked now, all for him.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “Gonna make you feel so good. Gonna make you fall apart on me.”

You didn't respond, you couldn't, because he grabbed your knees, strong but still gentle, spreading you just for him, blue eyes fixated in your dripping pussy, and then shoved two fingers inside of you. A soft moan left your plumped lips, your back arched again as he curled them inside of you just perfectly, as always, because he knew how much you liked it, and he groaned, thrusting them in and out of you with a slick, wet sound, until his knuckles disappeared between your tight walls.

"So perfect, so mine. Always"

“Gods, Jungwon—” you breathed, voice shaking.

He moved them expertly, fucking you with slow, deliberate thrusts, knuckles sinking deep as the slick sounds of your arousal filled the quiet of the room. His other hand stayed on your thigh, grounding you, while his mouth pressed against your stomach, your hip, your inner thigh, leaving kisses like promises.

“You take me so well, baby,” he murmured. “So tight, so perfect.”

Every word from him sent shivers down your spine. He wasn’t teasing, he wasn’t being cocky. He meant it. Every filthy, reverent word came from the deepest part of him, the part that only you got to see.

“Mine,” he whispered, curling his fingers again, right against that spot that made you cry out. “Always.”

You reached down, tangling your fingers in his hair, tugging gently. He looked up at you, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed.

And then he leaned in again, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, right where your skin was hottest, trembling, his breath brushing over your soaked folds before he pulled his fingers out with a slow, deliberate drag. You whimpered, your body instinctively following the loss. But before you could beg for more, he slipped his fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean with a soft groan, his eyes locked on yours the entire time.

“Can’t get enough of how you taste,” he said lowly, voice barely more than a rasp. “So sweet… always so fucking sweet.”

Your chest heaved, the air thick and heavy between you. Every touch, every word, every glance, it wasn’t just lust. It was something more dangerous. More consuming. More permanent.

He leaned back down, this time using both hands to spread you open, thumbs gliding over your folds, your clit swollen and throbbing with need. He looked reverent, like you were art, and he was both the sculptor and the worshiper.

“You’re shaking for me,” he whispered, his voice suddenly gentler again, one hand coming up to rest against your lower belly as he lowered his mouth.

Then his tongue flicked over your clit — just once — and your whole body jerked.

“Jungwon,” you gasped, fingers flying to his hair again.

“That’s it,” he murmured against you, tongue moving slowly, teasingly, just enough to make your hips buck. “This is how i love to see you.”

He licked you like he had all the time in the world, slow circles, open-mouthed kisses, soft sucks to your clit that made your thighs tremble around his head. Every now and then, he’d hum, sending vibrations through your whole core, and you could feel the smug curl of his lips when you gasped his name again and again.

You were already close. Too close.

“Please—” your voice cracked. “Please don’t stop.”

He didn’t. In fact, he doubled down, slipping one hand from your thigh and easing two fingers back inside you while his mouth never left your clit. The stretch was perfect. He knew your body too well, knew just how to angle them, curl them, fuck them into you until your body was arching and your moans were turning into broken sobs of pleasure, until you were leaking and dripping against his sheets.

“Feels good?” he whispered, voice soaked in heat and affection, eyes dark and heavy with love. “You gonna give it to me, baby?”

You nodded desperately, unable to form words.

“Do it,” he whispered, curling his fingers deep and sucking on your clit just right. “Be a good girl and come on my mouth.”

Your whole body tensed, then unraveled as you cried out his name, trembling under his touch, his mouth never leaving you as he worked you through every wave of it.

By the time you came down, your limbs were boneless, your heart pounding, tears slipping from your eyes, not from pain or fear, but from everything you felt all at once.

Jungwon crawled up your body slowly, tenderly, kissing your skin on the way. When he reached your lips, he hovered just a moment, brushing a thumb over your cheek.

“You okay?” he whispered.

"Perfect." You smiled softly, and he pressed a wet kiss in your mouth.

His kiss deepened, warm and slow, as if he was trying to memorize every inch of your mouth. You could still taste yourself on his tongue, but it didn’t matter, all that mattered was how close he was, how real he felt against you, how your body ached to be his completely.

When you tugged gently at his shirt, he sat up on his knees above you, pulling it over his head in one swift motion. The soft golden light from the lone lantern flickered against his skin, his toned chest rising and falling quickly, some scars still there from previous fights, lips parted, eyes dark. Beautiful. Yours. So, so yours.

Your fingers found his waistline next, fumbling with the buttons, breath catching as he leaned down and helped you, his forehead brushing yours with a quiet:

“I’ve got you.”

He pulled down his own pants, followed by his boxers, and he was bare in front of you. Your eyes glowed, his thick length against his lower belly, veins popping, needy, red tip, familiar and yours. A shiver went down your spine.

You whispered his name like a prayer, and he stilled for a moment, eyes searching yours.

“This time feels different,” he said softly. “Like… more.”

Your throat tightened.

“Because it is.”

You both knew it wasn’t the first time. There’d been late nights before, stolen hours where desire burned hot and fast, but this wasn’t just need. This was everything you were afraid to feel. Everything you were terrified to lose.

“I don’t want to hide it anymore,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks.

“Then don’t"

You nodded, tears threatening again as he leaned down and kissed them away. Jungwon then grabbed his member, stroking himself a little, soft whimpers leaving his lips, before rubbing his swollen tip against your sensitive and dripping folds.

When he finally entered you, it was slow, so slow it made you cry out, your fingers digging into his shoulders. He stretched you so good, you could feel every vein, every inch of him against your clenched walls. He groaned against your neck, like the feel of you around him still overwhelmed him every single time.

“Gods, baby,” he whispered. “You feel like fucking heaven. Always so tight for me.”

You gasped as he bottomed out, your hips rising to meet him instinctively. He stilled there, his forehead pressed to yours again, letting you adjust. Letting you feel it, feel him, hot breath crashing with your face.

“You okay?” he asked, voice wrecked and low.

“Better than okay,” you whispered, brushing his hair back with shaking hands. “Please move.”

And he did.

He started thrusting gently, every motion slow and precise, like he was trying to make love to every part of your soul. His lips trailed across your jaw, down your neck, whispering praise between kisses.

“So good for me,” he murmured. “Taking me so well… like you were made for me.”

Your back arched, your body meeting his in perfect rhythm. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t rushed. It was desperate in a different way, two people clinging to something they knew could shatter.

“Jungwon—” you breathed, your eyes locked on his.

He looked at you like you were divine. Like you were the most beautiful thing in every realm. He leaned down, his lips brushing yours.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he said, his voice breaking just a little. “Just for now. Even if we can’t be… just for now.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered back. “I’ve always been yours.”

The pace stuttered, his control slipping as he pressed his hips harder into you, chasing both your pleasure and his heartbreak. One of his hands found yours, fingers lacing together tightly. Anchored. Even fucking you like this, you could feel it, the deep love he felt for you, and that you felt for him. His thrusts were perfect, not too rough, but spot on, always, hitting places inside of you that made you clenche around his length even tighter and cry out his name, nails digging deep in his skin, but he didn't care, he just moaned in response, hips bucking against yours creating an obscene sound that sounded so romantic for you both.

The coil inside you start to wind again, tighter, sharper, deeper this time. Your breaths came quicker, your moans soft and shaky as his other hand reached down between you, rubbing your clit in perfect circles.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice strained. “Gonna come with me, baby? Let go for me?”

You cried out, clinging to him like he was the only thing left in the world, and when you fell apart this time, it wasn’t just your body, it was everything. Your heart, your pride, your fears, all unraveling in his arms. Your pussy clenched around him as the orgasm hit you, eyes shut and body trembling, shaking under him with so much force.

He followed with a broken groan, burying himself deep inside you as he came, spilling everything he had into you with a desperate whisper of your name, filling you so good and familiar, so warm.

After that, neither of you moved. The room was silent except for your ragged breathing, your trembling limbs tangled together in the quiet aftermath.

Then Jungwon leaned down, brushing his lips over your forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered. “No matter what the gods say. No matter what we have to face.”

You didn’t answer, you just held him tighter, tears silently slipping down your cheeks.

The candle burned low. Only the faint flicker of flame lit the cabin now, warm shadows on the walls and in the curve of Jungwon’s jaw. He laid on his side, propped up on one elbow, watching you like you were the only thing left in the world worth looking at.

You were still lying beside him, tangled in the same blanket, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the constellation of tiny scars on his shoulder. The silence between you was comfortable… but it wasn’t light. It was heavy with the weight of everything you couldn’t keep ignoring.

You swallowed.

“Jungwon?” you whispered, not looking up.

“Hm?”

“I’ve been thinking.”

He waited, gaze fixed on you.

You inhaled slowly.

“About… everything. My mom. The rules. Camp. This—us.”

You finally lifted your eyes, and he sat up a little straighter at the expression on your face, not sad, not angry… just raw. Exposed. Real.

“All my life,” you started, voice steady despite the ache in your chest, “I’ve been told that pride is the root of wisdom. That it’s what separates us from chaos. From weakness. My mother always said I was her greatest creation — her ‘perfect daughter.’ I grew up thinking that meant I couldn’t make mistakes. That I had to be the best. Always.”

Jungwon didn’t speak. He only listened, his thumb brushing slow circles over your wrist.

“And for a long time, I thought love would ruin me,” you said. “Make me weak. I thought being with you — loving you — would destroy everything I worked for. Everything she was proud of.”

You sat up now too, holding the blanket against your chest, your eyes shining in the dark.

“But that was a lie,” you whispered. “A lie I let myself believe because I was scared. Because I thought if I chose you, I’d stop being who I was. But now I know… loving you hasn’t made me weak. It’s made me stronger.”

He let out a soft, shaky breath, like he’d been holding it the whole time.

“I don’t care if I disappoint her anymore,” you went on. “I don’t care if it makes me less of what she wanted. I want to be with you. Fully. No more secrets. No more shame.”

Jungwon reached for you immediately, pulling you into his lap, your arms wrapping around his neck. His heart was pounding hard against your ribs, and his hands were holding you like he was afraid you’d vanish.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said, voice low and cracked with emotion.

“You have me,” you said firmly. “You always have.”

He pulled back just far enough to look at you, and his expression was nothing short of awe.

“Then let’s run,” he said suddenly, breathless. “Let’s run away.”

You blinked, stunned.

“Run?”

He nodded, eyes wild and full of wonder.

“Not forever. Just… for now. Just us. Away from the rules and the gods and the war they want to throw us into. We’ll find a place by the sea, somewhere no one knows us. And we’ll just be.”

You searched his face, your lips parting with the storm of feelings surging in your chest.

“Can we do that?” you asked softly, like a child asking for a dream.

“We can do anything,” he said. “As long as you’re with me. I’ll fight fate. I’ll fight Olympus. I’ll fight my own prophecy if I have to.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, but they weren’t from fear this time. They were from the sheer, overwhelming gravity of his love.

You leaned in and kissed him, slow, deep, aching, like a vow.

And when you pulled away, your voice was no longer scared

“Then let’s run.”

You knew it then, it didn't matter anymore. You would fight the whole Olympus, your own mother, even yourself, for the clumsy boy that one came to camp without knowing how to swing a sword, for the boy who stole your heart with those dimples and soft voice, for the boy who belonged not only to the salt and sea, but to you.

as always, thank u so much for reading, this one took me a lot of time because i was so blocked, but got through it. i didn’t proofread so sorry for the mistakes <3

taglist: @gulicore @bussolares @vixialuvs @berryloveseunghan @lilifiedeans @m1kkso @usuallyunlikelyfox @jayjw16enxp @starfallia @bellsjakesgf @zuwishii @cutehoons02 @immelissaaa @nyxtwixx @kayjiguki @emisluvr @k1ttyjwon @cherrymaria58 @koizekomi @crysieberry @add-this-to-that @ii-mimii @luumiinaa @firstclassjaylee @elicheel @vintaegegirl @petalsofink @mariegibeau @tunafishyfishylike @kristynaaah @stercul1a @bl43bl00d @yazmike @yeonmuse @kryllea @e-r-i-15 @ashrocker123 @deluluscenarios @ziiao

[dumbbitchnumberone]

why is it so embarrassing when I'm playing fall out boy at work and pete wentz starts doing his spoken word like babygirl knock that off... there's other people listening...

[percabething]

“you better not be drinking and getting pregnant behind my back”

ma’am, I read fanfics on tumblr to fall asleep