ᦸ 𝖿𝗐𝖻!𝗇𝗂-𝗄𝗂 🧁 𝗆𝖾an!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 4.8k ⠀˃̵ᴗ˂̵⠀ dom/sub power play NSFW degradation oral sex (fem) elevator sex ㅤinspiried by big ole freak reblogs&kisses
special tag: @lac4ygal
You weren’t joking when you said you hadn’t turned down that third-rate actor.
Ni-ki sat snug in the corner booth, one he had frequented many times over the years. Heeseung was in the middle of an animated story, his hands slicing through the air to mimic some recent campus story, while Jay shook his head, a reluctant grin on his face. Sunghoon leaned back, arms crossed, offering dry, sarcastic commentary that had Jake chuckling into his drink. Ni-ki was smiling too, a real, easy smile as he nudged Jake’s shoulder, adding his own quiet jab to the conversation. The air was thick with the smell of fried food and spilled beer.
Jake’s gaze drifted past Ni-ki’s shoulder, his expression shifting from amusement to mild curiosity. He nudged Ni-ki with his elbow and pointed subtly with his fork toward the front windows of the bustling restaurant. “Hey,” Jake said, his voice dropping slightly. “Isn’t that y/n over there?” Ni-ki’s smile vanished. He followed the line of Heeseung’s point. There you were, seated at a small, candlelit table for two. You were leaning forward, listening intently to the man across from you—a guy in a crisp, pretentious-looking shirt who was gesturing grandly with his fork. You laughed at something he said, the sound inaudible from across the room, but the shape of it, the genuine curve of your lips, struck Ni-ki like a physical blow.
The light, teasing atmosphere at their table evaporated in an instant. Jake watched Ni-ki’s entire body go still, the easy slouch of his shoulders tightening into a rigid line. The clatter of the restaurant faded into a dull roar as Ni-ki’s focus tunneled. He saw the way you touched your date’s forearm briefly, a gesture of casual warmth that sent a cold, sharp clarity through his veins. “Yeah,” Ni-ki said, his voice flat and devoid of its earlier laughter. He pushed his chair back, the sound abrupt against the hum of conversation. “I’ll be right back.”
He moved through the crowded space with a singular, direct purpose, ignoring the waitress who tried to catch his eye. Arriving at your table, he watched the smile freeze on your lips
He pulled out the chair next to you, the metal legs shrieking against the floor tiles. He sat down without taking his eyes off you, effectively boxing you in between him and the window. Your date finally found his voice. “Excuse me, do you two know each other?” Ni-ki finally acknowledged him, a slow, dismissive turn of his head. “Yeah. We do.” He didn’t elaborate. Instead, he reached for the menu tucked behind the condiment caddy, flipping it open as if he were the one who belonged here.
“The pork buns here are decent,” Ni-ki said, his voice dropping into a lower, more intimate register meant only for your ears. He let his knee press against yours under the small table. “But you hate pork. You should get the spicy chicken.” Your date watched this interaction, his earlier confidence visibly deflating. Ni-ki didn’t look at him again, his attention fully on you as he pretended to study the menu.
Your date cleared his throat, attempting to regain control of the conversation. “We were just discussing the wine list,” he said, a strained politeness in his tone. Ni-ki didn’t even look up from the menu. “She doesn’t like reds,” he stated simply, as if it were the most obvious fact in the world. He finally glanced at the other man, his expression unreadable. “Gives her a headache.” He turned his attention back to you, his eyes searching yours. “You should get the ginger tea. It’s better for you.” He reached over slowly and picked up your half-full wine glass, moving it to the far edge of the table, away from you. His fingers lingered near yours for a beat too long before he drew his hand back.
The air at the table crackled with a new kind of tension. Your date had resorted to silently pushing his food around his plate.
You leaned back in your chair, crossing your legs and letting your foot deliberately brush against Ni-ki’s calf under the table. “Actually,” you said, your voice clear and cutting, aimed at your flustered companion, “he’s right about the red wine. It’s cheap and gives me a migraine.” The man blinked, stunned by the sudden shift.
You turned your head, your gaze locking onto Ni-ki’s. The confidence in your eyes was a challenge. “But he’s wrong about the ginger tea,” you continued, your tone dropping into something lower, more familiar. “I hate ginger. You’re forgetting things, Riki.” You reached out and pulled your wine glass back from where he’d exiled it, taking a deliberate, slow sip, your eyes holding his over the rim.
“If you’re going to interrupt my evening and embarrass my date, the least you could do is remember my preferences.” You set the glass down. “Now, since you’re here, you can make yourself useful. Tell the waiter I want the scallops. And tell him to take this,” you gestured dismissively at the full plate in front of your date, “away. He’s lost his appetite.”
A flicker of something hot and approving flashed in Ni-ki’s eyes at your command. He didn’t look away from you, but raised a hand to signal a passing server without breaking your stare. “The lady will have the scallops,” he relayed, his voice smooth. “And clear this, please.” He nodded toward the other man’s plate. As the waiter hurried to comply, your date finally found his voice, a sputter of indignation. “This is really rude—”
“Go,” you said flatly, not even looking at him. You took another sip of wine, your focus entirely on Ni-ki. The man stared, flushed with humiliation, before muttering something under his breath and standing up to leave. You waited until he had disappeared into the crowd before speaking again, “Now. You dragged yourself over here and ruined a perfectly adequate dinner. You have my attention. Start explaining why I shouldn’t just get up and walk out that door.”
Ni-ki leaned forward, closing the small distance you’d maintained. “Adequate?” he repeated, the word laced with disdain. “You were smiling at him. You don’t smile like that for ‘adequate.’” His hand came to lace his fingers with yours on the table, “You don’t get to do that. We had an understanding.”
“We had a casual arrangement,” you corrected, tilting your head. “You’re acting like you own something. You don’t.” The challenge was direct, a test flung right into his path. The waiter returned with your scallops, placing the plate before you, then disappeared again. You picked up your fork, spearing a perfectly seared piece, but didn’t bring it to your lips. You just held it, watching him, waiting for his move.
Ni-ki’s jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to the fork in your hand before lifting back to your face. “A casual arrangement,” he echoed, his voice dangerously quiet. “Right.” He leaned in closer, his arm brushing yours as he reached for the bread basket, his movements deliberate. “So my texts go unanswered because you’re busy with… that.” He didn’t bother hiding the contempt. “And I’m just supposed to wait around until you’re bored?”
You brought the scallop to your mouth, taking a slow, deliberate bite, savouring it before answering. “You don’t ‘wait around’ for anyone, Riki. You do whatever you want, with whoever you want,” you said, licking a trace of butter from your lower lip. “That was the whole point, wasn’t it? That’s literally what no strings attached means.”
He watched the movement of your tongue, the deliberate, almost obscene way you cleaned the butter from your skin. A low sound escaped him, not quite a laugh. “No strings,” he agreed, his eyes darkening. “But there’s an understanding. A courtesy. You ghost me for a week and show up here, smelling like his cologne, sitting in our spot.” He finally took a piece of bread, tearing it apart with his fingers but not eating it.
“Our spot?” You arched a brow, setting your fork down. “It’s a restaurant booth, Riki. It doesn’t have a name etched on it.” You leaned back, putting a few more inches of charged space between you. “And I didn’t ghost you. I was occupied.” The words were light, but your pulse was a rapid drum against your ribs. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the coiled energy in his stillness.
He finally placed the shredded bread on his plate, then slowly wiped his fingers on the napkin in his lap. His eyes never left yours. “Occupied,” he repeated flatly. He reached over, his fingers brushing yours as he took your unused water glass, bringing it to his own lips and drinking deeply. When he set it back down, the rim bore the faint, damp imprint of his mouth. “Tell me,” he said, his voice a low murmur meant only for you. “Was he any good?”
You let a slow smile curve your lips, one that didn’t reach your eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” You picked up your wine glass, swirling the deep red liquid. “It seems to be all you can think about. I’m flattered, really. I didn’t know you cared so much about the details of my social calendar.”
His hand shot out, not to grab you, but to still the stem of your glass, his fingers covering yours. The contact was electric, a sudden jolt that silenced the ambient noise of the restaurant. “Don’t,” he warned, his voice a rough whisper. “Don’t play that game with me. You know exactly what this is.” He applied the slightest pressure, holding your hand and the glass in place, a silent anchor in the storm of your mutual provocation.
You didn’t pull away. You met his stormy gaze, your own defiant. “Then enlighten me. Because from where I’m sitting, it looks a lot like a man who agreed to no strings getting tangled in his own.” You leaned forward, your breath ghosting over his knuckles. “Does it bother you, Ni-ki? The thought of someone else’s hands on me?” The question hung in the air, a dangerous, shimmering thing. You watched the muscle in his jaw leap, a telltale sign of the control he was fighting to maintain. He released your hand abruptly, as if burned, and sat back in the booth, his expression shifting into something unreadable and cold.
The cold mask he wore was more unnerving than his open anger. He picked up his own wine, took a measured sip, and surveyed you over the rim. “Bother me?” he finally said, his tone chillingly conversational. “No. It clarifies things.” He set the glass down precisely. “It shows me what our ‘arrangement’ actually was. A convenience for you when you had nothing better lined up.”
His words were designed to wound, to reduce what had burned between you to something transactional and cheap. You felt the sting, sharp and precise, but you refused to let it show. Instead, you gave a light, airy shrug, returning your attention to your scallops as if the conversation had lost all interest. “If that’s the narrative you need,” you murmured, cutting another piece. “Believe whatever helps you sleep.”
For a long moment, there was only the sound of your fork against the china. Then he moved, not away, but deeper into your space. His arm settled along the back of the booth behind you, not touching, but the heat of him was a palpable presence along your shoulder. His head dipped close, his lips nearly brushing your ear as he spoke, his breath warm against your skin. “I don’t need a narrative,” he whispered, the quiet words laden with a promise that felt like a threat. “I just need you to remember who you’re really playing with.” He pulled back just enough to see your face, his eyes tracing your reaction, waiting for the flicker of fear or recognition he was sure to find.
You didn't flinch. You turned your head, bringing your face within an inch of his, the scent of his cologne—something dark and spicy—overwhelming the lingering trace of the other man's. "I remember," you said, your voice equally soft, equally dangerous. "I remember every rule we broke. I remember who taught me how." You let your gaze drop to his mouth for a heartbeat before lifting it back to his eyes. "The student might just be surpassing the teacher."
A faint, almost imperceptible tremor went through the arm resting behind you. He didn't move away. His free hand came up, his fingers hovering just beside your cheek, not touching, but you could feel the static charge of his proximity on your skin. "Is that what you think this is? A lesson?" His thumb finally made contact, a slow, deliberate stroke along your cheekbone. It was a claiming gesture, utterly at odds with his detached tone. "You haven't even begun to learn what I can do."
The waiter chose that moment to approach, hesitating a few feet from the table, sensing the volatile energy. Ni-ki's hand fell away instantly, his expression smoothing into polite neutrality as he looked up. "Just the check, please," he said, his voice now perfectly normal, sociable. The waiter nodded and retreated. As soon as the man turned his back, Ni-ki's focus snapped back to you, the polite mask gone. He reached into his jacket, pulled out his wallet, and tossed a stack of bills onto the table—far more than the meal cost. "We're leaving," he stated, no longer a question or a challenge, but a simple, incontrovertible fact. He slid out of the booth and stood, waiting for you, his posture rigid with a tension that vibrated in the air between you.
You looked at the money, then at him, a slow smile spreading. Making him wait was its own kind of power. You took one last, deliberate sip of your wine, the glass leaving a faint stain on the linen as you set it down. Only then did you slide from the booth, your movements fluid and unhurried. You didn’t take the hand he hadn’t offered. You simply walked past him, the brush of your body against his in the narrow aisle a fleeting, electric contact, and headed for the door.
He was right behind you, his presence a solid, heated pressure at your back. The night air outside was cool, a shock after the restaurant’s warmth. You didn’t turn toward the valet or the street. You walked to the edge of the building, into the shadowy alcove near the service entrance, and stopped, leaning against the rough brick. You turned to face him, the distant streetlight casting his features in sharp relief. “So,” you said, your voice a low murmur in the quiet alley. “You paid for dinner. What happens now?”
He closed the distance in two strides, his hands coming up to cage you against the wall, his body not touching yours but surrounding it completely. The scent of him, of wine and restrained fury, filled your senses. “Now,” he said, his gaze dropping to your mouth, “you tell me his name.” His voice was gravelly, the command in it absolute. “And then you forget it.”
You held his gaze, the corner of your mouth lifting. “I told you. It doesn’t matter.” Your voice was steady, a stark contrast to the frantic rhythm of your heart. “And your little audience is watching, by the way.” You flicked your eyes past his shoulder toward the restaurant’s front window. There, clustered inside, were four of his friends—Jake, Sunghoon, Heeseung and Jay—their faces pressed close to the glass, their expressions a mix of shock and avid curiosity. They’d clearly followed him out and were now witnessing the entire confrontation.
Ni-ki didn’t bother to look. His focus remained entirely and relentlessly on you. “Let them watch,” he breathed out, the words a hot whisper against your lips. His hands slid from the brick to frame your face, his thumbs pressing into the hinge of your jaw. “They’ve seen me walk away from plenty of things. They’ve never seen me take something back.” He leaned in, his nose skimming the line of your cheek, inhaling deeply as if to erase any foreign scent. “His name.”
From inside, one of his friends—probably Jake—rapped sharply on the window, a muffled call of “Hey, man!” reaching you both. Ni-ki flinched, the sound a crack in his intense concentration. His eyes snapped toward the window for a split second, a flash of pure irritation crossing his features before he looked back at you, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly.
You saw the interruption fracture his control. It was the opening you needed. You brought your hands up, not to push him away, but to settle on his chest, feeling the hard, frantic beat of his heart beneath your palms. “Riki,” you said, your tone shifting, losing its edge of taunting challenge for something lower, more intimate. “They’re your friends. This isn’t for them.” You applied the slightest pressure, not to create distance, but to anchor him, to pull his focus back from the spectacle to the silent war between just the two of you.
He stared down at your hands on him, his breath coming in a short, harsh exhale. The noise from the window persisted, another muffled shout. He closed his eyes for a second, his jaw working. When he opened them, the blind possession had banked into something colder, more calculated. He released your face, his hands dropping to his sides. He took a single step back, breaking the intimate cage of his body, though the space between you still crackled. “You’re right,” he said, his voice now devoid of all emotion. He glanced over his shoulder, giving his friends a single, sharp look that immediately silenced them and sent them shuffling back from the glass.
He turned back to you, his expression unreadable in the shadows. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys. “My place. Now. Or this ends here, and you can go back to your occupation.” It wasn’t a request, nor was it the heated demand from before. It was an ultimatum, delivered with a chilling finality. He didn’t wait for your agreement. He simply turned and began walking toward the valet stand, the set of his shoulders telling you he fully expected you to follow.
You watched him walk away, the arrogant certainty in his stride igniting a fresh spark of defiance. He hadn't even looked back. The valet was already hurrying toward his sleek, black car. You could turn, walk in the opposite direction, hail a cab, and let him drive off alone. The thought was a sweet, fleeting fantasy. But the memory of his hands on your face, the raw intensity in his eyes before his friends interrupted—it was a hook buried deep. You pushed off from the wall and followed, your heels clicking a steady rhythm on the pavement that matched the stubborn beat of your heart.
You reached the passenger side just as the valet closed the driver’s door for him. Ni-ki stared straight ahead through the windshield, his profile sharp and unyielding. You pulled the handle and slid into the cool leather interior, the door thudding shut with a sound of finality. The car was silent, filled only with the scent of him and the expensive, clean smell of the vehicle. He didn't acknowledge you. He put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb with a smooth, powerful surge.
He drove with a focused aggression, weaving through the late-night traffic. The city lights streaked past the windows, painting his face in alternating flashes of neon and shadow. After several blocks of suffocating quiet, he spoke, his eyes never leaving the road. "Was it worth it?" he asked, the question slicing through the quiet. "The game. The point you were trying to make. Was it worth what you just threw away?" His voice was flat, but the question hung there, heavy and real, demanding an answer the restaurant’s games had never allowed.
You looked out your own window, watching the blur of the city. “I didn’t throw anything away,” you said, your voice quieter now, stripped of its earlier performance. “You did. The moment you decided our casual arrangement came with a leash.” You finally turned your head to look at him. “You want to know if it was worth it? Him?” You let out a soft, humourless breath. “He was a distraction, a way to see if I could feel something that wasn’t you. I couldn’t. That’s the pathetic truth.”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel, the leather creaking under his grip. He said nothing for a long moment, the admission hanging in the space between you, more intimate than any touch had been all night. He took a sudden, sharp turn, pulling the car into the underground garage of his building. The tyres echoed in the concrete cavern as he navigated to his reserved spot and killed the engine. The sudden silence was deafening.
He didn’t move immediately. He sat there, staring at the blank concrete wall ahead. “A distraction,” he repeated, the word tasting bitter. He finally turned to look at you, the car’s interior light casting his expression in a stark, unforgiving glow. The anger was gone, replaced by something more weary, more complex. “Get out,” he said, but the command had lost its force. It sounded like a surrender. He pushed his own door open and stepped out into the cool, still air of the garage, not waiting to see if you obeyed.
You followed him out, the car door thudding shut with a heavy finality that reverberated in the concrete space. He was already walking toward the private elevator, his strides long and tense, but he didn't look back to see if you were coming. The implication was clear: he expected you to follow. You took your time, the click of your heels a deliberate counter-rhythm to his silent retreat.
Inside the elevator, mirrored walls reflected a thousand versions of his strained profile. He stared straight ahead, refusing to meet your gaze in the glass. The air was thick with everything unsaid. Before you could react, his hand shot out, not towards you, but to the elevator control panel. He pressed a small, red button marked ‘STOP’, and a sharp, jarring alarm blared for a single second before he silenced it with another press. The elevator shuddered to a halt between floors, the gentle hum of movement ceasing entirely.
"You made your point," he said, his voice rough. "You proved you don't need me. So why are you here?" It wasn't an accusation. It was a genuine, weary question. He was waiting, not for an argument, but for your next move, completely disarmed. You smiled, a small, knowing curve of your lips, and took a single, purposeful step forward.
He didn’t retreat from your advance. He held his ground, but his posture softened, a subtle yielding. “I’m here,” you said, your voice low and deliberate, “because you saw me and lost your composure. Because you still think you have a say in what I do.” You reached out then, not to touch him, but to brush a non-existent speck of lint from the shoulder of his jacket. The gesture was intimate, proprietary. He shuddered.
“I don’t want a say,” he breathed out, the confession ripped from him. “I want… instructions.” The word hung in the air, stark and honest. All the fight, all the jealousy, had been a twisted plea for exactly this. For you to take the chaos he felt and give it order. You let the silence stretch, letting him feel the weight of his own admission, the vulnerability of it.
Your hand finally settled on his shoulder, your grip firm, anchoring. “Then kneel,” you said, the command clear and absolute in the quiet room. For a heartbeat, he simply looked at you, his dark eyes wide. Then, without a word of protest, his knees gave way, bending until he was on the floor at your feet, his head bowed. The submission was total, beautiful in its simplicity. You looked down at him, at the elegant line of his neck, and placed a hand gently atop his head.
Your fingers threaded through his hair, not petting, but claiming. The soft strands were cool against your skin. He let out a shaky exhale, his shoulders relaxing further into the position, as if a terrible weight had been lifted. The proud, rebellious boy was gone, replaced by this quiet, pliant creature at your feet. You applied the slightest pressure, and he understood, leaning his forehead against your thigh. The warmth of his skin seeped through the fabric of your pants.
"Good," you murmured. His breath hitched again, a small, grateful sound. You kept him there for a long moment, letting him feel the safety of surrender. This was your world now, this elevator and the boy who had finally stopped running from what he needed. You withdrew your hand from his hair, and he made a faint, involuntary noise of protest at the loss of contact.
"Look at me," you instructed. He lifted his head slowly, his eyes finding yours. They were clear now, free of anger or pretence, just a deep, waiting calm. You cupped his chin, your thumb stroking the line of his jaw. "The distraction is over," you stated, your voice leaving no room for argument. He nodded, a tiny, obedient movement against your hold. "From now on, you ask for what you need. You use your words." A faint blush colored his cheeks, but he held your gaze. "Can you do that?"
His lips parted, his voice a hushed, reverent whisper. "Please." The word hung in the silent elevator. "Please, let me taste you." You held his gaze for a beat longer, then gave a single, slow nod. Your hands went to the waistband of your pants, pushing them and your underwear down just enough. He didn't need further instruction. His hands came up to steady your hips as he leaned forward, his mouth finding you with an eager, worshipful precision. His tongue was a slow, deliberate stroke, lapping at your heat as if savoring a sacred offering. A soft sigh escaped you, your head tipping back against the mirrored wall. He moaned against you, the vibration shooting a sharp thrill up your spine. His movements became more focused, his tongue circling and dipping, his entire being devoted to the single task of pulling pleasure from you. His eyes were closed in concentration, lashes dark against his cheeks, a picture of perfect, blissful service.
His hands tightened on your hips, holding you steady as he lost himself in the act. There was no hesitation, no seeking of his own pleasure, only a deep, abiding focus on yours. The flat of his tongue pressed and circled, his lips sealing around you to draw a soft, shuddering cry from your throat. The mirrored walls reflected the scene a dozen times—your fingers now tangled in his dark hair, his shoulders flexing with the effort of his ministrations, the absolute surrender in every line of his kneeling form.
You guided him with gentle pressure, and he followed without question, his rhythm shifting to match your unspoken demands. A low, continuous hum of pleasure vibrated in his chest, the sound echoing softly in the confined space. His own need was evident in the tense set of his back, in the way his knuckles whitened where he gripped you, but he made no move to seek friction for himself. This was his offering, his penance, and his reward all at once. The building tension in your core was a slow, sweet coil, fed by every devoted stroke of his tongue.
A sharp, breathy gasp was your only warning before the release washed over you, your thighs trembling against the sides of his face. He didn’t pull away, drinking down every wave until you gently tugged his hair, signalling him to stop. He rested his forehead against your thigh, his breathing ragged and warm against your sensitive skin. He stayed there, perfectly still, waiting for your next command as the last tremors subsided.
You let the silence stretch, the only sound his laboured breathing and the faint, residual hum of the elevator’s machinery. Your fingers loosened their grip in his hair, shifting to a slow, almost absent-minded petting. He leaned into the touch, a quiet sigh escaping him. After a long moment, you guided his head back, forcing him to look up at you. His lips were glistening, his eyes dark and hazy with a satisfaction that had nothing to do with his own physical release.
"Stand up," you said, your voice soft but firm. He obeyed slowly, his muscles stiff from kneeling. You reached down and pulled your clothing back into place with deliberate, unhurried movements, your eyes never leaving his. He watched you, his expression open and expectant, a faint flush still high on his cheekbones. You stepped closer, closing the small space between you, and smoothed a thumb over his damp bottom lip. He shivered, his gaze dropping to your mouth.
"Now," you whispered, your breath ghosting over his skin. "Take us home."
in which ◞ your boyfriend tends to make you cry during sex from how good it feels
warnings. . . explicit sexual content (mdni) ﹕ unprotected sex ﹕ overstimulation ﹕ sensitive!reader ﹕ praise ﹕ crying during sex
•﹙ 442 ﹚ ── boyfren!jay ✶ 𝑓. reader┊custom order 📋
collector’s notes: being sick on my birthday has to be some type of karma given to me for whatever i’ve done in the past…
jay had your back pressed against the mattress, thighs trembling around his shoulders as he pounded into you relentlessly, watching the way your pussy swallowed his cock with every deep stroke.
you were a beautiful mess beneath him: tears spilled from the corners of your eyes, nails digging into the pillow behind you, and your jaw slackened with every quick thrust.
"please... i—i can't... too much—" you sobbed, voice cracking.
“shh… it’s okay, baby. you’re doing so good for me,” he cooed, voice low and almost gentle, but the words came out thick with amusement.
he leaned forward, capturing your lips in a kiss. it wasn't the soft, sweet kisses jay usually gave you whenever he was cooking dinner or came home after a long schedule. this kiss was deep, hungry, his tongue sliding against yours, like he was savoring the taste of your moans.
he broke the kiss long enough to catch his breath, a string of spit following before pressing his forehead against yours. you wrapped your hands around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair while the other clawed his back.
his pace was quick. his thrust growing harsher, the tip kissing your cervix. he wasn’t letting up, never giving you a chance to recover. another broken sob ripped from your throat, your body shuddering, the pressure building in your core.
"i know. i know, baby, just take it for me," he murmured softly, his hand slipping between your bodies, rubbing your clit with his thumb, the overstimulation making cry out.
his hips continued to snap into yours, his cock drilling into the spot that made your vision blurry and mouth water. the sounds of his cock slamming into your slick pussy filled the quiet room.
“fuckfuck— please— s’too much!” you cried out, nails practically digging into his skin now. the knot in your lower stomach threatens to snap at any moment.
jay’s eyes stayed locked on your face the whole time, a certain glint in them as he watched your face contort in pleasure and the new set of tears roll down.
“you’re doing perfect—squeezing me so tightly. you’re so fucking sensitive—god, i love you,” he breathed, feeling your walls flutter around him.
it didn’t take long for you to cum. the combination of his thumb pressing against your clit and his brutal pace, tipped you over the edge. your orgasm shatters through you fast and intense, your whole body a twitching mess as your walls clench around him.
he doesn’t give you a moment to settle before his follows behind, his hands moving to your waist, gripping hard enough to bruise. he groans before releasing thick, pearly ropes of cum inside you.
“see? i knew you could do it, baby,” he cooed, leaning forward again, his cock buried to the hilt. “you’re such a good girl for me.”
best friend or baby daddy, one thing's for sure, you're not getting rid of him!
pairings: bsf!Geto x f!Reader
content: MDNI, smut and fluff and light angst, modern AU, mutual pining, heavy yearning, they want each other BAD, friends-to-lovers-to-parents, unprotected piv sex, mating press, creampie, fingering, oral (m! + f! receiving), lots of teasing and tension, taking pictures during sex, unplanned pregnancy, discussions of pregnancy/marriage, cravings, reader is a lil insecure, Suguru adores her anyway, short Gojo cameo, protective/possessive dilf!Suguru lol, idiots in love
part of this wikihow collab with @neovillains, art by @captainsalsaa divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more !
Step one?
Comfort you after you dumped yet another boyfriend.
Or maybe the first step had been one he never meant to take. Falling in love with the girl who pulled on his ponytail on the playground at age five. And at twenty-five? He fell even harder at the thought of what sort of face you'd make if he pulled your hair now, if you'd throw him a glare or a laugh, maybe pout your pretty lips at him before he bent you over his kitchen counter and -
"Suguru," You giggled, glancing over your shoulder, a playful glint shimmering in your eyes as you nudged his side. "Are you actually drunk?"
On you, maybe.
"No," He murmured, a cold hand finding your hip, an excuse, really, to pull you closer, press your body between his and the marble edge of the countertop as he reached over your head to grab the bowls he started keeping on the top shelf so you'd need his help grabbing them.
He caught the way your breath hitched in your throat, spine going stiff for a second, before relaxing into him like it was second nature by now, your head tilting to twist back against his chest and look up at him.
"You don't seem very heartbroken to me," He dryly commented, to which you just made a noncommittal hm, blinking a few times.
"I'm fine."
"Yeah?" He murmured, a little lost in your proximity, how right it felt for your back to be against his chest. "If he lost you, he must be a fucking idiot."
"Oh?" You giggled. "You know, he actually said we were in love with each other?"
"And? Are you in love with me?" Suguru teased, setting the bowls down to cage you in closer, his hand cutting off your chance at wiggling away when it landed on the counter, the fingers on your hips gripping a little tighter, wrinkling your dress.
Wishful thinking or not, he could almost feel the heat in your cheeks from here, your eyes crinkling when you just shrugged.
"What movie do you wanna watch?" You hummed, eyes flickering from his down to his lips, like you wanted to watch him reply, or maybe, hopefully, something more.
The game of pulling each other in just to push each other away at the last second still in swing after two decades.
"Whatever you want," Suguru shrugged back, the steady pop pop pops! of the kernels on the stove filling the background, the half-empty bottle of wine waiting to be polished off perched between two glasses. Yours was nearly full, but there were only a few drops left in his, despite drinking being your idea.
Showing up at his door on a Saturday night, gift bag in hand with tissue paper sticking out, wearing your favorite little sundress, cardigan hanging off your shoulders when you grinned up at him and asked if you could crash for a couple days.
"Boo," You did pout, and he hoped your proximity to his heart didn't mean you could hear it actually skipping a beat. "What if I want you to pick?"
He wished you only wanted him, period.
You stared sometimes and he could feel it there, simmering underneath your smile and living in the lines on your face. But you were always dating some other dark-haired asshole or he'd find himself in someone else's bed (who always looked a little too much like you, sharing the same shade of hair or the shape of your eyes). Living off of lingering touches and secret jokes and the moments where the boundaries blurred, where you'd be snuggled against his side or a kiss on the cheek would stray closer to the corner of your mouth instead.
Both of you waiting for the day the other one accepted defeat, conceded victory and came clean about the festering feelings you shared.
"Fine," He sighed, moving the pot to a different burner, flicking the heat off before taking off the lid, having to smack your hand away before you could snag a still-hot piece from the top before he could add any popcorn salt. "Just go sit down before you manage to burn yourself, okay?"
You rolled your eyes, poking his side before pouring more wine in his glass, carrying both over to the coffee table, too distracted watching him to pay attention to where you were walking, the corner catching your leg and sending you stumbling.
He would laugh at you later.
But now?
He was dropping the bowl back to the counter, hurrying over to help you up, your dress soaked and stained, clinging to your body, broken shards of glass littering the wooden floor.
"Shit, Sugu, I'm sorry," You frowned, chewing on your bottom lip as you pinched the sticky fabric away from your chest. But he caught the little glint in your eyes, the way one corner of your mouth involuntarily tugged up, like maybe you'd done it on purpose.
"Careful," He sighed, grabbing you by the waist to move you away from the safety hazard just to take your wrist anyway after he set you back down, pulling you down the hall to his room. "I'll throw that in the wash. You can just wear one of my shirts."
Sure, you already had a drawer full of your clothes at his place. But you both knew you'd rather wear something of his anyway.
"You're not mad, are you?" You asked, your face still scrunched up in disappointment when he pushed open the bedroom door.
"When have I ever been mad at you?"
He wanted to be, sometimes. When you introduced him to a new guy who would check out other girls when he should be thanking the fucking stars you even looked at him. When he thought about the time you got a little too wasted on your birthday a few years ago and kissed him in the backseat of a taxi just to forget the next morning. But the hurt could never hold it's shape, the anger could never set in, not when the need for you had engraved itself in his bones, to see you smile and hear your laugh at his jokes. No matter how much it ached to watch you offer yourself to others who didn't even see you.
Suguru went to grab a t-shirt off a hanger, glancing over his shoulder at you to find - fuck.
You already stripped out of your dress, perched pretty on the edge of his bed and staring at him almost innocently, your head tilted to the side as if to ask 'what?'
He shouldn't look, really, he absolutely should not, but his eyes don't know that, drifting down to the pretty swell of your breasts pushed out in a skimpy little lace bra that he was going to be thinking about long after you left, and his throat almost closes then and there.
"Here," He dryly choked out, his jaw clenching as he tossed you the shirt, dragging his attention down to where you discarded your dress.
"Thanks," You caught it, but barely made an effort to cover up your chest, your eyes following him as he bent over to pick it up, something that sounded close to a sigh escaping when he walked towards the door.
Suguru wouldn't crack. His composure couldn't. The only thing worse than you not being his was you not being in his life at all.
He could live with being in love with you. But knowing you didn't feel the same might kill him.
He didn't want a one-time thing, a single night spent in the sheets, but every part of you, every inch of your skin and second of your time. If you fucked him once just to say you couldn't be friends anymore, couldn't be anything, he didn't know what he'd do.
It was hard to know where the line was drawn when both of you had erased it so many times just to hastily scrawl a new one a little further back.
Carefully measuring out the laundry detergent and adjusting the settings on the washing machine before turning it on, the scent of your perfume and the wine clinging to him even after he turned away, glancing back down at the closed bedroom door. You were probably done changing by now, or close, at least.
He still knocked anyway, knuckles tapping against the wood, waiting for your reply.
"Can I come in?" Suguru called out, leaning against the door, trying not to think about what you looked like in his bed, the still image already burned in the back of his brain.
"Uh-huh," You hummed. Twisting the knob, he pushed it open, his stare locking onto you before he could even really process what he was seeing.
You were not done changing.
The hooks of your bra weren't even properly clasped, a tiny little thong hooked over your hips, your back to him while you rummaged through his nightstand. Something was in your hands that he couldn't see.
You glanced over your shoulder, a cute little smirk plastered to your lips that he wanted to kiss off of you, twist into a gasp, a moan of his name. "Hi."
"Hi," He echoed, low and gravelly, one corner of his mouth curling up to match yours.
You knew what you were doing.
And he was so tired of pretending he didn't.
"Say cheese," You giggled, holding up an old camera of his, finger hovering over the shutter while he folded his arms across his chest, his mouth set in a thin line even when you snapped a photo.
"Hand it over," He huffed, his focus straining to stay on your face while you walked over to him, bare feet padding across his floor until you were close enough to push the camera against his chest. The words were on his tongue before he could second guess saying them. "My turn."
The blush coloring your face made him feel warm, the sudden hints of shyness bleeding through when you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, like you just remembered how little you were wearing, how close he was.
"Scared?" Suguru mocked, giving you an out he hoped you wouldn't take.
"N-no," You stammered though, a crease forming between your furrowed brow as you protested.
"Back on the bed then," He murmured, wondering if you'd pose for him, if this would be the only picture you'd let him take of you tonight.
You hesitantly perched yourself back on the end, glancing down at yourself then back up at him, swallowing hard as you tried to collect your confidence again. Scooting back, parting your legs just enough that he caught a glimpse of the small damp patch on your panties, chuckling at the realization you were more worked up than him.
"More," He instructed, watching the way your lips parted and froze, how slowly your limbs started to move.
He sighed, sitting the camera down on the mattress next to you before sliding his hands over your soft thighs, spreading them for you, pretending your little gasp at the contact didn't make his cock practically jump in his boxers.
"Lay down for me, okay, pretty girl?" Suguru requested, softer this time, and you nodded, listening as you laid back, your body stiff as it sank down on his comforter. Only starting to relax once his hands slipped higher, the feeling of your bare skin under his palm only fueling the burning need he'd been suppressing for so long.
Hooking two sturdy fingers under the band of your panties and slowly peeling them down your thighs, taking his time and waiting for some squeak of his name to leave your mouth, but you just watched him back, biting down on the inside of your cheek.
Once your underwear hit the floor, you hesitantly shifted, opening yourself up for him. "Like this?"
Suguru wasn't sure he was going to make it out of here with his sanity in tact.
Step two?
He was going to fuck you until you admitted you'd been waiting for this just as long as him.
"Look at me," He quietly said, picking the camera back up to hide the hunger in his gaze as he peered through the viewfinder at you.
Your unsure stare reflecting his own desperation, lashes fluttering as you tried to decide what face to make.
He could help with that.
Returning one hand to the inside of your thigh, tracing a soft path up to the slick on your skin as placed his hand over your entrance, his thumb dipping just barely in to the knuckle while he watched your face for every tiny flicker in your expression. Entranced by how easily he made you squirm, your pretty pout like you wanted more and knowing he wouldn't give it to you unless you asked.
And click!
Of all the candids he'd taken over the years, the collection of your smiles and scoffs saved in photo albums and in his phone's camera rolls, he knew that this would be his favorite.
"Sugu-" You started, the uneven rise-and-fall of your chest only drawing his attention the strap of your bra slipping down your arm.
"Yeah, sweetheart?" He breathed, stuck staring at the sharp edge of one of your canines was tugging on your lower lip, the glimmer in your eyes at how intimate the nickname suddenly felt despite how many times he called you that before.
"Are you sure?" You slowly enunciated every syllable, straining to speak as his thumb dipped deeper. Trying not to give away how much he was affecting you, like he couldn't feel the muscles pull tighter, see the twitch of your hips as they fought to buck up and force him in more.
"Always have been about you," Suguru simply said, pushing his palm down over your clit, watching you gasp at the sudden pressure, eyes fluttering closed as you harshly sucked in a breath.
"God," You hissed.
"Take your bra off," He instructed, and you listened, struggling to prop yourself up enough to reach around with one hand and fumble to undo the clasp, throwing it off with a clatter to the floor.
Fuck.
The way your breasts bounced as you moved, how the buds of your nipples were already perked up and hard, just begging him to roll his tongue over them, to pinch and grope and hold. Mark your chest and your neck with enough kisses to erase the fact that anyone else had ever touched them before him.
He wanted to be the last man who would.
How could he not when you were looking at him like you needed him?
"You wanna tell me what you want?" He hm-ed, slipping his thumb back out, the slick pad dragging up to trace a ghost of a circle over the swollen bud while you whined at the abrupt absence.
"You, please," You whimpered, and he didn't think he'd ever been this hard before. "S-Sugu, I wan' you."
It took every ounce of control not to pull his cock out and fuck you until you cried that out again and again, until pretty tears were collected in your eyes and all you could do was whimper.
He slowly slotted two fingers inside, the stretch making you shudder, thighs struggle to resist the temptation to close on his hand.
He clicked his tongue, once, twice, three times.
"Keep them open for me, baby," He teased, and you just pushed out your bottom lip, weakly nodding as all your muscles tensed again, muscles straining to stay in place when he crooked his fingers all the way in.
"Fuck, fuck, god, there." Your cute moan made his head spin, how your breath almost stuttered every time you sucked it in just for him to immediately force it back out, skin he used to try so hard to avoid staring at in swim suits now completely bare in his sheets.
Pumping his fingers in-and-out, the filthy fucking sound of how wet you were for him ringing his his ears, how right it felt to have you squeezing desperately around him, to be the one pushing you closer and closer to cumming on his fingers.
"That's it, pretty," He softly said, feeling you throb at his low voice, pausing to test it out again. "Come on, breathe."
You tried, sucking in a small breath and looking at him with glossy eyes, silently begging him to keep going.
"Use your words, sweetheart," Suguru purred, swiping his thumb back over your sensitive clit and you shivered.
"Please let me cum," You begged out loud this time, trembling at his touch.
He chuckled, dark and low, slotting his fingers back inside, already trying to memorize which spots made you whine louder, thrusting in, out, in, out, until-
"Suguru."
His name ripped from your throat right as his fingers found the spongy spot in the back, fingertips pressing against it just enough for you to cry out his name a second time, your legs snapping shut as you grinded up against his hand.
"Go ahead, baby," He murmured, letting you rut against his palm for extra pressure and friction, readjusting so his thumb was massaging circles over the swollen bud. "C'mon, cum."
And fuck, he never thought you'd looked more beautiful than right now - lashes fluttering, pretty lips parted as your back arched off the bed, his fingers buried knuckle-deep in your cunt while you came.
"Look so pretty like this f'me," He promised, his thumb rolling over your clit while you blushed and squirmed, still trying to catch your breath when he didn't immediately pull out.
"S-shut up," Your voice was small as you stammered.
"Can I take another photo?" He teased, slipping his slick fingers out, and popping them in his own mouth, needing to taste you on his tongue.
The image of him cleaning the ring of white off his fingers seemed to make you more flustered, your glossy stare searing through his heart.
"You want to?" You swallowed hard.
He climbed on top of the bed, pulling his fingers out with a pop! and grazing over your lower lip with his thumb, caging you in under his broad frame.
"That a yes?" He hm-ed, and you nodded, letting him tug your mouth open. He pushed the same two fingers that had just been in his mouth into yours, your tongue swirling over his knuckles, sucking softly and peering up at him with those pretty eyes.
"Mhm," Your muffled voice purred back.
He fumbled for the camera, holding it back up and hovering his finger over the button as you met his stare through the viewfinder, your own hand reaching up to hold his and push his fingers in deeper while he snapped the photo.
"My pretty girl."
His his his.
Pulling out his fingers while he leaned over to deposit the camera on the nightstand, your lips still open, waiting for a kiss or about to tease him for a sentiment so silly, but a soft smile curled up.
"Yeah, yours."
Suguru Geto was in love. Something he always knew, but only existed in the loops of his mind, the quiet score of his life, playing in the background of every scene. But this, with you here, it was loud. In every look and touch, in every breath he exhaled, the atoms crackling in the air between your bodies.
"I need to fuck you," He heard himself say, hoarse and thick with something caught between desperation and desire.
"Oh yeah?" Your airy little giggle was abruptly cut off with his mouth colliding against yours, wondering if his tasted like wine or you as he sucked softly on your lower lip.
Your hands were struggling to pull his shirt up, only breaking the kiss to shove it up and over his head, your warm palms skimming over his muscles and tracing over each ridge and curve like you'd thought about touching him half as much as he thought about touching you.
"Sugu," You giggled again, letting him pepper your cheek with kisses, his mouth leaving hungry sucks in a line down your throat, marks you'd probably have to wear a scarf or makeup to cover at work in a few days.
He really couldn't stop touching you. Caressing your face and groping your breast and tracing your collarbone and trying to find an excuse to catalogue what every inch of you felt like under him.
"Mm?" He barely paused, feeling your delicate touch start to tug down the zipper of his jeans, the rustle of you unbuttoning them next. He wrapped his mouth around one of your nipples, groaning softly as he dragged his tongue over it as you managed to slip your fingers underneath his jeans and the band of his boxers to feel how hard he already was. Swiping your fingertips over his leaking tip to collect the pre-cum there and wiggling back out to bring it to your lips for your own taste.
His throat went dry.
More than dry. Actually, it felt like someone stuffed fucking cotton balls down it and his pants suddenly felt two sizes too tight as you dragged your tongue over your fingertips and batted your lashes at him.
"I thought you needed to fuck me," You reminded him with the sort of soft sigh that made him dizzy.
He was pushing off his plush mattress to finish what you started, discarding his jeans and boxers in one go, his composure not just cracked but crumbled into a million little pieces he couldn't clean up, the need turning him into the kind of man who couldn't care less about appearances or control if it mean he could fuck your brains out enough that you'd forget about all of that too.
His cock was practically pink, swollen and hard, swinging up to smack against his dark happy trail and muscles, your eyes getting even wider, glued to the thick length.
"Um, S-Sugu," You stuttered, and it was cute to see you lose your own cool, scooting back higher on the bed and propping yourself up on your elbows.
"Uh-huh?" He wryly cocked his head to the side as he climbed back on top of you, pulling you down by your hips as your head fell back on his pillow. Spreading your legs back open, glistening and gorgeous and all his.
"Kiss me again," You quietly requested, and he was more than happy to oblige.
Returning his lips to your own to press a tender kiss there while his tip nudged against your opening, your body jolting when he pinned you down with his weight. Slipping one hand behind your neck to deepen the kiss, his tongue tracing the ridges of your teeth while his other hand held your waist, your wrists wrapping around his neck while you moaned in his mouth, unable to do anything but grind up where his cock was practically twitching against your clit.
Getting more desperate by the second, your muffled moan turning into a whine, bucking up harder to chase your high from earlier.
"Put it in," Your voice was a strained whisper in-between kisses, rolling your hips up again.
"Say please," Suguru taunted, kissing your frown away before he could even really form.
"Please."
He was letting go of your waist to grab the base of his cock, pushing the first few inches in and watching your body tense and stiffen around him, your thighs trying not to close as he pushed past the first ring of resistance, the gasp you attempted to stifle not going unnoticed.
"You okay, baby?" He paused, your body squeezing him sinfully before he hadn't even quite made it halfway in.
"You're, um, bigger, than I imagined," You choked out, and he wasn't sure if it was his ego or his dick that got fucking bigger hearing you admit you imagined him at all.
"It'll fit," He murmured, barely containing the urge to bottom out already, taking his time stretching you out, molding you to each vein and ridge. "Promise I'll take care of you."
You wrapped your legs around his waist, locked them there with your heels digging into his back, and the feeling of your soft thighs against his skin, the squeeze of the muscle had him burying himself in fully before he could stop it.
"Shit, Suguru, o-oh, oh," You mewled at him, nails scratching at his shoulder blades while you buried your face into the crook of his neck, moaning into his skin, teeth nipping at his collarbone.
He kind of hoped you would bite him. Leave little indents of your teeth on his skin so he could run his fingers over it in the morning.
"Fuck," He murmured, stalling for a second just to appreciate how it felt. The warmth of your body trapped under his, the taste of you still on his tongue while his cock was snugly sheathed inside you, raw and-
Shit, he wasn't wearing a condom.
You hadn't asked him to. And to be honest, he didn't even think he had one. It's not like he'd been seeing anyone recently or even considered the possibility he might need one tonight.
It would probably be fine.
He could just pull out or-
"Baby," Your voice, so needy, distracted him.
Suguru's brain shut off.
All higher reasoning had been abandoned, replaced only by the thought of making you cum again (and again).
Sliding out just to shove himself back in, gentle thrusts growing faster, harder with every one of your whines and broken rasps of his name, your hands running over his back and your mouth on his throat. Eventually un-hooking your legs from his hips to pin your thighs to your chest, angling himself to hit that same spongy spot he had before, half-incoherent murmurs whispered into your skin of how beautiful you were, how badly he wanted you, needed you.
And you were nodding back, tears brimming at your lashes and moaning his name, offering quiet little swears that you belonged to him like it was a secret meant for the two of you to keep.
"Oh, t-there, fuck," You whimpered, his cock practically grinding against your cervix as his hips smacked against your skin, planting another open-mouthed kiss on your lips while you both struggled to stave off your climax. Neither of you wanted it to end. "Suguru, m' so close."
"I know, baby, I know," He groaned, barely holding himself together, all the carefully assembled pieces of his life about feeling like they were about to fracture the second his restraint snapped.
There was no going back after this.
No mask he'd be able to wear now that he knew what this felt like. Knew what you looked like pinned under him in the filthiest fucking mating press imaginable, fucked-out and filled-up by his cock slamming again and again while his thumb made messy circles over your clit, rolling and pinching it just to see what sort of noises he could pull out of you next. Especially not after knowing what face you made when you finished, your shattered gasp and your glazed-over eyes focused solely on him and fuck-
Fuck.
He cumming before he could stop himself, your body wrapped up so warm around him, the delicious squeeze like you wanted to draw out every last fucking drop, painting your insides white before he even had enough brain power to start to pull out, but by then, only the last few drops were left to leak onto your thighs. Both dazed, blinking and breathing, his cock still hard in his hand while he stared down at his seed dripping out of you.
You were probably on birth control.
Probably.
Suguru reached over to snag the camera off the nightstand, one hand still pinning your thighs down while the other held the camera back up.
"Say cheese."
Step three?
Show up to your apartment after you'd been avoiding him for what? Two months?
Work stuff, you said, already made plans, you bluffed, feeling sick, you excused.
You hadn't left his place upset - no, you showered and practically stayed in his bed until you had to go to work on Monday. Kissed him on the lips and brushed his bangs out of his face, but when he replayed the 36 hours of heaven, none of the words exchanged had technically been confessions. Or at least, nothing that would put a name to whatever the two of you were now.
It's not like you hadn't gone a couple weeks without seeing each other in person. But this was getting ridiculous - and exactly what he'd been worried about in the first place. He knew you were probably overthinking it, probably just as worried as he was that it'd screw everything up, judging by the still-constant stream of texts you sent him every day.
But he couldn't take it anymore - close enough to just calling it like it was and asking you out officially if it meant you'd stop whatever this was. He'd spent more nights by now fucking in fists to the photos he'd taken of you, painfully-aware of how much better the real thing was.
He could tell by the sound of some shitty reality show playing too-loud through the door that you were definitely home, but you didn't answer the first time he knocked. Or the fourth.
By the tenth, he was flipping through his keys to find the spare one to your place, his text messages to you left unread as he turned it in the lock, calling out your name as he stepped inside. No answer.
Panic had started to prick at his nerves, glancing around to see your stuff scattered around like you usually left it as he crept through your empty kitchen and living room. There weren't any dishes in the sink though, just a few empty packs of crackers, a small trash can by the couch, a blanket thrown over the side and a crushed pillow like you'd just been there. He heard it then - the sound of retching.
Shit. You were sick.
He followed the noise down the hall into the bathroom, the door already cracked open, softly saying your name as he approached so he wouldn't surprise you, but you coughed again, glancing over your shoulder clearly startled anyway.
"What are you-" You weakly rasped, a few stray hairs plastered to your forehead with sweat, tired circles around your eyes before you got sick again. He hurried to hold the rest of your hair back with one hand, the other rubbing little circles on your shoulder blade.
"Hey, it's okay," He murmured, concern replacing everything else he'd been preoccupied with when he showed up. "I was worried about you."
Something that looked like fear flashed across your features when you finished and peeked back over at him.
"Suguru," You slowly said his name, and just speaking sounded like it must hurt.
"Come on, want me to carry you back to the couch? I can go pick up some medicine for you, whatever else you want too," He offered, his thumb rubbing over your your shoulder blade in comforting half-circles. You didn't immediately answer, a small frown still stuck on your face. "You been to the doctor yet?"
"Suguru," You said his name again, more serious this time and he froze.
"Yeah?" He swallowed hard, and you refused to meet his stare.
"I'm pregnant," You murmured, so quietly that was barely audible over the bathroom exhaust fan.
His brain stopped working.
His body too - stuck in place, his thumb still pressing down on the tense muscles of your back.
"You're-" He started, then stopped himself. Each word forming its own separate thought, struggling to piece each of them together when weight of them all combined threatened to crush him. "Is it my baby?"
Fuck, it had to be.
You nodded, just a small bob of your head, and he could barely blink.
Baby. A baby. Yours and his.
"Don't hate me," You whispered sheepishly, shoulders shrinking together. "But I want to keep it."
"I could never hate you," He hoped it sounded reassuring, straining to keep his own happiness in check, struggling to be steady the way you clearly needed him to be. "Whatever you want, I'm here for you. And our baby."
"You mean it?" You turned, just enough that he was able to tug you into his chest and wrapped his arms around you.
"Promise." He pressed a kiss against your hair, cradling you closer.
Your breathing was still shaky, sniffling a few times before your arms wrapped around his waist, face pressed against his shirt.
"Have you been to the doctor yet?" He asked again, although it had an entirely different meaning now, one that still hadn't sunk in all the way yet.
"I called, after, um, I got the positive test," You talked into his chest, voice muffled but you refused to pull away either. "My first appointment isn't for another two weeks."
"I'll go with you," He muttered.
"You don't have-"
"I want to," Suguru chuckled. "Let me take care of you, okay?"
"That's kind of how we ended up here," You reminded him, and he didn't have to see your face to know you were pouting.
He still laughed though, because he'd still do it again.
"Want me to make you something to see if you can keep it down?" He decided to shift the subject, rubbing your back in long, soothing strokes, content to play doctor or nurse (or husband) or whatever role you wanted from him.
Playing chef while he made you something warm, masseuse when he rubbed your back while you curled up next to him in bed, and boyfriend when you finally fell asleep, slipping out of your room to complete the chores that had started to pile up that you'd been too exhausted to do.
It was the least he could do when all your energy was already being devoted to his baby.
By the time he finished and crept back into your bedroom, you were still dreaming, the blankets kicked off of your body. The bed creaked as he climbed back in, settling next to your warm body.
His hand slipped down your side, readjusting so his chest was pressed against your back as his fingers drifted slowly over your stomach, just beneath your belly button, trying to picture it.
Would the baby be a boy? Or a girl?
A little mini-version of you running around, maybe with his eyes or hair?
You were already everything he ever wanted. Anything extra was just icing on top.
Step four?
Convince you to move into his place before the second trimester was over, it was bigger, anyway, had a spare bedroom he'd been using as a home gym he already started converting into a nursery. Spending the weekends building baby furniture and taking you out for dates disguised as shopping, buying little onesies and toys mostly so he could insist on treating you to lunch or dinner afterwards.
It was easier than he expected.
What wasn't?
Convincing you to marry him.
You were already carrying his child. Pretty and pregnant, the cute swell of your stomach you tried to hide under flowy dresses and oversized sweaters making his heart throb in his chest every time he saw it. His mouth would go dry, his eyes stuck staring if he caught you in the middle of changing, even when you shyly tried to turn away. Only having sex in certain positions where you could try to avoid letting him see it, although it usually ended up with him flipping you over on your back or pulling you on top.
"We're going to be late," Suguru sighed, throwing on a sweater from the closet.
"I just need a few more minutes," You pouted, halfway yelling from the bathroom.
He crossed over the bedroom, pushing the bathroom door open with two fingers so he could poke his head through. You were frowning at yourself in the mirror, readjusting your dress, like it'd make it any less obvious you were pregnant. Other clothing items were already discarded across the floor.
"Baby," He softly said, wrapping his arms around your waist, running a hand over your baby bump while the other slipped up to cup your swollen breast starting to spill out of your bra. Despite your insistence otherwise, your discomfort with your changing body, he still tried to offer to take you out to buy stuff for you instead of just the baby. "You look beautiful."
You did.
Everything in him ached to touch you constantly, and maybe it was protective or possessive or whatever you wanted to call it, but he hated that you wanted to hide it, the physical proof that you were his.
He wanted everyone to know it, wanted to slide a ring on your finger and have family photos on the fridge because you were carrying more of him with you now than just his heart.
You scowled at him in the mirror.
"I look pregnant," You muttered, like it was a bad thing.
"Yeah?" He chuckled, tracing the subtle curve of your stomach with his thumb. Twenty weeks. That was halfway there, wasn't it? He'd read more than a few parenting books in his spare time - looked up the latest articles on pregnancy and what to expect. He'd pour over the packets you left from the prenatal appointments with, asked off for each one in advance, absolutely refusing to let you go alone.
"I hate all my clothes," You huffed.
"You hated them before you were pregnant," Suguru sighed, pulling you closer and leaning down to plant a soft kiss against your throat. "You should probably wear something else though. Aren't they doing an ultrasound today?"
He phrased it like a question even though he knew they were.
You frowned again, wiggling away from him to slip out of his grip and walk over to the dresser, yanking out a pair of sweatpants.
"Everything fits weird," You complained, pulling your dress up and over your head, and Suguru stared, feeling the way his own jeans started to fit too tight at the sight of your exposed skin.
"We can go shopping for some new clothes after the appointment," Suguru absentmindedly said, still memorizing the pretty outline of your body.
He could kiss you, offer reassurance after reassurance that he did want you, but you were reluctant to believe him.
Your foot was still anxiously tapping the floor of the waiting room when you arrived, gripping his hand like it was a lifeline, your last tether stopping you from giving into the stress.
"It's gonna be fine," He leaned down to murmur in your ear, barely able to squeeze your hand back with how tightly you were holding it.
"What if it's not?" You were panicking, your other hand protectively placed over your stomach like you were shielding it from the rest of the world.
"Then we'll figure it out together."
His answer didn't seem to calm you much, the little circles he rubbed over your knuckles only making your foot tall a little slower.
"They keep looking at you," You eventually craned your neck up to whisper in his ear, frowning even harder than you had when you first walked in.
"Who?" He leaned down to whisper back.
"The other moms," You pouted, cutting a glare over to a woman who was, in fact, staring. She tried to turn away, but not before you both caught her blush.
"So?" He had to resist the smirk that wanted to creep up, lest he faced your wrath too. Like he could ever want anyone else when you were sitting next to him in the waiting room because his baby was growing inside of you, although this jealousy was something he probably would've killed to see you show over him six months ago.
"I'm probably going to be prying them off of you at the playground in a couple years," You huffed, and he couldn't help but chuckle picturing that.
But before you could focus your frown on him, a nurse called out your full name, his own forming at the reminder he was barely here as a boyfriend, that his baby might not even have his last name either.
He insisted on helping you stand, a hand on the small of your back even when you didn't really need it yet, following you through the hall and listening to you answer the same questions they always asked at every appointment until they led you to the small room that branched off the main hall. The lights were dimmed down already as he helped you lay back onto the table, the paper crinkling while you readjusted. He pulled the chair against the wall closer, slipping his hand back on yours while the nurse left and reassured an ultrasound tech would be there in a few minutes.
"Last guesses," You mumbled, chewing on your lower lip, breathing too fast. "Boy or a girl?"
"Girl," Suguru replied, although he didn't think it mattered much. Not as long as it was yours.
He did like the idea of the baby being a girl - if she had your eyes and your smile.
"I guess I'll go with boy then," You spoke quietly, eyeing the machine next to you. "I hope our baby looks like you either way."
Suguru didn't expect the way your sentiment made him feel - his heart practically stuttering as the words left your lips. Something squeezing tight in his chest, making it hard for him to breathe.
But there were two sharp knocks on the door and suddenly it was swinging open, a peppy woman in shrugs stepping in with cheery greetings, waving and taking a seat on the other side of you to get started. Asking questions about names you had in mind and if you wanted to know the gender while she got set up, and it was silly, but it was like he had a crush on you all over again, watching you chat about the baby, how your eyes lit up just to get sheepish and almost embarrassed when you looked back at Suguru to find him staring.
It didn't take long for you to be slowly pulling the band of your sweatpants down, tissues stuck under it to keep the gel from getting on your clothes while you held up your sweatshirt high enough for her to spread the gel over your stomach, pressing down hard with the wand as the image pulled up on the projector. Taking measurements and checking body parts until she paused right as the baby turned.
"You see that?"
Not really.
"Sorta," You squinted, trying to squint and figure out what it is.
"Looks like you're having a girl!"
And all the earlier anxiety had dissolved, melted into the shy smile on your lips when you glanced back at him, your warm palm giving him a quick squeeze and an excited gleam in your eyes.
"We're gonna have a daughter," You talked so quiet, so soft, like you were still holding your breath.
A daughter. You voice, those words played on repeat the drive home, while you traced the outline of your baby's face on the roll of ultrasound photos you got sent home with.
"Suguru, are you even listening?" You snapped him out of his thoughts, the idea of what you'd look like with a little girl swaddled up in your arms, already planning on taking you out shopping again tomorrow for more baby outfits than any kid could actually need.
"Sorry, honey? What?" He apologized, placing a palm on your thigh and rubbing it while you hummed.
"I asked what you thought of the name Kiyoko," You repeated, setting the photos down on your lap to pull out your phone and probably look up lists of baby girl names.
"That's pretty," He hummed, mostly just enjoying hearing your enthused chatter next to him.
"Or Yumi?" He caught a glimpse of you with your eyebrow arched up as you asked, your attempt at a serious expression falling flat from the thrill you couldn't hide.
He never thought he'd be able to love another girl as much as you - but he guessed his daughter was the only exception.
It wasn't until he started to climb into bed next to you that night that he realized you might not know that.
"Um, Suguru?"
There was something off in the sound of your voice, how hesitant you were to roll over and face him.
"Something wrong, sweetheart?" He readjusted, propping himself up on his side as he brushed your hair out of your face.
"Are, um, you," You paused, frowning as you restarted your question. "Do you think you'll-"
He guessed you were giving up on whatever you wanted to ask as you groaned and buried your face into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist.
"Sorry, just, pretend I didn't say anything," Your voice was muffled, clinging to him, fingers wrinkling his shirt and forcing it to ride up higher until a thin strip of skin was exposed.
"You sure?" He stroked your hair, returning your hug as he pulled you in closer with one strong arm.
"Yeah," You huffed, wiggling free and rolling over till you were between his legs.
He was about to slip his hands under your arms to tug you back up, but then you let one finger skim under his boxers, looking up and batting your eyes at him and he paused, the question he was about to ask dying on his tongue.
Yours seemed to have an idea of it's own.
Fingers ghosting over his dark happy trail while you bit your lip, slowly tugging down his boxers just enough to pull his cock out, already hard from watching you undress and ditch your daytime clothes for a thin slip earlier that hugged your swollen breasts before you'd crawled into bed.
"This for me?" You hummed, running your fingers over the thick vein pulsing along the side while he sucked in a breath, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile on its own.
"Always," He murmured, the lump in his throat bobbing as you dragged your tongue along the length of him, mouth slowly wrapping around the tip.
God, it wasn't fucking fair.
How could he control himself when every part of you felt so good?
Head falling back on the pillow, jaw clenched as you slowly took him in inch-by-inch, swirling our tongue over him and down across the vein, traced the ridges until he was pressed up against the roof of your mouth, bumping into the back of your throat.
His hand grabbing your hair to help guide you, careful not to make you gag or bruise your throat, your fingers wrapped around his base to stroke what you couldn't fit in. Your moan when he pulled your hair harder than he meant to almost made him snap them and there.
Opening his eyes was his mistake.
He wished he could take a photo of this, the bob of your head and the way you peered up at him so pretty, his cock throbbing in your mouth and how eagerly your mouth softly sucked on him.
He barely pulled out before warm spurts of cum shot down your throat, meaning to cum on his own hand, but it didn't quite work. The thick almost translucent white coating your lips and making them glossy, half ending up on your face and the rest coating his hand as he roughly jerked long strokes.
"Fuck, sorry, I-"
You giggled, licking a little off your lips before wiping away at your cheek.
"It's fine, Sugu," You laughed, wiping your face off on his boxers, nose nuzzling through the fabric against his thigh. "Little warning, next time?"
"Yeah," He muttered, still dazed as he studied your face.
It seemed keeping it together wasn't something he could do when it came to you.
"Wanna shower?" You offered, getting off the bed, the bounce of your breasts as you carefully pulled your little nightdress off reminding him how badly he wanted to repay that favor.
"Sure," He shrugged, standing up after you and stepping out his boxers off before tossing them into the laundry basket.
He watched you get the water started, humming to yourself as you grabbed a new bottle of body wash from the cabinet underneath the sink and checked the temperature.
"Hey," He softly said, distracting you before you could step in.
"Yeah?" You paused, glancing over your shoulder at him.
"Wanna get married?"
You didn't react. Or maybe your lack of reaction was one in itself. A blank stare. A blink. Your hands still on the shower curtain.
"What?" You eventually choked out.
Suguru panicked - or came as close to panic as he could. Falling back on logic, all the facts you couldn't argue with.
"I was paying the bill for the last appointment, and you know, your insurance is terrible," He reasoned, keeping his expression serious, stoic, like you'd have to see his side. "I just think it'd make more sense for us to get married, use my insurance and save our money for the other important stuff."
He actually couldn't care less what the appointments cost or how much he spent on the baby - because he would make absolutely fucking sure you were both spoiled but, he wanted you to say yes.
"I can just pay for the appointments if that's the problem," You quietly murmured, a look on his face he'd never seen before he barely caught before you turned back around and stepped in the shower.
Shit.
He didn't have to guess to know that was a no.
Step five?
Try not to maim every guy that ever looked at you.
It had to be something instinctual - how it made his skin crawled whenever someone's shoulder brushed against yours on the street or a stare lingered too long on your face. Fuck, even Gojo sitting too-close to you had started to get to him, the easy way he slung his shoulder over the back of the couch and blabbered to you about his day while you laughed.
Normally, Suguru would not be silently struggling to maintain his polite smile when you offered to let Satoru feel the baby kick, new cracks starting to form in his facade as his best friend eagerly out his hand on your stomach.
"That's freaky," Gojo scrunched up his face, pulling his hand away at the first flutters of the kick.
"Jerk," You huffed, smacking his arm before struggling to readjust the pillows under your back, your own brows knitted together in frustration.
"Need something?" Suguru interrupted.
"I'm fine," You muttered, despite your discomfort.
"So, like," Gojo started, squinting down at your stomach before glance between you and Suguru. "Am I like, the godfather or-"
"Why not?" You shrugged right as Suguru shook his head no.
"Why not?" Gojo repeated in a whine, cutting him a look that only ever worked if you were the one directing it at him.
"I'd prefer my daughter lives off of more than chocolate and candy," Suguru sarcastically dismissed, scooting closer to you in the couch to slip the pillow that had been beside him underneath your back to help support it.
"I can cook," Satoru defensively protested, looking to your for support Suguru hoped he wouldn't received. "Besides, I have a great dentist so even if-"
"Shit, do we have to find her a dentist too?" You were ignoring the rest of his rambling, glancing back at Suguru with a frown at yet another task on the growing list of items to take care of.
"We can worry about that when she's actually here," Suguru shrugged, a hand settling on your shoulder and massaging the tense muscles there. "And has teeth."
"Okay," You sighed, still chewing on your bottom lip. You turned to your other side, your attention focusing again on your guest.
"You guys pick out a doctor yet?" Satoru asked, spreading his legs and leaning over to grab one of the still-warm cookies you baked after dinner. The sun had already set aside, only the glow from the TV and the kitchen light still on.
"Yeah, think so," You hummed, a hand resting on your stomach when you tried to get one too, pouting at your body's refusal to do what it used to until Suguru reached over to get the cookie for you.
"Got your hands pretty full, huh?" Satoru mumbled with his mouth still full, cookie crumbs sticking to his face.
"Suguru says we should just go ahead and get married," You sighed, taking another small bite before talking again. "For insurance stuff, I guess."
It was the first time you mentioned it in the past couple months since he first brought it up.
Satoru threw him a look like he was the biggest idiot on the planet before actually laughing.
"Just for insurance?" He cocked a brow up, an annoying glimmer of amusement flashing in the blue of his eyes while throwing Suguru a look that made him consider strangling his friend on the spot. "You know, my insurance is really-"
"Don't even think about it," Suguru shut him up before he could continue.
But you were glancing between them, a small frown weighing your lips down and a subtle crease between your brow. Were you actually disappointed?
"I'm actually pretty tired, guys, I, uh, think I'm gonna crash for the night," You mumbled, pushing up off the couch and ignoring Suguru's outstretched hand to stand on your own.
He could feel it sinking in his chest before you disappeared down the hall.
Another misstep. Pushing you away when he was trying to pull you closer.
"Insurance? Really?" Satoru snickered once you were out of earshot.
"Shut up," Suguru groaned.
"Just tell her you love her already and put a ring on it," He shrugged, leaning over to flick his arm. "Unless you want your kid to have a stepdad some day?"
Okay, Suguru really wanted to strangle him for suggesting that.
And it was his own fault for offering excuses, he knew that, still he didn't want to tell you he loved you and you think it was just because of the baby, or that was the only reason he was trying to tie you down to him. He wanted you to know he meant it.
To know he'd been waiting for the moment he could claim you his entire life, to call you his in every form, sign the paper and hear the word husband leave your lips.
Just being your boyfriend the past few months when you were having his baby was torture, enduring your unsure glances, the unease he tried and failed to kiss away.
What were you so scared of? And why was it him?
He still hadn't figured out by the time Satoru left, or when he eventually got in bed next to you, careful not to disturb your sleep - even if he suspected you were already awake.
Suguru was pretty sure he'd never been scared in his until he woke up to an empty bed. Cold sheets, no lingering body heat or even the scent of your shampoo clinging to your pillow when he rolled over to the empty space you should be.
Stumbling out of the bed still half-asleep himself, squinting as he rubbed his eyes and pushed open the bathroom door, but no, the lights were off and it was also empty. Calling out your name and crushing the budding anxiety clawing up his throat as he padded through the hall into the living room, the dim light from the kitchen hurting his eyes as they adjusted to the yellow glow.
His ears caught up first.
The faint sound of your sniffling reaching him as he rounded the corner to find you on the floor by the entryway, struggling to slip on your shoes, wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants that didn't do much to hide your baby bump as you wiped at your cheeks with one hand. Dressed like you were planning on going somewhere, purse laying on the floor next to you, phone and keys hanging halfway out of it.
"Baby," He yawned, trying to speak softly as he glanced over at the clock. "It's three in the morning. What are you doing?"
"Can't sleep. I want a slushie," You mumbled, blinking a few times, clearly just as exhausted as him. There was a faint shine to your eyes, a few teardrops still clinging to your lashes.
"You should've woken me up," He murmured, gently squeezing your shoulder.
"It's just a stupid craving," You dismissed, rubbing your own eyes as you gave up and threw your shoe back on the ground.
It was the first one you'd told him about. He wasn't even sure you even had any, but maybe you'd just been taking care of them yourself.
"I'll get you one," He stifled another yawn while he talked. "Let me get a coat and my keys."
You grabbed onto the hem of his pajama pants to hold him in place, peeking up at him with a pout.
"You don't have to."
"You think I'm going to let my pregnant girlfriend go out by herself to get one?" Suguru retorted.
Your pout only got deeper at the word girlfriend.
"Forget about it," You murmured, letting go of his pajamas to push off the floor, once again ignoring his outstretched hand to try and stand by yourself. "Let's just go back to bed."
He knew he could ask if you were sure and you'd grumble something sarcastic back before going to sleep upset.
"Hey," He paused, stopping you with a hand on the curve of your waist, pulling you into him, until your baby bump, his daughter, was pressed against the firm muscle of his own stomach. "Let's go together, okay?"
"You really wanna?" You hesitated, clearly wanting to say yes despite the streak of stubbornness that usually won out over your softer side.
Suguru pressed a kiss against your forehead, his hand appreciatively running over your stomach just for the mini-you inside to kick, the flutter under his fingers only reminding him how easily the two of you had him wrapped around your own.
"It's you," He'd remind you however many times you needed. "Course I do."
Step six?
Get you whatever craving or late night treat you wanted - even if he felt like he was sleepwalking.
Still groggy, he threw on his own shoes and grabbed his stuff, helping you over to the couch so he could get down on his knees and help you get your shoes on, tugging one of his sweatshirts over your head, although you didn't drown in it any more, he thought it was cuter now, stretched over your baby bump like this.
Rubbing his eyes with yet another yawn while he insisted on holding open the car door for you and driving you to the nearest gas station/convenience store combo that had a functioning slushie machine, keeping his mouth shut about the terrible food dyes in it while you picked out a cup and pulled the dispenser down on the blue raspberry flavor. It was nice. Your head resting on his shoulder and happily sipping through the straw while he paid the equally tired cashier, your hand in his after he pocketed the receipt while you walked to the car, his thumb rubbing over the bare spot beneath your knuckle where a ring should be.
The one that had been tucked inside a box in his closet, buried under photo albums and souvenirs of a lifetime you'd already spent together. One he'd seen through the window of a jewelry store on the street, the glittering stone and the thin band, the little offset gems, something about it that made him think of what it'd look like on you. He bought it even though Satoru laughed at him the entire drive home.
"You're not even dating her."
Who else would you marry if not him?
He glanced back over at you as he turned the key in the ignition, your sleepy eyes and your pretty smile, the way your other hand was settled over the swell of your stomach.
His girls.
The drive back home was filled with the sort of chatter that used to be casual for you two - your happy giggle ringing in his ears while you talked about some reality show you wanted to watch with him, swearing it was stupid but he'd still like it anyway, your hand drifting over to his leg, pausing on his thigh while you asked what him and Satoru talked about after you went to sleep.
Your slushie was almost empty by the time you made it back, taking the last few sips before tossing it in the trash in the kitchen and giving him a little look like you wanted him to help get your shoes off but didn't want to ask.
He did it for you.
Following behind you to the bedroom, tossing his stuff on the nightstand and flicking the lamp back on to bathe the room in low light.
"Thank you, Sugu," You softly said, yawning as you peeled the sweatshirt off first, shuffling out of your pajama pants until you were just in a thin t-shirt and panties, and all he could fucking think was how could you be thanking him? When you were giving him his dream on the prettiest platter he'd ever seen?
"You're so-" He started, but you weren't finished, shyly avoiding his gaze as your mouth opened again. The mood had shifted again, your face scrunched up like you were sad.
"I just feel bad, you know?" He didn't. "You're just, so, perfect, and so you, and you got stuck with me and a baby you didn't plan on."
"Stuck with you?" He echoed, blinking blankly at you while you kept stumbling over your words.
"I just, uh, I want you to know you don't have to marry me just because you feel obligated to, you know, if, um, you met someone else-" You looked like you were going to be sick just saying it.
Was this what had you so worried?
"There isn't ever going to be anyone else," Suguru bluntly cut you off.
"You don't know that," You argued, struggling to be the better person, not to be greedy when that was exactly what he'd waited years for.
"I'm in love with you."
You froze.
Glossy eyes wide with surprise, your lips parted and stained blue still, shoulders tense.
He turned back to the closet, snagging the box of the shelf and tossing it on the bed, shuffling through loose photos and little gifts you'd given him through the years he couldn't bear to break or lose until he found the velvet box at the bottom.
Getting down on one knee was the second-easiest decision he ever made in his life. The first was choosing you to begin with.
"Sugu," Your voice quivered, breath hitching in your throat.
"I bought this for you three years ago," He admitted, dark eyes piercing through to you, studying the way your face seemed to glow from the light of the lamp. And sure, of all the ways he'd imagined this moment going, he never once pictured it like this. But that didn't matter. Because this was real. Raw. "I love you. I did then, and I do now, and if you ask me again in fifteen years, I'm sure I will then too."
He popped the ring box open, and he didn't think your mouth could drop open any more but it did, your cute little gasp making his pulse thrum louder in his ears while your attention flickered back-and-forth between his sharp stare and the ring he hoped you'd accept.
"Marry me."
It wasn't quite a question, or a plea. An open statement of affection, a quiet promise of a lifetime of it.
You swallowed, barely bobbing your head up and down in a nod at first, a slow smile taking shape on your lips like you still couldn't believe it.
"O-okay," You stammered, an airy laugh slipping out while you tried to blink away the disbelief. "I-"
He grabbed your left hand where it was still hanging by your side, plucking the ring out of the box and slipping it on your finger, swiveling it a little around the knuckle for it to sit snugly at the base.
"You're really serious? No take backs, okay?" You murmured, holding your hand up to admire the way it glittered even in the low light while he laughed. You tugged him up to his feet by his hand, pressing yourself against his chest and glancing up at him, a hint of something unsure still lingering in the lines of your face. "You're mine."
That was supposed to be his line.
Then. Now. Always.
"We can go sign the paperwork Monday if you want, or have a wedding, before or after the baby-"
"I don't care how we do it," You interrupted him this time, reaching up to cup his cheek. The gentle touch, your soft fingertips, the adoration in your eyes when you got up on your tiptoes to plant a small kiss on the corner of his mouth.
"I always kinda wanted to see you in a white dress," He chuckled, grabbing your chin between his fingers to give you a proper kiss back, sucking on your lower lip, the taste of blue raspberry still on your tongue.
"Yeah? Seven months pregnant?" You laughed back when you broke away for a breath.
"You seriously have no idea what you do to me," He breathlessly murmured into your skin.
"You could show me," You tilted your head to the side, but your eyes flickered back to the ring on your finger, the proof of it already there.
"Tease," He muttered as his lips ghosted over your cheek, pulling you back over to the edge of the mattress. He used his free hand to tug the box back down to the floor, nudging it away with his foot.
Half past four in the morning and he was taking his fiancèe to bed instead of his girlfriend.
He made sure you were comfortable first, readjusting you until the pillows were nestled under your head, ignoring your giggles while he moved the blankets aside and climbed up after you, hooking a leg over his shoulder after he peeled your underwear down your thighs.
"I was kidding," You laughed while he licked a long stripe up the inside of your thigh, the sound turning into a pretty gasp when he dipped his tongue inside.
"I wasn't," His voice was muffled into your skin, fingers dipping against the soft flesh on your thigh and hip as he held on tighter, his tongue slipping inside deeper, dragging the muscle along the inside of your walls.
A taste he missed, too long since you last let him try it.
Your fingers tangled into his hair, moaning as he practiced steady patterns, pulling him closer into your heat while he used your hips like handlebars to refuse to let you squirm away from him again.
You still tried, writhing under the weight of his palms, although he knew his clipped nails wouldn't leave a mark.
"Oh," You squeaked, a cute strangled noise escaping when he dragged his tongue out and ran it over your clit, tracing small shapes with the tip of it.
"Better get used to being mine, baby," He hummed, peeking up to watch the way you still shivered at the sound of his voice, how you were finally about to be his in every sense of the word.
"I always was," Your lighthearted laugh cut off by another lewd moan, your hips still trying to arch up.
Planting open-mouthed kisses along your swollen bud while your fingers tugged at his scalp, your gasps of his name cut through the quiet.
Your thigh still up on his shoulder to give him easier access, the muscles pulling tense under his grip and the way your breath had started to stutter let him know you were close before you managed to barely stammer it out.
"Please, please, please."
Your legs were trembling, soft whimpers that were almost incoherent imprinting themselves in his memory while you unraveled underneath him, his tongue cleaning you up like it hadn't caused it. Teasing you before you managed to piece yourself back together, sucking softly on your oversensitive bundle of nerves just for you to let out a whine of his name.
"Tired, baby?" He couldn't help his smirk, leaving a kiss on the inside of your thigh before climbing off the bed to snag you a fresh pair of underwear from the dresser, slipping it up your legs for you so didn't have to do the awkward shuffle of getting it back on.
"Maybe," You admitted, rubbing your eyes as you patted the spot next to you for him to lay. "I am growing your baby."
He smiled.
"We can sleep in, alright?" He could feel his own eyes crinkle, flicking the light off on the lamp, the faint moonlight cutting the dark of the room. He pulled the covers up as he got in his side of the bed, readjusting until your head was resting on his chest.
Suguru usually got up before you, made breakfast and brewed the coffee and started the laundry, but tomorrow (or today, technically)? He would spend the sunrise holding you close and wait for you to wake up to take you out for brunch or lunch or whatever you wanted.
"Hey, Suguru?" You murmured, stifling a yawn as you peeked up at him through heavy lidded eyes.
"Mhm?" He stroked your hair back, admiring his future wife snuggled up in his arms.
"I love you."
want more dilf!Suguru with his post-partum wife? here!
⌗ pairing. satoru gojo x fem!reader, no-curses + college au.
⌗ content warnings. perv!jo ; established relationship ; sexual content ; mdni !!
𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎, 𝐉𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐍 ── 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎
finding Satoru Gojo around campus isn’t exactly difficult.
most people expect to see him with Suguru and Shoko somewhere nearby, maybe even occasionally accompanied by economics major Nanami, whose tolerance for him seems to be wearing thinner by the day.
but on the rare occasions Satoru’s alone, chances are music isn’t far behind. sometimes, that means spotting him perched on the stone steps beside the courtyard fountain, acoustic guitar resting across his lap as deft fingers glide over the strings, idly picking through whatever melody happens to be stuck in his head. other times, he’s in the library, nodding along to whatever playlist is blasting through his headphones while untouched textbooks lie open in front of him, somehow acing every exam despite looking like he’s perpetually on vacation.
so no one bats an eye anymore when they spot him lounging beneath a sprawling oak tree, arms crossed loosely over his broad chest, long legs stretched out across the grass as the breeze toys with his snow-white hair and strips of sunlight dance across his sharp features.
why would they? it’s just Gojo and his signature headphones again—those reliable green ones with the cord disappearing into his pocket, plugged firmly into his white xperia. just another lazy afternoon for the campus golden boy, soaking up the warmth like he has all the time in the world. with his dark sunglasses shielding those crystal blue eyes, he looks less like a student dozing peacefully between classes and more like someone who wandered straight out of a college brochure: effortlessly handsome, impossibly relaxed, the kind of person the admissions office plasters easily across every poster.
a picture-perfect student.
but pouring into his ears isn’t his usual playlist—it’s you. or the video you recorded just for him last night, to be precise. the wet, filthy sounds are unmistakable—obscene squelches of your drenched pussy as you plunge two fingers deep inside yourself, pumping faster, harder, the lewd noises echoing with every thrust.
“Satoru… haa—yes, right there,” you moan on the recording, voice cracking with desperation. the audio captures everything in raw detail: the breathy gasps, the messy glide of your fingers through your soaking folds, the rhythmic schlick-schlick-schlick that grows louder as you chase your release.
a contented hum escapes him as the clip keeps playing, a low thrum of arousal pooling hot in his gut. his cock stirs eagerly against the front of his slacks, but he doesn’t bother hiding the lazy shift of his hips as he settles more comfortably. the smirk on his face deepens, a stark contrast to the peaceful image he’s currently projecting to the world; here he is, in broad daylight on a bustling college campus, secretly listening to his needy girlfriend finger-fucking herself. no one can hear your sloppy rhythm, or your cock-hungry moans, or how you gasp his name as you come; those wired headphones keep his perversion perfectly hidden.
it puts him in the best mood—energized, cocky, ready to crush the rest of the day. it has him buzzing with anticipation, already picturing later when he’ll see you in person. he has something delicious to look forward to: teasing you about the video, making you recreate those sounds live, watching you fall apart under his hands.
he doesn’t move when the audio loops back to the beginning. instead, he just sits there, letting the filtered sunrays warm his pale face as his tongue darts out to wet his lips.
a group of guys from his quantum physics class wanders by, lifting a hand the moment they spot him. “Gojo! new playlist?”
if only they fucking knew.
he barely plucks one earbud out, flashing them a grin that doesn’t betray a thing. “yeah… something special. really hits the spot.” his voice is casual, effortless, and they laugh as they continue across the courtyard, none the wiser.
classic Gojo, they think.
back in those headphones, your voice hits that peak again—“Satoru, I’m… hmph, fuck!”—followed by a flood of pure ecstasy as you come hard, fingers burying deeper as your pussy clenches and gushes around them.
Gojo lets out a quiet, satisfied breath as he tips his head farther back against the rough bark, exposing the long column of his throat. his adam’s apple bobs with a slow swallow while the recording starts over once more.
yeah… if only they knew.
1 NEW MESSAGE
baby’s first jjk post. kinda nervous. gulp. hey y’all…
⏻ 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐄. all writing on this blog belongs to me. do not repost, translate, or modify without permission. do NOT feed my work to AI.
Synopsis: Park Sunghoon, the west's most notorious cowboy. In other words, your notorious big dicked cowboy.
Pairing: cowboy!Sunghoon * bartender!fem!reader
Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, p in v, fingering, unprotected sex (not for you), cock riding, bondage (f), cuffs (f), size kink, breast play, overstimulation, biting (blood involved), semi-public sex, oral (f recieving), exhibitionism lowkey, gagging (belt), hard dom Sunghoon, sub!reader, rough sex, multiple orgasms, cumming inside, hair pulling, heavy degradation, alcohol, my very bad knowledge of alcoholic drinks, lmk if i missed any!
A/N: This is officially the filthiest thing i have ever written and of course I wrote it for my baby Kayz @wichujunseo and of course i wrote it about Park Sunghoon who needs to now put a baby in me. might turn this into an 02z series, if i get horny enough over Jay but we'll see. As always, enjoy! (Also initially wrote about this here)
Word Count: 11k (half of it is smut)
Series Masterlist
The west’s most notorious cowboy—a hardened criminal, guilty of half the shit posted onto the bulletin board outside the Sheriff’s office, the ice prince as they called him, unmoving and cold, the most ruthless in all the west.
And apparently the guy who slid his number in between the bills he just slammed on the bar.
“Park Sunghoon.”
“Yes doll?”
“What the fuck is this?” You held up the crumpled piece of paper in between your fingers, “I thought I told you already that I don’t date cowboys?”
“You did.” He tilted his head, a vexatious smile dancing on his lips, “But it was Jungwon who asked you back then, and we all know he’s not your type.”
“And you are?” You scoffed, throwing the paper at his chest, “You know I can throw you out of here whenever I want right?”
“Yeah?” He smiled on, really getting on your nerves now, “I’m sooo scared.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the wood. Any room he entered always hushed around him, as if the sound of mere breath would have him whipping out his revolver.
“Throw me out then.” Sunghoon said mildly, gaze flicking to the rows of liquor bottles behind you, “I’ll have my usual before you do though.”
“Is that supposed to impress me?” You scoffed, though your hands were already moving on their own, muscle memory betraying you as you reached for the rye. Sunghoon watched you intently, eyes as black as kohl. You were one of the rare ones to actually see them up close—usually they’d be hidden by the shadow of his hat.
You grabbed the mixing glass with more force than necessary, ice clinking sharply as you dropped it in. Then came the rye, measured clean and precise, peychaud’s bitters— exactly two dashes. Then, pointedly, you reached past the sugar jar and picked up the small vial of orange extract instead. He lifted a brow.
“Oh?” He murmured, “You remembered huh doll?”
“I remember all my customers’ orders,” You stirred the drink a little too hard. “Doesn’t make you special.”
“Sure.” He replied, lips curling. Cocky bastard.
You strained the drink into the glass, twisted a lemon peel over the top, then hesitated—just long enough for him to notice—before adding the barest hint of orange. The scent bloomed warm and sharp between you, you never really got to use the tiny vial much.
You slid the Sazerac across the bar and leaned in, meeting his eyes. He picked up the glass slowly, turning it once, inspecting it like a man who had never once doubted the world would give him what he wanted. Then he took a sip. A brief pause took over before his shoulders eased.
“Perfect.” He crooned, “The sugar ruins the sharpness of the rye,” His gaze wavered for a fraction of a second, to your chest, “don’t you think?”
“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” You bristled, reaching for a glass to wipe down that was already spotless, “I prefer my poison sweet.” He took another sip, eyes never leaving your face, “Makes it easier to swallow.” Silence settled over you once more, as he sipped away at his drink and you cleaned up. The absence of people in the bar didn't faze you much; you were used to Sunghoon being the only customer at such an ungodly time.
“The Ice Prince.” You hummed, sitting down across from him. His eyes flicked up, a curious oppression danced on his face, “You know what people say about you?”
“That I don’t talk much.” He said tartly, “That I don’t smile. That I leave towns quieter than I found ’em.” He put his finished glass down, “And that I always pay my tabs.” He tapped the bar once, “Which I did. With interest.”
You let out a harsh laugh, picking up the piece of paper. “This—” You leaned forward, eyes hovering at his lips for a second, “—was not part of the tab.”
“Whatever you say, doll.” He chuckled, pushing his glass forward. “Last one before we call it a night?” For a heartbeat, you stared at him, the air felt tight and coiled.
“How about something new this time?” You chirped, catching his attention. Your hand reached for the shiny whiskey bottle sitting at the very top. “Got it in this morning. Supposed to be a new kind from the south.” You tipped it carefully into his glass, eyes fixed on the way it flowed in smoothly. Barrel aged probably, judging from the thickness.
“Am I the first one to try this?” You grudgingly nodded at his question, pressing the bottle to your chest, “Well then I’m honoured to—”
BANG!
A gunshot cracked through the night like lightning, sharp and close. The night shattered, split open as horses outside reared and screamed, their panicked neighs cutting through the chirping of the cicadas, as hooves scraped violently against dirt and wood. Somewhere down the road, a stable door slammed, followed by hurried shouts.
You startled hard, the bottle jerking in your grip. Whiskey sloshed over the rim, splashing down the front of your shirt, warm and sharp-scented. Of course you didn't bother to close the bottle.
“Oh fuck me.” You set the bottle down instantly. As if it wasn't bad enough that you had worn your lowest cut shirt today, it was completely sopped through, your bare skin and black bra introducing themselves to the world with much gusto.
Sunghoon considered himself to be a calm man—a steady island amidst a hurricane. This hurricane would be the one to destroy him though.
Warm whiskey darkening the fabric of your shirt, the scent blooming sharp in the air; his eyes lingered at your tits pressed together as you tried to clean yourself up and his thoughts promptly scattered like spooked birds. Fuuckkk, what he’d give to be buried in between the valley of your chest.
He reached into his pockets without thinking. When he brought his hand back up, a clean folded handkerchief rested between his fingers. He didn’t meet your eyes when he offered it.
“Here,” he said quietly, voice steadier than his thoughts had any right to be.
For a split second, his fingers brushed yours as you took it. Just barely but enough to send a tingling sensation through him. Sunghoon’s thoughts kept circling back in ways they absolutely shouldn’t. His eyes flicked down again, caught on the spill for the briefest second, then snapped away with visible effort, blood rushing to his cheeks….and his dick.
“These fucking assholes.” He mumbled, getting up from his seat as if he were being dragged to school, “Don’t know the right time to settle shit.” He paused as he picked up his hat, “You need me to drop you home?”
“No thanks.” You muttered, covering yourself with his handkerchief, your cheeks warm for reasons that had nothing to do with the whiskey.
“Relax, doll.” He said, voice lower, gentler. “I’m not that kind of a man.” Another shout echoed outside, and Sunghoon exhaled through his nose, “The offer’s still on the table by the way.” His smile softened just a bit.
You folded your arms. “And if I say no?”
“Then I tip my hat, walk out, and don’t bother you again.” He tugged on his black jacket, walking towards the door, “Unless you want me to.” He added, before he opened it, glancing back at you with that cocky smirk, “You know how to reach me, yeah?” The door creaked open, cold night air sweeping in, “Night, doll.”
And he was gone with the same zeal he had entered in with earlier that evening.
Your fingers curled around the bar, heart racing. His glass sat in front of you, the new whiskey untouched. You picked it up silently, bringing your lips to it—it would have been a waste to dump it out. Your throat burned as the liquid seeped into your soul. Sunghoon would have hated this, you thought, it had a subtle sweetness to it that made the burn bearable.
Your eyes lingered over to the handkerchief on the table, stained light brown all over. His initials were faintly visible at the edges, embroidered with green thread. You twirled the glass between your hands. It had been a long night.
It would be even longer the next morning.
__________________
It was the way he never rushed.
That was the first thing that got under your skin. Most men fidgeted when you glared at them—cleared their throats, shuffled their boots and scrambled for words. Sunghoon just waited.
Leaned back against the bar with infuriating ease, one shoulder rolling as if your irritation was nothing more than background noise. Like he had all the time in the world and you were the highlighted one on his schedule.
And then there were his hands, of course.
Always doing something highly unnecessary. Pushing his hat back juust enough to expose those sharp eyes, dragging his thumb slowly along the rim of his glass before taking a sip. Letting his slender fingers rest flat on the bar, as if he wasn’t fully aware you were watching them.
He smiled at the wrong moments too. Always when you were on the edge of snapping—that cocky smirk would hang from his lips. When you told him to wipe that look off his face, he only tilted his head and smiled wider, like he’d just won something. When you threatened to toss him out, he hummed low in his throat, eyes flicking briefly to the door before settling back on you with a look that said no you won’t.
And the worst part?
The fact that you noticed it all.
The way he leaned in just enough to invade your space made your breath hitch despite yourself; the way his gaze lingered half a second too long, daring you to call him out on it; the way he turned away before you could win the stare-down, as if he already knew how it would end.
And you hated—absolutely hated—that some small, reckless part of you liked the way he drank your custom Sazerac like it was nectar.
You clenched your jaw as you stared at the neatly folded handkerchief on your kitchen counter. The crumpled note lay next to it.
“From your favourite cowboy.”
You could practically see that douche bag’s smirk— God how you wanted to punch that smugness off his face. Which was deeply inconvenient, because some traitorous part of you also wanted to see it up close.
You glanced at your clock before leaning back against the counter, head tilting back as you ran over every bad decision you had ever made in your life. Would calling Park Sunghoon at 10 p.m to tell him to pick up his stupid handkerchief really be one of them?
“Is this a dream?”
Yep, it was one of them.
“Pipe down asshole.” You rolled your eyes, “I’m calling about your handkerchief.” There was a pause on the other side. Bad decision, bad decision, bad decision.
“My handkerchief?”
“What, you can’t hear now?” You scoffed, was his voice always this smooth? “You didn't pop in today and I’ve had it all day. You don’t want it back?”
Another tentative pause. And then, a soft laugh.
“You want me to come over at 10 p.m to get my handkerchief?” He snarked, “Wouldn’t that be too scandalous, doll?”
“I swear I’ll set it on fire.”
And that was the story of how you had the west’s most notorious (annoying) cowboy sitting at your kitchen counter while you fixed him a beer.
“How did you know this is my favorite brand?” Sunghoon leaned back in his chair, toying with the beer you just slid him. You rolled your eyes, leaning on your elbows across him on the kitchen counter. Why did this asshole look so good beaten up?
Sunghoon had miraculously gotten into a fight on his way here to your house. He won the fight of course; if he hadn't, he probably would have burnt his face off and hid from the world forever. As expected from someone who thought of himself as the best cowboy ever.
….He was though.
“It’s all I had, asshole." You scoffed, “Had to take a cart home ‘cause no one would order it.” You took a slow sip from your own bottle and quickly understood why. It tasted shit.
“Hey, it’s not that bad.” Sunghoon tilted his head, chuckling at your disgusted expression.
“You can take the rest of them.” You mumbled, watching him intently. The angle of his sharp jay, the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he tilted his head back to chug the last drops. You squeezed your thighs together, mentally smacking your head against a wall.
“Keep starin’ like that princess–” Sunghoon slid his finished bottle away, “—and I just might think you’re in love with me.”
“Oh yeah?” You cocked your head to the side, this beer is way too strong, “Call me princess again and I might just kiss your stupidly pretty face.” You took a heavy swig, the bitter fizz sliding down your throat, and before you could stop yourself, you were walking over to him, grabbing his collar and pulling him close.
Your lips crashed into his with a fierce passion, tongues tangling in a messy, desperate dance. You felt him freeze for a split second, before his strong hands gripped your waist as he kissed you back just as hard.
It was all tongue and teeth as one of his large hands slid slowly up the back of your skirt to grab a handful of your ass. You let out a surprised moan but he swallowed it down, kissing you like a starved man.
“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me.” He mumbled against your lips, circling his arm round your waist as he stood up, pulling you flush against him. The rough movement sent a zap of electricity straight to your core.
You could taste the beer on him, mixed with the faint salt of sweat from his day under the sun. He backed you up against the kitchen counter, the edge digging into your lower back as he pressed his body to yours. His chest heaved against your breasts, his hips pinning you in place, the hard bulge in his pants grinding subtly against your core.
"Sunghoon..." You gasped against his lips as he peppered kisses along your jaw. Your hands clawed at his back desperately.
“Yes doll?” Sunghoon’s calloused hands slid up your sides, sending shivers racing across your skin, “What do you want me to do?”
He broke the kiss just enough to nip at your lower lip, then dived back in, sucking on your tongue while his fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt. The fabric bunched up as Sunghoon explored higher, palms cupping your tits firmly. He squeezed them, thumbs circling your hardening nipples, pinching hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth.
“Oh you like that huh?” The counter creaked under the pressure as he kneaded your breasts, rolling the sensitive peaks between his fingers, drawing out filthy sounds from you, “Never knew you’d be a dirty little girl for me, baby.”
Sunghoon leaned down and captured one of your nipples between his teeth, nipping at the sensitive bud. You cried out, tangling your fingers in his hair to hold him against you. His tongue swirled around the stiff peak before switching to its neglected twin. Each brush of his mouth and teeth against your breasts sent jolts of pleasure straight between your thighs.
Sunghoon’s hand slid down again under your skirt, cupping your warm pussy in your panties. He groaned at the wet feeling on his fingers.
"You're so fucking wet for me already." He chuckled, gripping your pussy tighter. You bucked against him, desperate for more friction. He chuckled again, darker this time and pulled his hand away. "Beg for it, baby."
You glared up at him, heat flushing your cheeks as frustration mixed with the ache building inside you.
“Fuck off, I’m not doing that.” You snapped, shoving at his chest half-heartedly. Your body betrayed you, nipples still hard from his attention, pussy throbbing with need, but your pride wouldn't let you cave so easily. Sunghoon raised a brow, amusement flickering in his dark eyes as he stepped back just enough to loom over you.
“That’s not a very nice thing to say, is it now doll? Especially to the guy who’s got you dripping like this.”
“What are you talk—”
Unfortunately for you, his fingers were faster and before you could retort, his hand dove under your panties, two thick fingers pushing past your slick folds and straight into your pussy. You practically screamed, knees buckling as he curled them upward, stroking that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
“Sunghoon—fuck….oh!” You gripped the counter edge to stay upright, as your walls clenched around him, pulling him deeper, but he didn't move, just held them there, letting you feel the stretch.
“Come on baby.” Sunghoon murmured, free hand bracing your hip to pin you down, “Just admit you want my cock buried in this tight little pussy and maybe I’ll let you cum.” He started pumping slowly, in and out, thumb circling your clit with just enough pressure to build the tension but not enough to tip you over. You rocked against his hand, chasing the friction, but every time your breaths quickened, he eased off, denying the release.
Oh fuck it.
“Sunghoon please please pleaseee.” You finally breathed, hating how desperate it sounded, “Need your cock—oh fuck!” He added a third finger and thrusted harder, the wet sound of your arousal filling the room, “Need your cock in me, please Hoonie?”
Your legs trembled, barely holding you up as his fingers twisted inside you, scissoring to stretch your pussy wider. Sunghoon pinched your clit lightly, making you jolt, your back arching off the counter.
“Please what? Use your words, baby.” God why were his fingers so fucking thick, “Tell me you want to cum on my fingers.”
“I—ah—want to cum.” You managed, voice breaking as he sped up, digits slamming into you now, hooking against your g-spot with sharp precision. The pressure coiled tight in your belly, orgasm hovering just out of reach. Your thighs quivered, threatening to give out entirely, and you clutched onto his shoulder for support, nails digging in.
But right as the edge loomed, Sunghoon pulled his fingers out of your soaked pussy with a wet pop, your juices glistening on his skin, leaving you clenching around nothing.
“Sunghoon!” You whined, slapping his chest, “Wha—”
“Not yet pretty girl.” He said casually, bringing his digits to his mouth, sucking them clean while locking eyes with you, the taste of your arousal making his cock throb painfully in his pants. “'Bedroom—now. I want these pretty little legs spread out for me.”
You stumbled after him up the stairs to your bedroom, panties soaked and clinging uncomfortably. The bedroom door clicked shut behind you, and Sunghoon wasted no time, pushing you toward the bed. He took off his jacket as slow as he could, as if to test your patience. Cocky bastard, you thought, though your pussy was basically screaming for his stupid dick to be put in her, as you ripped your skirt off. Your panties were left untouched, you needed his skilled fingers for that.
“You wanna make this more fun princess?” Sunghoon climbed up the length of the bed and sat on his knees between your parted legs, a lazy smile dancing on his face. You caught a peek of his sharp canines (almost fangs) and heat rushed to your core. From his pocket, he pulled out a pair of handcuffs—real ones, the metal glinting coldly under the lamp light.
“Stole these from the sheriff’s last week.” On his knees, Sunghoon looked like a sinful worshiper. He climbed over you, one hand on your hip to keep you there beneath him, as he leaned in to lick a stripe on your neck. “Though they’d come in handy for a naughty girl like you.”
You shivered at the wet heat of his tongue tracing your neck, the sharp graze of his canines sending a fresh wave of arousal pooling between your thighs. Sunghoon's weight pinned you to the mattress, his hand firm on your hip, fingers digging in as if to remind you who was in control.
The scent of his cologne mixed with the musky hint of your combined arousal hung heavy in the air, making your head spin. The idea of being restrained by him, helpless under his mercy, made your pussy clench in anticipation.
He guided your wrists above your head, snapping the cuffs around them and securing the chain to the headboard. And you didn't even protest.
How pretty, Sunghoon thought.
The cold bite of metal against your skin made you tug experimentally, but they held firm, leaving you exposed and helpless on the mattress. Sunghoon stripped off his shirt, revealing toned muscles and a faint trail of dark hair leading down to where his pants strained against his erection. He unzipped slowly, freeing his big cock—thick and veined, the head already leaking pre-cum.
Your mouth went dry at the sight, pussy aching anew as he stroked himself once, twice, lining up at your entrance. Sunghoon didn't bother with your panties, just shoved them aside and pressed the tip against your folds, making you gasp.
His gaze raked over you, sharp and hungry, lingering on the way your face scrunched up merely at his tip. God why were you such a pretty little thing?
“Loook at this pussy.” His voice was rough as his hands gripped your knees, pushing them wider until your pussy was on full display, slick and swollen, “Drippin’ for me like she’s been dreaming of my cock aalll night.”
“Just—” You sighed, “—put it in already.” If your hands weren't restrained right now you would have grabbed his stupid face and put your tongue in his stupid mouth.
Stupid stupid Park Sunghoon.
An entire life of good decisions and yet here you were, wriggling pathetically under him, dying for his cock.
“Gonna fill you up so good.” Sunghoon said, rubbing the head through your folds, coating himself in your wetness. The tease made you whine, pulling at the cuffs, “You ready, baby?”
But of course, the absolute asshole that the west’s most notorious cowboy was, didn't even give you time to answer. He pushed in—slow at first, the stretch burning deliciously as his cock split you open.
As Sunghoon slowly pushed himself deeper inside your tight channel, inch by exquisite inch, you could feel yourself stretching to accommodate his thick girth.
“Sunghoon—t-too big!” You cried out, nails digging into your own palms as you felt his hard length throb deep inside you. You could feel every ridge and vein of his cock as it nestled inside you, an amazing pressure that sent shivers of pleasure racing up your spine.
“Oh no honey, this is your fault.” The sheer size of him filled you completely, every inch draaagging against your walls, “You’re just too tight baby.”
His grin was feral, canines glinting. The stretch was immediate and overwhelming—his cock splitting your walls, inch by thick inch. The fullness hit you like a punch, your pussy clamping down hard around him, and an orgasm ripped through you without mercy.
You cried out, back bowing off the bed as waves of pleasure ripped through your core, juices gushing around his cock, soaking the sheets beneath. Stars exploded behind your eyelids, every nerve alight, and you thrashed against the restraints, the metal biting into your wrists.
Sunghoon froze, buried deep, his eyes widening in surprise before a laugh bubbled up from his chest, letting you ride it out as your walls milked him.
“Fucking hell princess, you came just from me putting it in?” He didn't pull back, just ground his hips in slow circles, while your walls fluttered helplessly around him, “So sensitive baby….your greedy little pussy’s sucking me dry already.”
The head of his cock nudged your cervix, prolonging the spasms. Heat flooded your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and lingering bliss, but his words only made you clench tighter, drawing another hiss from him.
“Shut up and fuck me already.” Your chest moved up and down rapidly as you slowly wrapped your legs around his waist, “Or don’t tell me cowboys only know how to put it in and nothing more than that?” You didnt know what invisible force prompted you to say that, but thank fuck it did, because the dark look that came into Sunghoon’s eyes was perfect material for you to masturbate to for the next few weeks.
“Big words from someone who has their hands tied, princess.” Sunghoon chuckled, digging his nails into your waist, “I’m gonna enjoy this.”
With that, he pulled back almost all the way out, the drag of his thick fucking cock against your oversensitive pussy making you whimper, then slammed back in with brutal force. The headboard thumped against the wall as he set a punishing pace, hips snapping forward relentlessly, each thrust driving his cock deep into your core.
An obscene moan escaped you, the sound raw and unrestrained, as he pounded into you, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading them wider to a perfect angle, hitting that spot inside that made your vision blur.
The cuffs rattled with every brutal slam, your wrists straining as you arched into him. He leaned forward, capturing your mouth in a messy kiss, tongue thrusting in time with his hips. His cock stretched you wide, the friction building heat that coiled tighter and tighter in your belly.
“Hoon oh right there!” You cried out, the wet slap of skin on skin punctuating your moans, “You’re so big—fuck fuck fuck!”
His hands gripped your thighs, hiking them over his shoulders to fold you in half, allowing him to drive even deeper. The angle hit your g-spot perfectly, reigniting the fire in your core almost instantly.
“Take it for me baby.” Sunghoon grunted, sweat beading on his forehead as he pounded into you, “Take it aaall for me—that’s my good fucking girl.”
His pace never faltered, relentless and hard, balls slapping against your ass with wet smacks. He broke the kiss to trail bites down your neck, teeth sinking into the flesh as he rutted harder, the sharp points of his canines drawing a thin line of blood that he lapped up with a satisfied hum. The pain mingled with pleasure, pushing you higher, your pussy fluttering around his cock.
“Gotta let the whole town know yeah?” Sunghoon murmured against your skin, “That their pretty little bartender is a cumslut for me.” He released one thigh to slide a hand down, thumb pressing down, down, down on your clit and rubbing in rough circles, ‘Go on baby. Who’s cumslut are you?”
“Y-Yours Hoonie!” It was too much—the brutal pace, the targeted strokes, the unyielding pressure on your clit, “Your cumslut Sunghoon—oh goddddd…”
“Yeah you are baby.” He chuckled, a deep moan escaping him as he felt your pussy squeeze him particularly hard, “My—hah—cumslut hmm?”
The dual assault overwhelmed you; pleasure spiked sharp and intense, your pussy fluttering around his pistoning cock.
“Sunghoon—please, I'm—” Your words dissolved into a scream as your orgasm hit, fiercer than the first, a guttural scream tearing from your throat as your pussy convulsed, walls clamping down like a vice around his cock.
Sunghoon groaned, thrusts stuttering as your release pushed him closer, but he held on, fucking you through it with savage intensity. The room filled with the obscene sounds of skin on skin, your shared breaths ragged.
“That’s it baby—cum all over my dick.” He rasped, chasing his own peak now, “Fuck—pussy’s milkin’ me dry.”
Sunghoon's muscles tensed, cock swelling inside you, and with a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and came—hot spurts of cum flooding your pussy, painting your walls white, the warmth spreading through you as he ground against your cervix.
“Fucking hell….” He rasped, collapsing forward, forehead resting against yours as you both panted. Aftershocks rippled through your joined bodies, Sunghoon’s cock twitching inside your filled pussy.
He finally pulled out with a wet slide, cum leaking from your abused hole, and unlocked the cuffs with a click. He rubbed the red marks on your wrists with surprisingly gentle thumbs—a complete contrast to the man who had been pounding into you five minutes ago without any mercy.
You lay there in a haze of post-orgasmic bliss, limbs heavy and trembling; every muscle ached from the brutal pounding, your wrists tender from the cuffs, and all you wanted was to curl into him and drift off.
Unfortunately cowboys were known for having immense stamina.
And Sunghoon was known for being absolutely ruthless.
"Oh no pretty girl." He murmured, voice low and commanding, his sharp canines peeking through his smirk, “We’re not done yet.” His cock, still half-hard and slick with your combined juices, twitched against your thigh as he propped himself up on one elbow, that predatory glint returning to his eyes.
Before you could protest, his strong hands gripped your waist, hauling you upright with effortless strength. You whimpered in exhaustion, head lolling against his shoulder, but he didn't relent—shifting to sit against the headboard, legs spread wide as he pulled you onto his lap.
"Sunghoon…..I can't." You breathed, even as your body betrayed you, core clenching at the feel of his thickening cock pressing against your inner thigh. Your thighs burned from being folded like a damn leaf earlier, and the sensitivity between your legs made every shift send sparks through you.
"You can, and you will." Sunghoon’s tone left no room for argument, one hand tangling in your hair to tilt your head back, exposing your throat. He nipped at your pulse point, teeth grazing just enough to sting, drawing a gasp from you. “Ride me like a good girl would baby, go on.”
He guided your hips up, positioning you over his lap, and you felt the head of his cock nudge your entrance—still swollen and dripping from before. With a firm push on your ass, he lowered you down, his thick length stretching you open once more.
“Ah—ahhh Sunghoon!” Your breath hitched, hands bracing on his broad shoulders as you sank fully onto him, “God you’re so big!”
His cock throbbed inside you, harder now, veins pulsing against your sensitive inner walls. Sunghoon was so deep in this position, the tip kissing your cervix not so gently with every subtle shift, and you clenched involuntarily, drawing a guttural groan from him.
“Pretty girl takin’ every inch…” Sunghoon rasped, large hands sliding to your hips to control the pace, “like your pussy’s made for me.”
“Feel so gooood Hoonie…” You whined as he lifted you slightly, then dropped you back down, the motion forcing his cock to drag along your g-spot. The wet squelch of your pussy swallowing him echoed in the room.
Sunghoon watched you intently, eyes dark with lust, one hand roaming up to pinch your nipple hard, twisting until you yelped and clenched around him.
"Harder," He demanded, bucking his hips up to meet your downward stroke, “Ride this cock like you mean it baby.”
“C-Can’t….Sunghoon please.” You sobbed, exhausting warning with the building heat inside you.
“Tch tch tch.” Sunghoon clicked his tongue, “Poor baby’s tired already? We haven't even done much baby.”
You started moving tentatively, his words spurring you on, rising up until just the head remained inside, then sliding down with a shuddering sigh. Each descent stretched you wider, his girth splitting you apart, and the friction against your clit from grinding at the bottom made your toes curl.
Your breasts bounced with each bounce, and he took one into his mouth, sucking roughly on the peaked nipple, his teeth scraping the sensitive bud. His cock pistoning deep, his mouth devouring your chest—all of it pushed you higher and higher. If there really was a heaven you were close to reaching it.
"Sunghoon—oh god, too much too much!" You cried, head thrown back.
Your pussy fluttered erratically, oversensitive walls gripping Sunghoon like a vice, but you couldn't stop. The way he filled you completely, the lewd sounds of your arousal coating his shaft, it all blurred into a haze of need.
He released your nipple with a pop, leaving it red and glistening, and grabbed your ass with both hands, spreading your cheeks to thrust deeper.
“Fuck princess you’re soaking me.” He helped you grind down harder, cock hitting that spot inside you relentlessly.
The pressure built fast, your clit throbbing against his pubic bone with every roll of your hips. You rode him wildly now, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving crescent marks on his skin.
"Gonna cum—fuck, I'm gonna cum again," You sobbed, the words tumbling out as your ecstasy crested.
“Shit—you’re so tight.” Sunghoon moaned, slamming up into you one final time, his thumb finding your clit to rub furious circles, "Cum on my cock baby—squeeze me till I fill this pretty pussy full again."
The orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your vision whiting out as your pussy convulsed around him. You screamed his name, body seizing, walls clamping down in rhythmic pulses that pulled him deeper.
Sunghoon followed seconds later, a deep moan ripping from his throat as he held you down, hips jerking erratically. His cock swelled, then erupted, pumping thick jets of cum straight into your core, overflowing and mixing with your juices to leak down your thighs.
He bit down on your shoulder, canines piercing just enough to draw a bead of blood, the sharp pain prolonging your climax until you were a trembling mess in his arms.
Finally, you collapsed against his chest, both of you slick with sweat and spent. His cock softened inside you, but he didn't pull out, wrapping his arms around you possessively.
“Knew you had one more in you.” He whispered, kissing the mark on your shoulder as you panted against his chest.
“I’m dead.” You mumbled, pushing at his chest half heartedly, “You killed me you big dicked asshole.”
“So you admit my dick is big.” He laughed, gently pulling you off, and laying you down beside him, “Sorry about your sheets by the way.”
You snorted, eyes closing as you sunk into the mattress, utterly exhausted.
“You’re doing the laundry in the morning before you leave.”
________________________
It was safe to say you didn’t go back to work for an entire weekend. Your legs were—to say it in simple words—dead.
God damn Park Sunghoon and his huge fucking cock.
When you did go back, Sunghoon acted like he had reached Mount Olympus. His cocky attitude only got cockier—flashing you smirks across the bar, spreading his legs wide as he threw his head back to expose his Adam's apple every time he sipped on his Sazerac, his eyes promising nothing but more trouble.
Over the past few days, you were utterly disappointed every time you rolled onto your bed before sleeping. Your fingers were nowhere near as good as his, and you had failed to make yourself orgasm about five times now.
God damn Park Sunghoon and his huge fucking cock.
God also damn your huge ego, that prevented you from calling him over again, preferring to just press down the carnal hunger in your chest every time he looked you up and down with those sharp eyes of his as he spit out cherry pits.
“Who’s cumslut are you?”
You’d have to go out back, violently shake your head and come back every time that stupid voice drifted into your head.
“Are you listening to me?” Your sister tapped on the bar as you absent mindedly wiped a glass, staring off into the distance, “Honestly sweetheart, you’ve been drifting so much lately.”
“Sorry.” You sighed, placing the glass down, “Just need a drink.”
“That makes two of us.” She laughed as you poured sweet rum into two glasses, “Just one though, I have to stop by the bakery to pick up something for Jay.”
“That damn husband of yours reminds me.” You sighed, “Can you please tell him to stop scaring my patrons off? It’s bad for business.”
She snorted into her glass. “He doesn’t scare them. He just….stands there.”
“He stands there,” You repeated flatly. “with that look.”
“What look?”
“The ‘I’ve buried men for less’ look.”
She burst out laughing. “That’s just his face!”
“Well, his face is costing me money.” You scoffed, pouring more rum into your glass. You loved your brother in law of course, but him being the sheriff was definitely not good for your bar sometimes.
“You didn’t complain when he chased those gamblers out last month.” Your sister took a sip, studying you over the rim of her glass.
“That was different.” You avoided her eyes—they always managed to squeeze out the truth from you.
“But you know who else stands there with that look?” She tilted her head slightly, a mischievous grin on her face. You shot her a warning glare and she gasped dramatically, leaning forward, “So you are drifting because of a man!”
“I am not.” You declared like a defeated judge.
“Sweetheart,” She said, reaching across the bar to poke your forehead, “you just poured rum into the tip jar.”
You froze and looked down. Sure enough, the (thankfully empty) tip jar sat half-full of amber liquid. You set your glass down and groaned, hiding your face in your hands.
Your sister grinned slowly. “Want to tell me his name, or should I start guessing cowboys?”
“And how do you know it’s a cowboy?” You stared at the ruined tip jar like it had personally betrayed you.
“I practically raised you.” Your sister laughed, “You think I don’t know your type?”
“I don’t have a type!” You defended yourself, while your sister looked on with a tinge of amusement in her eyes.
“Let’s see.” She cleared her throat, “Tall. Quiet. Brooding, definitely.” She checked points on her fingers, “And there’s one person in this entire town who fits that criteria.” She studied you for a moment before smiling, “It’s Sunghoon isn’t it?”
You stared at her before flopping down like a deflated balloon on the bar, pressing your forehead to the wood. You didn’t answer, but she didn’t need you to.
“Don’t even start right now.” You mumbled, looking up at your sister, who raised her hands in surrender, “That man….” You banged your head lightly against the wood again, “pisses me off so much.”
“Is that why you let him into your house at 10 p.m last week?” Your sister said, laughing at your shocked expression, “What, you think the sheriff’s wife doesn't notice what’s happening two houses over? You better thank god Jay came home late that evening.”
“He doesn't even do anything that bad.” You said, sitting back upright, “Sunghoon is just….vaguely annoying. I don’t get why Jay’s so hellbent on catching him.”
She studied you for a long second, the teasing fading from her expression. “He’s dangerous, sweetheart.”
“He’s dramatic.” You corrected her, “And smug.” You clenched your jaw. “And he looks at me like he already knows something I don’t.”
“And?” She lifted a brow. You felt heat creep up your neck as you pouted in utter defeat.
“And I hate that I don’t really mind it.”
That made her smile gently. Your sister reached across the counter, took your hand in hers and squeezed it.
“Sweetheart I’m not saying don’t see him.” She softened, but only a little. “I’m saying….know who you’re seeing.” You gulped as she continued, “Men like that live in the moment, and they don’t stay most of the time. And I don't want your heart to be broken because of someone like that.” The quiet, empty bar suddenly felt even quieter. Sunghoon was a cowboy—a criminal. And by god did you want that criminal in your bed seven days a week.
“It’s not like I’m running off with him.” You crossed your arms, defensive heat rising in your chest. Your sister laughed, downing her rum.
“I’ll chase you down myself if you do.” She said, “What a perfect romance it would be though. You and the man your brother in law hates.”
“Jay hates anyone and everyone with a pulse who stands too close to you.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll keep my husband at bay.”
“You will?” Your eyes flicked to hers, as relief flickered across your face before you could stop it.
“For now.” She said pointedly. “You’re allowed to have your fun.” She smirked. “Don’t look so grateful though, I’m doing this because I trust you.”
“And if it goes badly?”
“Then I got a nice little revolver in my bedside drawer that’s been dying to go out for a spin.” She shrugged. She squeezed your hand once before pulling back. “Just don’t lose your head over him.” She grabbed her coat and headed for the door, saying her last goodbyes and stepping back into the morning light.
The bell chimed as you stood there alone again in the quiet bar, sunlight stretching across the floor, rum still floating uselessly in the tip jar.
Ten in the morning.
Open sign flipped.
And somehow, he was already the first thing on your mind.
And he stayed there, through the slow trickle of noon customers, through the clatter of lunch plates, through the way you reached for rye instead of rum twice and through every creak of the door that made your head lift on instinct.
By the time evening rolled in, the bar had transformed. Rush hour on a Friday was the worst. Patrons packed the dimly lit space, their chatter and clinking glasses forming a cacophony that grated on your already frayed nerves. You and your fellow bartenders raced to keep up with the relentless flow of orders, beads of sweat trickling down your temples.
“Two lagers!” “Whiskey!” “Another round here!”
You moved fast—faster than most—hands steady even when your thoughts weren’t, as bottles uncorked, glasses slid and coins clinked. One of your fellow bartenders nearly collided with you and muttered an apology before diving back into the chaos. The air grew thick, warm and loud and you found yourself completely and utterly overwhelmed.
From across the room, a pair of piercing eyes inspected you—Sunghoon, slouched nonchalantly in his usual seat at the bar. A knowing smirk tugged at his lips as he watched you rush about, his gaze raking over your flushed cheeks and heaving chest.
As if sensing your mounting frustration, Sunghoon pushed off from the bar and made his way towards you, effortlessly parting the sea of bodies. He paused beside you, close enough for his musky scent to invade your senses.
“You’re about to drop that,” He said quietly near your ear. You glanced down, at your shaking hand pouring far too much gin into soda, and scoffed.
“I’m fine.” You muttered, shoving past him to reach for a row of shot glasses.
They say cowboys have excellent reflexes.
In one swift motion, he grabbed your wrist, halting your movements. His hand hovered near your waist for half a second, before grabbing it decisively.
“Five minutes.” He said.
“I don’t have—”
“Yes you do.” His deep voice sent shivers down your spine, despite your irritation, "Please don't make me repeat myself, doll." His grip tightened, his thumb rubbing slow circles against your racing pulse. "You need a break. Now."
Before you could protest, he tugged you away, a firm hand at your lower back guiding you through the labyrinth of tables and towards the back. His large frame shielded you from prying eyes as he steered you down a narrow staircase leading to the cellars.
The cool, musty air enveloped you as you stumbled into the dimly lit space, wine racks towering on either side. Sunghoon kicked the door shut behind him, engulfing you in a heavy silence broken only by the distant thrum of the bar above.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. You leaned back against the stone wall, breathing hard, adrenaline slowly draining from your system. The cellar was dim, a single lantern casting warm light over dust and stacked crates.
“You push yourself way too much baby.” Sunghoon gripped your hips possessively, trapping you with his body, “I know you got stamina but hell even I can’t do all that without a break.”
“You telling me how to run my bar now?” You scoffed, though your hands slowly went up to rest on his shoulders, your fingers pricking the back of his neck, “Is that why you dragged me all the way back here? To give me business advice?”
“Of course not sweetheart.” Sunghoon leaned in, now pinning you to the wall completely, “Just thought I’d relieve your stress a bit.”
The cold stone bit into your back, a stark contrast to the heat of his mouth, his tongue pushing in to taste you, and it made your pussy throb with need. You grabbed his hair, tugging hard, and he moaned right into the kiss, the vibration hitting your lips and sending a jolt straight to your core.
The cellar was cramped, shelves lined with bottles and crates stacked haphazardly, leaving just enough space for a worn workbench in the corner. Faint voices from the customers who'd lingered outside seeped through the thin walls, a low murmur that reminded you how close the world was.
You broke the kiss first, gasping for air, your nails digging into his scalp as you pulled his head back to meet his gaze. His eyes burned with lust, pupils blown wide, lips swollen and glistening from your shared saliva.
“Relieve my stress huh?” You purred, “And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” His mouth curled into a faint smirk, as Sunghoon released one hip to trail his fingers up your skirt, brushing the damp lace of your panties.
“Like this.”
Two fingers pressed against your clothed slit, rubbing slow circles that made your hips jerk forward. The friction sent sparks through your nerves, your arousal soaking through the fabric instantly.
“Pretty pussy remembers my fingers, yeah?” He chuckled low, the sound vibrating against your collarbone as he nipped at your neck, “Already so wet for me.”
Sunghoon’s free hand yanked your top up, exposing your bra, and he shoved the cups down roughly, freeing your breasts to the chilly air. He latched onto one, sucking hard while his teeth grazed the sensitive tip. You arched into his mouth, a moan escaping despite your attempt to stay defiant, while his fingers dipped under your panties, parting your folds to slide through your slickness.
“Fuck, Sunghoon…” Your thighs parted wider, as if on instinct, giving him better access.
He plunged one finger inside you, then two, and then three, curling them to stroke your inner walls with expert precision. Your pussy fluttered around the intrusion, juices coating Sunghoon’s hand as he pumped in and out, thumb circling your clit in tandem.
He released your nipple with a pop, leaving it shiny and red, before capturing your mouth again in a bruising kiss. His tongue mimicked the thrust of his fingers, deep and demanding, swallowing your cries. You rocked against his hand, chasing the building pressure, but he slowed down, teasing you with shallow dips that barely grazed your g-spot.
“So impatient, baby.” Sunghoon chuckled against your lips, withdrawing his fingers entirely. You whined in protest, but he silenced you by shoving his slick digits into your mouth, “Taste how desperate you are?”
The tangy flavor of your arousal flooded your tongue as you sucked obediently, eyes locked on his. Satisfaction flashed in his expression as he pulled his hand free, wiping the saliva on your exposed breast, before roaming down your sides, gripping your hips firmly as he ground his hardening cock against your thigh, the thick length straining through his jeans.
The bar's distant hum of voices and clinking glasses filtered through the cellar door, a reminder of the thin veil separating this hidden depravity from the oblivious patrons above.
Sunghoon grabbed your wrist, pulling you against his chest, his free hand yanking his leather belt from the loops of his jeans with a sharp snap. The sound made you jolt, but before you could speak, he looped it around your head, threading it between your teeth like a gag. The thick leather bit into your lips, muffling any protest as he buckled it tight at the back of your neck.
“Hoon..” You tried to say his name, but it came out garbled, saliva already pooling under the restraint. Your eyes widened, heart hammering as he tested the hold, tugging lightly to make your head jerk forward.
“Need to be quiet for me, yeah?” His lips curled into a smile as led you to the workbench, “Those assholes up there don't need to hear you screaming my name.” His voice dropped to a growl, hands already shoving your panties down.
Sunghoon spun you around, bending you over the workbench. Your palms slapped against the rough wood, elbows buckling as he kicked your legs apart. The position exposed you completely, ass up and pussy dripping in the cool air.
Sunghoon's belt dug into your jaw, the taste of leather sharp on your tongue, forcing your mouth open in a perpetual O. You could hear the zipper of his jeans, the rustle of fabric, and then the heavy weight of his cock slapping against your ass cheek—thick, veined, and hardening fast. He rubbed the head along your slit, coating himself in your arousal before notching at your entrance.
Without warning, Sunghoon thrust in, burying half his length in one brutal shove. Your muffled cry vibrated against the belt, body arching as your walls stretched around his girth. The last few days were enough to make you forget how fucking huge he was, filling you to the brink as he gripped your hips hard enough to bruise.
“Still so tight for me—fuck!” Sunghoon grunted, pulling back only to slam forward again, bottoming out until his balls pressed against your clit. The workbench creaked under the force, bottles rattling on the shelves nearby. Upstairs, a customer's laugh barked through the wall—way too close and it only heightened the thrill, your pussy clenching around him.
Sunghoon set a punishing rhythm immediately, hips snapping forward with wet, obscene slaps. Each thrust drove his cock oh so deep, the head battering your cervix. You gripped the edge of the bench, nails scraping wood, trying to push back but he held you pinned, one hand fisting your hair to arch your back.
The belt muffled your moans into pathetic whimpers, drool slipping from the corners of your mouth to drip onto the surface below.
“Quiet now, pretty girl.” Sunghoon whispered mockingly. “Don’t want them to hear now do we?”
He pounded harder, the angle letting him grind against your g-spot with every plunge. Your thighs trembled as pleasure coiled tight in your core. His fingers pinched your clit, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, while his cock hammered relentlessly.
“No no doll, you’re not runnin’ from me are you?” You shook your head, the belt pulling taut, but he yanked your hair harder, forcing you to stay bent.
The pain was what finally tipped you over—your pussy spasmed, walls clamping down hard on his shaft as a feeling of ecstasy ripped through you. Muffled screams tore from your throat, vibrating against the leather, body convulsing as you squirted, hot liquid gushing out around his cock to soak his jeans and the floor beneath.
Sunghoon finally lost control, burying himself to the hilt as thick ropes of his cum flooded your pussy, overflowing to mix with your squirt and drip down your legs. He fucked you through it, prolonging the waves until your legs buckled, only his grip keeping you upright.
“Oh my god princess.” He groaned, his chest pressing to your back, “So tight for me fuckkkkk” The warmth spread, filling you until it leaked out with each twitch.
Sunghoon pulled out slowly, his cock glistening with your combined fluids. He unbuckled the belt with deliberate slowness, peeling it from your mouth, leaving your jaw slack and lips swollen. Drool coated your chin, and you gasped for air, voice hoarse.
“You…bastard.” You panted, voice heavy due to exhaustion.
“And you loved every second of it.” He smirked, tucking himself away before helping you stand on wobbly legs. Sunghoon wiped your chin with his thumb, then kissed you roughly, tasting the leather on your tongue.
“So?” He cocked his head to the side as you straightened your skirt, “Has your stress been relieved, doll?”
“I will actually shoot you.”
___________________
Wednesdays really pissed you off.
And it wasn't for no reason. First off, it was the dead center of the week—too far from Sunday to feel hopeful and too far from Friday to feel close to relief. Second of all, there were never any customers on Wednesday. They’d all be at the ranches for the bull fight and you’d be left all alone with your thoughts—which rarely led to any good outcomes.
Still, you tried your hand at mediation, but unfortunately, staring at the dramatic font of the gin bottle wasn't doing anything other than pissing you off about the uneven space between the letters. You sighed and pushed yourself off the bar. Might as well close shop for today, maybe even go visit your sister and bake—
Ding!
The bell above the door chimed and your heart jumped so hard it was embarrassing.
And there he was.
Park Sunghoon stood just inside the doorway, breathing slightly heavier than usual, hat missing, dark hair disheveled like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. His cheeks were flushed, his shirt clinging faintly at the collar, dust streaking his sleeves. He looked unfairly beautiful.
“What happened to the bull fight?” You asked, trying very hard to sound normal. Sunghoon shut the door quickly behind him, glancing through the window before turning back to you.
“My horse chipped a hoof so I got late.” He said, stepping forward. “Which would’ve been fine—except your brother-in-law decided to conveniently step out right when I was walking by the saloon..”
“Jay saw you?” You rested your cheek on your palm, elbow propped up on the counter. This was amusing.
“Jay saw me,” Sunghoon confirmed grimly. “And since I may or may not have promised I’d behave myself this week, he wasn't exactly thrilled.”
“You have atleast three guns on you.” You crossed your arms. “Why are you running?”
“I’m not running.” He said, shrugging at your raised brow, “I’m just….strategically relocating.”
“You are literally out of breath.”
“A man can’t be out of breath now?”
You walked around the bar slowly, eyeing him up and down. His chest rose and fell faster than usual, a faint sheen of sweat catching the light at his temple. A loose strand of hair fell into his eyes, and he shoved it back impatiently.
“This was really the first place you thought to come to?” You chuckled, “The place your chaser’s sister in law owns.” Sunghoon held your gaze for a second too long, before sighing heavily. Your lips twisted into a winsome smile.
“You know if you ask nicely enough, I’ll hide you.” You said briefly.
Sunghoon huffed a quiet laugh, prodding his inner cheek with his tongue. “Nicely.” He moved closer to the counter, palms resting against the wood as he leaned in. “And what would that sound like?”
You shrugged. “Why don’t you try it out, pretty boy?”
If this was what power felt like, god damn you wanted to feel it everyday. For a brief second, Sunghoon looked almost offended. Then, surprisingly, he straightened.
The next few seconds would be laid down in history as the greatest moment of your life.
“Please.”
There wasn't any sarcasm, not even that cocky smirk. Sunghoon looked down at you with softened eyes. You wondered momentarily what it would feel like to see those eyes between your thighs.
“What was that?” You tilted your head, "Couldn't hear you that well.”
Sunghoon barked a haughty laugh and sighed again. Greatest moment of your life for sure.
“Please can you hide me from the big bad sheriff?” He said, his tone completely exasperated, “Pretty please?”
Outside you heard distant hoofbeats echo faintly down the street. You arched a brow, pretending to consider it.
“Hmm, I don’t know.”
“Don’t toy with me right now, doll.” He muttered, though there was no actual bite to it.
“Oh, but you look sooo good all flustered.” You leaned forward slightly, resting your elbows on the bar, a cheeky smile spread across your face. His jaw flexed, a faint flush creeping higher along his carved cheekbones.
“Are you going to help me,” Sunghoon asked, voice dipping lower, “or keep admiring the view?” Another set of hoofbeats sounded, closer now. Sunghoon’s jaw tightened, but his eyes stayed on you. You grabbed his shirt and yanked him towards the counter.
“Get under.”
“Under?”
“Under the bar, idiot.” You shoved him down, “Unless you’d like to test how fast Jay can draw his cattleman.”
Sunghoon held your gaze one last time, a faint twinkle in his eyes, before muttering something under his breath before crouching down on his knees, just as the bell chimed again.
“Don’t move.” You whispered sharply, shooting him a quick glance before going back to wiping down the neat counter with a rag.
A heavy set of boots thudded against the wooden floor as Jay walked in, scanning the room with sharp eyes under the brim of his hat. His uniform stretched taut over his muscled chest, a silver badge glinting as he approached the bar.
“Morning, troublemaker.” Jay’s voice carried easily through the bar.
“If you’re talking about yourself, good morning.” You looked up and gave him a gentle smile.
Jay snorted and dropped onto a barstool with a heavy sigh, hat coming off and landing beside him. He ran a hand through his hair, already damp from the heat.
“It’s barely noon and I’m melting.” He complained, “Why’d we decide to live somewhere that feels like an oven again?”
“You married into it.” You shot back lightly.
“Worst decision of my life.” You raised an eyebrow at his words, “Second worst,” He corrected quickly. “Don’t tell your sister I said that.”
A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. Jay leaned his elbows on the counter, giving you a sideways look. “You look suspiciously calm today.”
“Am I not usually calm?” You scoffed. Below the counter, a hand brushed your ankle. This absolute dickwad.
“You are.” Jay narrowed his eyes, “But not on Wednesdays.”
“I’m evolving.”
“What a terrifying thought.”
“Why did my sister marry you again?” You reached for a glass, setting it down in front of him, “Want something cold?”
“Yes please.” Jay smiled, drumming his fingers on the countertop. If only he knew who was mere centimeters away from his feet, separated by nothing but wood.
Below the counter, Sunghoon was thanking his luck.
You had decided to wear your short black skirt today—the one that hugged your hips and barely skimmed mid-thigh, paired with a fitted top that dipped low enough to tease cleavage. In short, it was everything that drove Sunghoon insane.
His eyes traced over the smooth expanse of your legs. Your thighs were basically inviting him in, a beauty that would distract any man from his duties. Sunghoon let out a shaky breath, drinking in the way the fabric clung to your skin, the faint outline of your lace panties visible if he looked close enough.
You, on the other hand, were completely immersed in filling a tall glass with ice, pouring in lemonade before adding a splash of whisky. You knew Jay hated drinking on the job, but this wasn't anything fancy. Just something to take the edge off.
“Have I told you I love you?” Jay muttered as you slid the glass over.
“If you loved me, you’d let me have a colt.” You grumbled. Under the bar, Sunghoon’s presence was impossible to ignore; his hand kept going up your leg and all you wanted to do was smack him across his pretty eyes.
“Yeah and then the both of us can die at the hands of your sister.” Jay laughed, “And I’m not one to disobey my wife.”
“Ok lover boy.” You rolled your eyes, “How’s wor—”
That's when you felt it—a warm hand on your calf, tentative at first, then bolder, sliding up the back of your knee. His breath was hot against your skin as he shifted closer below the bar, emboldened by the shadows and the thrill.
Your breath hitched, but you covered it with a cough, straightening up to grab a coaster. Jay's eyes narrowed slightly, concern flickering in between them.
“You alright there?” He asked, taking a sip of his drink.
“Fine, just a tickle in my throat.” You lied, forcing your voice even as fingers— thick, rough and calloused—traced higher, bunching the hem of your skirt. Sunghoon’s palm flattened against your inner thigh, parting them just enough to expose more skin, his thumb stroking the sensitive flesh there.
“Uh huhhh.” Jay hummed, clearly unconvinced, but he went back to being seduced by the cold glass of lemonade, “Anyways, did I tell you about the case we got last week?”
“Go on, sheriff, bore me with your details.” You busied yourself wiping a nonexistent spill, hips shifting subtly to discourage Sunghoon, but of course, the bastard took it as an invitation.
With agonizing slowness, his fingers hooked the edge of your panties, the thin lace barrier between propriety and chaos. Jay was mid-sentence, recounting some vague pursuit—“Had a lead on that rustler, but he slipped away like smoke”—when Sunghoon yanked.
A lighting bolt should have struck you down right there and then.
Your panties slid down your thighs in one swift tug, pooling at your ankles before you could react. Cool air kissed your bare pussy, already damp from the illicit excitement, lips swelling with arousal.
You gasped softly, disguising it as a laugh at Jay's story, but your knees locked, thighs trembling as Sunghoon's hands gripped your hips from below, pulling you forward until your ass perched on the edge of your seat.
“Sweetheart seriously what’s wrong with you toda—” Jay started, brow furrowing, but you cut him off by pouring him another shot of whiskey, the liquid sloshing slightly from your unsteady hand.
“And then what happened?” You prompted, “Did you catch the guy?” Your voice was breathy, leaning back to create space—or so you told yourself.
Underneath, hot breath ghosted over your exposed folds, Sunghoon’s nose brushing your clit as he inhaled deeply, savoring your scent. Your pussy throbbed, juices gathering at your entrance, and before you could whisper a warning, his tongue flicked out.
Jay kept dragging on about some bullets and some moon crap, but your senses were already done and dusted. It was a tentative lick at first, flat and broad, dragging from your dripping hole up to your clit. Electricity shot through you, making your fingers white-knuckle the table.
“And then the bastard told me to…”
Sunghoon was absolutely ravenous, muffled groans vibrating against your core as he sucked your labia into his mouth, tugging gently with his lips. His hands spread your thighs wider, knees pressing against the bar's supports, holding you open for his assault. Saliva mixed with your arousal, dripping down your ass crack to the floor, the wet sounds (thankfully) barely audible over Jay’s loud voice.
Jay's eyes were on your face now, searching, as he swirled his whiskey. “You sure you're okay right? You’re all red.” He reached out a free hand to press against your forehead.
“I’m fine Jay.” You murmured, “It’s just the heat. Go on, I wanna hear about the suspect.” You pursed your lips to stifle a moan as his tongue delved deeper, lapping at your slit with hungry strokes.
Jay nodded, oblivious, launching into details about the suspect—tall, dark-haired, evasive—while you nodded along, words tumbling from your lips in fragmented agreement. God damn Park Sunghoon and his glorious fucking tongue.
“Sounds dangerous.” You managed, voice pitching higher as a finger joined the tongue, circling your entrance before plunging inside. It curled immediately, hooking against your front wall, stroking that spongy spot that made your toes curl in your heels.
Sunghoon pumped his finger slowly, then added a second, stretching your pussy with scissoring motions while his tongue battered your clit. He sucked hard, teeth grazing the nub just enough to spark pain-laced pleasure, your hips bucking involuntarily. You gripped the counter's edge, knuckles paling, as Jay's boot tapped the stool leg—dangerously close to brushing the hidden figure.
“Another round please, sweetheart, thank you.” Jay said, pushing his glass forward
You reached for the bottle, arm trembling, and as you poured, Sunghoon's free hand snaked up, rolling your clit between his fingers. Your pussy spasmed around his fingers, walls fluttering, arousal gushing out to coat his palm. He lapped it up greedily, tongue thrusting alongside his digits.
Sweat beaded on your forehead, your top clinging to your breasts, nipples hard peaks—thank god you wore your good bra today. Sunghoon added a third finger then, and you were gone, stretching you wide, his tongue flicking rapidly over your clit in a rhythm that had your vision blurring.
“You know, if you’re bored, you can come over in the evening.” Jay hummed, downing his whiskey in one go, “I think it’s pecan pie tonight.” But all you could focus on was the building pressure in your core, the way the cowboy’s mouth sealed over your pussy, humming vibrations straight to your nerves.
You smiled despite yourself. “I’ll be there.”
Your thighs quivered, muscles straining to stay composed, but Sunghoon was relentless, knuckles-deep now, twisting his wrist to grind against your g-spot. His teeth nipped your inner labia, pulling them taut before releasing, then diving back in to suckle your clit like it was his lifeline.
“Well I better get back.” Jay set his glass down with a clink, “That bastard Sunghoon got away from me before I came in.”
That bastard Sunghoon is currently eating your sister in law out, you thought, feeling Sunghoon smirk against your legs. His fingers curled harder, faster, pistoning in and out with squelching sounds that you prayed the bar's ambient noise drowned out.
“I’m surprised you haven’t proposed to him yet.” You laughed, eyes flicking down for a fraction of a second, “Sis says she hears more about him than anybody in your bedroom.”
“She told you that?” Jay said, putting his hat on, “Huh, might have to ask her about that today.”
“You do that.” You said, seconds away from collapsing on the floor, “I’ll be over by 7 today.”
“Yep.” Jay tipped his hat, “Thanks for the drink sweetheart.” He paused at the door and smiled back at you, “Take care of yourself yeah?”
With that, he turned, boots thudding toward the door, as he finally left, The bell jingled as he exited, the door swinging shut behind him, leaving the bar in sudden, echoing quiet. Relief—and release—crashed over you like a wave.
A moan ripped straight from the bottom of your soul as your pussy clenched violently around the invading fingers, your climax ripping through you in shuddering waves.
Hot squirt erupted from your core, spraying in forceful jets over Sunghoon’s smug face, drenching his cheeks, lips and hair. He groaned in ecstasy, mouth open wide to catch every drop, tongue lashing out to lap at the gushing stream.
“Sunghoon—fuck fuck fuck!” You screamed as his fingers fucked you through it, prolonging the spasms until your legs shook uncontrollably, knees buckling against his shoulders. Cum and saliva mixed, dripping from his chin onto his shirt, but he didn't stop—sucking your pulsing clit, milking every aftershock until you were whimpering, oversensitive and spent.
You sagged against the counter, panting, as he finally withdrew his fingers with a wet pop, licking them clean before planting one last, lingering kiss on your throbbing pussy.
“You taste like heaven, doll.” He murmured from below, voice rough with lust, emerging slowly with a glistening face and a cocky grin, “Better than your Sazerac.”
Your panties still tangled at your ankles, skirt hiked to your waist, you could only stare, chest heaving. The bar felt electric, the risk of it all making your skin tingle.
“I actually hate you, Park Sunghoon.” You hit his chest, “You were this close to getting caught, you absolute dickhead.”
“And yet I didn't." Sunghoon sighed dramatically, his hands caressing your waist gently, “And I got to taste your sweet little cunt in the process. It’s a win-win situation, doll.”
“Whatever.” You scoffed, sneakily leaning into his touch. You gazed into his eyes for a moment, before your gaze flicked to his lips. You smiled, “You know I think I’ll close up early today. I need to be ready by 7.”
“Seven hm?” Sunghoon leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours, “We’ll be done by five, pretty girl.”
The west’s most notorious cowboy—a hardened criminal, guilty of half the shit posted onto the bulletin board outside the Sheriff’s office, the ice prince as they called him, unmoving and cold, the most ruthless in all the west.
And the guy who was going to worship you all day long, with his head in between your legs.
God bless Park Sunghoon, his whiskey stained handkerchief and your inability to resist some good fucking dick.
warnings ᯓ smut, mdni, bigdick!hoon, unprotected, foul language, hate sex, enemies to fuckers sigh. nsfw link
you shouldn’t have said it. not to sunghoon. you were just bantering.
“bitch.”
you laughed. “small dick.”
“really?”
- - - ゛
“ahh-fuck!” you were a squirming mess, your knees pinned to your chest by sunghoon, who was slamming into you so hard that with every thrust, a loud, wet squelch filled your entire apartment. “sss’ too much—agh!” you cried out again from under him. you could barely think, you were too overwhelmed with the mixture of pleasure and pain he was bringing you.
“not so small huh?” he panted out, sweat beading on his temple as he wrapped his hand around himself and pumped what wouldn’t fit inside you.
you cried out with every thrust, his size making you feel full before it was even halfway in. “admit it,” he cooed, still keeping his speed as his grip on your ass tightened.
you couldn’t even focus on looking at sunghoon— your back arched and head thrown back. “y’r— gah-your too big—nggh,”
he pressed his thumb against your clit with enough pressure to get you screaming more than you already were. “ahh— hoon!”
“fuck,” he muttered, now rubbing circles around it as you both tipped over the edge.
your hand flew up to grab sunghoons bicep as you cried out and came around his cock. “mmph—fuck!”
sunghoon filled you up with more cum than you’d ever taken— it was spilling out of you far after he pulled out.
he fell down beside you, both still catching your breath from your orgasms.
genre: childhood friends to lovers, smut, university-ish au
word count: 23.0k
warnings: smut (mndi), swearing, alcohol consumption, post graduation existentialism, the horrors of the modern job market, jealousy, insecurity, itty bitty age gap (reader is one year older), he’s obsessed he’s possessive he’s jealous but in a very jungwon way
note: I in fact did not keep it under 20k #oops. But I had lots of you in my comments and inbox telling me that you prefer longer fics anyway, so I hope you enjoy all 23k words of jungwon who years and pines over his childhood bestie <3
⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖
One year your junior and a constant fixture in your life since before you lost your baby teeth, Yang Jungwon has always existed in a category of his own. You don’t see him as a brother, but you don’t see him as a man. He’s just… Jungwon. Steady, reliable, consistent Jungwon who’s always there when you need him.
It’s why you feel comfortable admitting to him the latest addition to your list of post-graduation anxieties: dating. Namely, the fact that no matter what you try, you just can’t seem to make it work. To make a connection stick. But Jungwon, despite all of his typical predictability, doesn’t take your complaints quite the way you expect him to.
or, you tell Jungwon that you think boys just don’t like you and he doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything quite so ridiculous.
⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖
If you look at it from a distance and squint, there really isn’t anything wrong with Park Sunghoon.
In fact, if anything, he might be a little bit out of your league. With full lips, an easy smile, and long, dark hair that dusts over the angular planes of his cheekbones, he’s a sight for sore eyes. Especially since they are rather sore. Your eyes, that is.
You’ve spent the last week fine tuning your resume for all thirty-six job applications you fired off with crossed fingers and a silent prayer. Your daily screen time is reaching dangerous levels, and you doubt the blue light blocking glasses you picked up from the dollar store are doing much to mitigate the effects of it.
Life post-graduation has been like this, more or less. Six months ago, officially earning your university diploma felt like victory, like the end of a hard earned battle.
But now, you aren’t so sure. Not when the last one hundred eighty days have been nearly identical copies of monotonous despair, one rejected job application after another.
A cover letter here, a mission statement there, a detailed history of your personal opinion on the role of social media in modern society — that one had been for a marketing gig that you weren’t even interested in, not if the advertised salary were as low as the posting claimed. But at this point, you were starting to get desperate.
And still, it’s all been to no avail. Rejection after rejection. Ghosting after ghosting. Ridiculous, you think. These are hiring departments after all, not some frat boy you hooked up with last Friday after one too many shots of tequila. All your effort surely warrants at the very least a response.
But forty-seven of the eighty-nine jobs you’ve applied to in the last month seem to disagree.
And it’s not like you hate the part time gig you picked up at the flower shop a few blocks away from your apartment, but you didn’t work your ass off for four years, earning your degree in a specialized field, just to spend the rest of your life explaining the differences between roses and dahlias to men that piss off their girlfriends.
It’s disheartening, to say the least. Demoralizing. A rinse and repeat cycle that becomes more exhausting with each passing day, each unreturned email.
Most days, you feel a little bit like a shell of yourself. Hollowed from the inside out, just waiting for a scrap of decent news.
It’s why you only said no three times when Sophia suggested that maybe you break up the monotony with a little good, old-fashioned romance.
And not just romance. Dating, blind dating, because she swore the mystery of it all would make it more fun.
The first three times she suggested it, you waved her off easily with some half-witted excuse and a roll of your eyes.
But the fourth time, your friend caught you in a weak spot.
“Come on,” she’d insisted over an overpriced latte. She didn’t mind shelling out for a soy milk substitute, even. She was one of the lucky ones that managed to line up a job immediately after graduation, one she got from the third-year internship she had.
So Sophia had her big girl job and her big girl salary. You, on the other hand, were wincing at the bitter taste of drip coffee straight from the machine.
“I don’t know…” You’d trailed off, unsure. That morning, you’d received a rejection notice from a company you were genuinely excited about. The position matched your qualifications and professional interests to a T. You weren’t one to make premature bets, but when you clicked submit on the official application three weeks prior, part of you had felt like it was fate. A sure thing.
The email this morning proved you wrong.
Dear Candidate, it had started. Because of course, even after all the time you spent tailoring your resume to their standards, you weren’t even worth the effort of typing your name.
Thank you for your interest in joining our team. We regret to inform you that we have decided to move forward with other candidates at this time. If, in the future, other positions become available, please do not hesitate to apply again.
Rejection wasn’t anything new at this point, but this one stung. It felt personal.
You were tired of constantly hearing no, of always having every path blocked the second you worked up the courage to venture down it. You were desperate for something to take your mind off of it all.
You wanted to do something fun. And more than that, you needed a reminder that you weren’t a failure. That at least in some capacity, your time and your presence and your efforts were worth something.
If the only available context for that was a date, even a blind one, so be it.
“It’ll be fun,” Sophia insisted. “I promise. Besides, the guy I have in mind is really cool. He’s been at my company for a couple of years now, and he’s really friendly, even to the new hires. Comes off a little cold at first maybe, but I think he’s just a little shy. You’d like him.”
You still weren’t sold. You took another long sip of black coffee and winced at the taste of burnt beans.
“What was his name again?” you asked.
Sophia grinned, knowing she’d finally won. “Sunghoon,” she told you, smile entirely too smug for your liking. “Park Sunghoon.”
Now, a week later, you can’t help but curse yourself for caving. After all, blind dates are a far cry from romance, and the only thing that your time with Sunghoon is doing, lovely as he may be, is giving you a different source for your headaches.
Across from you, Sunghoon takes a slow sip of red wine. His eyes stay where they should. You can at least appreciate that Sophia didn’t set you up with a total sleaze. If anything, you think he looks a bit unsure when he meets your gaze.
After another moment of stilted silence, he asks, “What do you like to do for fun?” You watch as Sunghoon swirls his half full glass before setting it back down on the table. Aerating it, probably. He strikes you as the kind of person that isn’t entirely bullshitting when they say they know their wines.
It’s a perfectly normal question, run-of-the-mill for a first date. And yet, your mind can’t seem to do anything but come up completely blank.
What do you like to do for fun? Even privately, you're beginning to wonder. It’s as if the job search has taken any joy you used to find in your free time and turned it into existential dread.
You like to go for walks, but it’s been extra rainy these days and you hate how the late autumn air makes your skin feel sticky after just a few minutes. Not to mention the end of season mosquitoes. You swear they’re bigger than any other time of year.
You like to read, but the last time you opened a book for pleasure was half a year ago. You’re pretty sure that same exact novel is still sitting half-finished beneath your bedside table.
Cooking is nice for stress relief, you suppose, but your meals are more for function than show. You doubt Sunghoon wants to hear about the frozen spinach you sautéed last night.
You have been catching up on the latest season of a ridiculously staged reality TV show lately, but you can hardly own up to that. If an hour’s worth of catty drama and hair pulling every Sunday night is the first hobby you think of, Sunghoon will no doubt think you’re the most vapid person he’s ever met.
So instead you say, “Oh, you know.” You try a laugh, hoping it will make you seem easy going instead of cagey. “Things.”
Sunghoon just arches a brow. He doesn’t know. That’s why he asked.
And it’s not like it’s a crime to be awkward on first dates, but you’re starting to feel like you’d be given a life sentence without parole if it was.
Desperate to get his gaze off of you, you return the question. “What about you?”
Maybe the universe will spare you and Sunghoon will be equally bad at condensing his life into bite-sized pieces easily digestible on first dates. Maybe his good luck starts and ends with his face and he’ll be equally tight-lipped about his own interests.
But then, after a pause to gather his thoughts, he starts talking. Your hope for equal footing starts to circle the drain with more urgency.
“I’ve been really into exercising lately,” he tells you. “I grew up figure skating, so it’s been nice to get back to doing something more physical. It’s been great, too, trying out some new protein-focused recipes and getting out for runs when the weather allows it. I really miss the ice, but it just isn’t feasible with work and everything else these days. It’s been fun to try out some new hobbies that are somewhat similar.”
“Oh,” you flounder for a moment. It’s truly pathetic, you think. Maybe talking about yourself is difficult, but how are you so unable to even respond to his answers? “That’s nice.”
Sunghoon, to both his credit and Sophia’s, really does seem to be a nice guy. He’s trying. Doing his best to keep the conversation going.
“Do you like to exercise?” he asks.
You wonder distantly if following a YouTube video at home on yoga for stress relief once in a while counts.
Deciding it doesn’t, at least not to a former figure skater, you shrug. “Not really.”
“Oh,” he nods. After a moment of awkward silence, he asks, “What do you think about the wine?”
It’s a simple question, an easy question, but it’s hard to get momentum once you’ve lost it. To you, this date already feels a bit like a sinking ship and even a question as simple as this feels like a test you’ll inevitably fail.
“It’s nice,” you say. “Goes well with the food.” And unfortunately does very little to soothe your frayed nerves.
“I agree,” Sunghoon nods. “Apparently it’s made from grapes grown in a specific region of southern France. They get more sunlight than the average vineyard, and the soil is fertilized in some special way that makes the flavor more intense.”
He smiles at you, and it’s objectively gorgeous. The kind of look that you feel like you should be fawning over, that you should go home dreaming about.
Park Sunghoon is the kind of guy that feels made for fantasies. Thinking about it now, you’re not really sure how he could even be single, or how Sophia managed to convince him to see you tonight.
But no matter how long you wait for the butterflies to come, they just… don’t.
It’s not because you don’t like him, but the idea of getting to know him, of letting him get to know you, is suddenly exhausting.
You’re afraid that whatever parts of yourself you reveal will come up short, will inevitably be found lacking. Your hobbies aren’t interesting enough for a guy like him. You’re not particularly well-traveled or well-read, and you did well in your degree but not enough for it to be part of a dinner conversation.
You just… you don’t feel interesting. Not in the kind of way that guys like him are attracted to. So when you go home after another half hour of stilted conversation and too-long lulls of silence, you’re not daydreaming about his smile or his dimples or the second date he definitely won’t ask you on.
Instead, you wait until you’re out of eyesight to let the smile you’ve been keeping plastered to your lips fall from your face.
Looking out at the sky, the sun that’s beginning to set on the horizon doesn’t feel like an omen or a fresh start. It just feels like a sunset. The end of another day full of nothing special. Unremarkable. Ordinary.
You’re not giddy or excited or particularly moved at all. You’re not angry either, though. Not disappointed. If anything, you feel a strange sense of hollowness, one with a glare that’s especially apparent under the street lights that are just beginning to glow.
You miss the days when things felt exciting, when you would meet the eye of someone cute across a lecture hall and go home daydreaming about it. Spinning around your room, kicking your feet like a schoolgirl with a crush.
It’s not Sophia’s fault. It’s not even Park Sunghoon’s. But when you finally get back home to your apartment and flick on the lights of your empty bedroom, all you do is sigh.
…..
You thought that when you walked across your university stage six long months ago and were officially given your diploma, you’d be done drowning your post-midterm stress with cheap beer.
But you forgot to account for one small detail — Jungwon.
You suppose your friendship with him might look a little strange from the outside, but he’s been a constant in your life since before you even knew how to tie your own shoes.
Like most childhood friendships, it wasn’t forged of your own volition. Your mother decided the summer before you started kindergarten that her new favorite hobby was going to be gardening. Which was fine and all, except for the fact that she knew literally nothing about gardening and had killed just about every houseplant she ever owned.
To her credit, she tried. She asked the kind elderly lady working the till at the garden supply store for advice and bought the overpriced gloves and trowel she suggested. She scoured blogs and Wikipedia articles and online forums for all the best and latest in flower cultivation.
But your mother simply did not have a green thumb, and after months of watching from her window in silent pity, Mrs. Yang decided to do something about it.
She took one look at your mother’s wilted tiger lilies and sighed. Gently, because even in her exasperation she managed to be kind, a trait she passed onto her son.
You weren’t so interested in whatever she told your mom about fertilizer and shearing, though. Nor were you really interested in the garden at all.
But you did find the boy currently hiding behind Mrs. Yang’s practical work pants far more fascinating than anything you’d seen in months.
Before school started, finding another kid your age was like striking gold. An only child, you were doted on by your parents but only rarely had the opportunity to play with other kids. This one, even if he was determined to hide out of sight, felt like a gift, a friend you were determined to make yours.
Back then, he was a shy kid.
It had taken a fair amount of coaxing from his mother, but he finally found the courage to meet your eye. To come out from his hiding spot and introduce himself.
Jungwon, he said his name was, and you gave him yours in return.
You asked about his birthday and could hardly contain the smug smile that spread across your lips when you realized he was younger than you. A whole ten months. Practically a baby. Nowhere near ready to start kindergarten, like you were. He’d have to wait a whole nother year.
Other than the bragging rights it afforded you, you didn’t mind so much.
That summer, Mrs. Yang helped your mother turn her misshapen, weed-addled, overgrown mess of a flower bed into something truly beautiful.
And nearly every time she came over, she brought Jungwon in tow. The two of you weren’t trusted to wander far yet, but he made your afternoons far more interesting, even under the watchful gaze of your mothers.
He was excited about the same things you were — searching for bugs in the flower bed, digging in the dirt with the plastic shovel set you’d been given for your last birthday, and building homes for the fairies you convinced him really existed using fallen leaves and twigs.
Your friendship might have begun as one of convenience, but the long, sunny afternoons you spent together ensured that none of it was forced.
Your mothers were thrilled too. Both of you were overly curious only children, and it was nice to have your attention occupied elsewhere, to share private smiles at how sweet your little friendship was becoming.
They sighed when you came back from an afternoon of playing with dirt smudged across your clothes and cheeks and cooed when you fell asleep after washing up, sprawled out across your living room floor with pillows you’d pulled off the couch.
Even though you’d been anticipating it for months, the beginning of kindergarten was something you started to dread. And the further you got in your academic journey, the one-year gap between you started to feel less like victory and more like a curse.
You still remember the failed math quiz you brought home from second grade one afternoon, a big, red F written across the top even though you were usually excellent with times tables.
It had taken a fair amount of coaxing, but your mother finally got the truth from you. How you were thinking that if you managed to do poorly enough to fail the second grade, you could just do it again next year. With Jungwon.
Of course she explained to you how terrible of an idea it was, and you didn’t try it again, but for the next few months, every aced exam still felt a little bit like defeat.
Until the seventh-grade, that is, when you decided to fully embrace your role as his elder.
Jungwon was just starting middle school, after all. He was brand new to the world of lockers and passing periods and so much axe body spray it seemed to permanently hover outside the boy’s locker room like a rain cloud.
You made him pinky promise you not to buy any, and all he did was scrunch his nose in distaste, insisting that he never would, that he didn’t like strong smells anyway.
Jungwon might have been new to it all, but you, however, had already been this whole middle school thing for a year. You were one year older and wiser and could help him navigate all of the pitfalls with your hard earned expertise.
You thought it was the best idea ever, an example of your commendable generosity and kindness, until one Wednesday afternoon proved you entirely wrong.
You were hovering just behind him as he worked through his locker combination, weight shifted to one hip as you balanced your science textbook against the other.
Still a couple inches taller than him thanks to the growth spurt that had hit you early, you didn’t have to crane your neck too hard to see over his shoulder. To provide any assistance he might need.
Finally, after getting the combination right, his locker clicked open.
Jungwon sighed. Glancing back at you, he mumbled, “Why are you here? Don’t you have science right now?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, gesturing to the textbook in your hands. “But that’s okay. I don’t mind waiting for you.”
“I have math next,” he pointed out, as if you didn’t already know. As if you didn’t have his schedule memorized before he did. “Which is in the opposite direction. Just go. You don’t want to be late again.”
It’s true. You don’t. Your mom said she’d shave an hour off of your allotted Saturday cartoon-watching time if it happened again.
But it was okay. It was a sacrifice you were willing to make. You told him as much.
“That’s okay,” You shook your head. “I’ll be fine. Besides, Mr. Lee usually isn’t too strict about tardies, so—“
“Just go,” he interrupted, back still turned to you. This time, his voice was sharper than usual. It cut through the air like an accusation, leaving you more than a little shocked. “You don’t have to follow me around everywhere.”
You frowned at that. But still, you thought that maybe he was just worried about you, about whatever punishment your mother had promised. So, to ease his worries, you insisted, “I don’t mind. I’m a year older, so I should—“
“Ten months,” he corrected, voice like ice. And he still wouldn’t look at you. “You’re ten months older.”
Your frown deepened. “Thats the same thing.”
“No it’s not,” Jungwon shook his head, voice rising. His anger, his annoyance, were apparent now. “Stop treating me like a baby.”
“I don’t—” You tried to protest.
But he wasn’t having it. “You do.” He insisted. “You treat me like I’m a little kid and it’s driving me insane. The other boys on the taekwondo team think so, too. They’re starting to say things—“
“What kinds of things? Who?” It didn’t matter if he was angry or annoyed at you. As far as you were concerned, if anyone was giving Jungwon a hard time, it was your business too. You didn’t know the boys on the taekwondo team very well, but you were suddenly feeling very violent, a bad idea given that the boys in question were trained in martial arts and you’d spent no time on a training mat in all twelve years of your life.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jungwon shook his head. He still wouldn't turn around and look at you. “Just leave me alone.”
You’d had fights before. Little tiffs that started nearly the same day you’d met. But they were always small, just bouts of bickering that may have left you pouting but never with any truly hurt feelings.
This was different. This… this stung.
Just like the tears that started to gather against your lash line without your permission, pressing dangerously against the inner corner of your eyes.
Still, you couldn’t help but ask, a little pathetically, “You don’t want me to walk with you?”
“I don’t need you to follow me around everywhere,” he repeated, crueler than he had to be, “fussing over me like you’re my mom or something.”
“Fine,” was all you said. Suddenly, you were grateful that he wouldn’t look at you. If he saw how affected you were, that you were on the verge of crying, it would be more humiliating than you could handle. “Just walk by yourself then.”
Turning, you only paused once you were a few steps away. “And here,” you’d reached into your pockets, pulling out the coupons you’d cut out of the newspaper earlier this week, the surprise you were planning to show him after school. “You can just have these. Give them to your taekwondo friends, since you care what they think so much.”
Jungwon waited until you were around the corner to turn around, to see what you’d thrown at his feet. Bending, he picked them up, guilt swirling deep in his gut as he tucked the coupons for half price ice cream from the nearby shop, the one that you knew always had his favorite flavor, into his pocket.
You didn’t talk to Jungwon for a week.
You were late to class that day, partly because of Jungwon and partly because you had to spend the next ten minutes calming down in the bathroom stall while you wiped evidence of your tears away.
True to her word, your mom didn’t let you watch cartoons Saturday morning. And you spent all your extra time thinking about where exactly you went so wrong.
The silent treatment didn’t last long. You and Jungwon were like that — you’d spent so much time together that you’d learned how to get over things quickly.
Grudges never held for long, and time didn't need to pass too far for both of you to forget what you were mad about in the first place.
But this time, even after the dust had settled, things between you didn’t go entirely back to normal. For starters, you didn’t wait for him by his locker anymore, didn’t offer to walk him to math or science or P.E. or any of his other classes.
Even though the two of you shared a school, the only time you really saw him anymore was on the bus ride home. And that was only on the days he didn’t have taekwondo practice.
But with Jungwon, things had a way of coming back around. It wasn’t long before he was seeking you out intentionally again, before your friendship felt less like walking on eggshells and more like something comfortable.
But you had learned two valuable lessons that day by his locker.
One, Jungwon was sensitive. More so than you ever realized. In ways you didn’t always fully understand.
And two, the gap between your ages may have been small, but he really, truly resented any attention you brought to it. In his own words, he hated it when you made him feel like a kid.
So you learned. You adjusted. And by the time high school came around, you were practically a pro at ignoring the ten months that separated you.
There were still times that you wanted to guide him, to help him, but you did your best to hold yourself back. You tried to empathize, too. To see things from his point of view. It made sense, you supposed. Jungwon didn’t want a second mother. He just wanted a friend.
One that wouldn’t dote on him too much or smother him or embarrass him in front of his teammates. That’s not to say he didn’t use your age to his advantage on occasion, though.
When you got your driver’s license a whole year before him, he wasn’t shy about asking for rides. And when junior year chemistry proved to be harder than he thought, he accepted your journal full of meticulously taken notes with little more than a sigh of relief.
You didn’t mind so much. Besides, it wasn’t like you were the only generous one in your relationship. Friendship with Jungwon never felt like a burden, never felt like a debt to settle.
For all of your age-afforded privileges, he more than made up for them just by being there. Because Jungwon grew up in the way few boys do—he learned to observe, to listen before he spoke. To treat words like something precious and use them only when he really meant them.
Jungwon was your confidant, your most trusted source of advice. You went to him with things that you felt like you couldn’t tell anyone else, and he received it all with open arms and a thoughtful furrow of his brow.
Jungwon wasn’t the type to pass judgment. He just listened, contemplated, and then gave the best, most logical answer he could think of.
He talked you down from your spiral of self-hate after you convinced yourself a failed physics test was the end of your life junior year and helped you analyze the pros and cons of your top university choices when your high school graduation date started approaching with alarming speed.
Affection came easy between the two of you, because it didn’t feel complicated. It felt natural, just like the day he introduced himself amongst the ruins of your mother’s failed garden.
So when you told him, senior year, that you agreed with his advice, that you had decided to attend university in your hometown, a mere thirty-minute drive from the high school you were graduating from, all he did was smile.
He hugged you after you accepted your diploma from your principal and handed you a bouquet of flowers. He complained about having to stick around in high school for another year, and you assured him that senior year was different from the others. It was better.
Your year apart was difficult, but it also gave you space for things you hadn’t considered before. Things like other friends. You met Sophia at freshman orientation, and the two of you became inseparable.
You still saw Jungwon, of course. Weekends, holidays, and even the occasional weeknight dinner meant he was still very much a part of your life. And when you couldn’t meet in person, you talked. Texted. Called.
Which is exactly how you broke the news of your first ever boyfriend.
There had been crushes in high school, but they were fleeting. Insignificant. This was different. Jay was different, and just as you always had, you spared Jungwon none of the gory details.
You told him all about the flowers he bought you, all about how romantic it was when he asked you on a proper date. How sweet it was when he picked you up and opened the passenger door of his car for you and how special you felt when he picked up the dinner check without so much as a sideways glance at you.
But Jungwon, steady, reliable Jungwon, seemed to become uncharacteristically terse whenever Jay came up. His texts got shorter, his responses further and fewer between.
The calls that used to drag on for hours started ending suddenly whenever you brought up your boyfriend. Jungwon always had an excuse ready—he had homework to do or a project to finish or an errand to run for his mom.
But you’d have to be stupid not to notice the common denominator in it all. Jay.
For a while, the choice was easy. Jay was here, with you. He wanted your attention and your time. He liked hearing about your day and telling you about his and spending as much time with you as your schedules allowed.
Jungwon, on the other hand, was becoming more difficult to reach the longer your relationship went on.
Slowly, but steadily, Jay started to become the person you went to for advice. The contact name you searched for whenever you had something to say. The boy you spent your weekends with, making new memories, laughing about nothing.
You trusted him. You were new to it, the feelings, the rush of it all, but after a few months, you were pretty sure you loved him.
Jay was your first relationship, your first real boyfriend, and eventually, the person you trusted enough to lose your virginity to.
Which made it all the more devastating when he told you, sometime in the middle of spring semester, that he didn’t want to see you anymore. That he enjoyed your time together, but he didn’t feel the same spark you did. The same level of connection.
You cried until you were numb, and you were numb until one by one, your feelings started to come back in overwhelming waves. And every time they did, the only person you really wanted to see was your best friend.
The boy you barely even spoke to anymore.
You weren’t sure if he would even answer, the night you drove all the way to his house in the pouring rain. You stood there on his porch, pathetic, soaked from just the short walk from your car, when he opened the door and found you like that.
“Jungwon,” you breathed.
He hadn’t said anything, just pulled you inside. Checked the warmth of his shower until it was the perfect temperature and left a towel and a clean pair of clothes on the bathroom counter for you. Waited outside, on the edge of his bed until you emerged twenty minutes later.
Clean, dry, but with eyes so red he knew you must have been crying.
He didn’t ask you what happened. He just scooted back until he was sitting against his pillows, patted the space next to him in invitation. Pulled you tight to his chest as you sobbed, long heartbreaking sounds that tore from somewhere deep in you.
You eventually told him everything—your breakup, your heartbreak, the sudden loneliness it had left in its wake.
Jungwon just held you through it, wiping your tears and soothing your cries as you laid against his chest.
And you talked. For hours, about nothing, about everything. All the little things you hadn’t been able to tell him for months, all the parts of your life that you’d wished you could share with him.
As it turns out, you’d missed important updates from his life, too. For starters, he’d chosen a university. The same one you were currently attending. You were so excited that you’d be together again, but part of you hated it, the way you’d missed out on such important news.
That night, things shifted again. It didn’t matter what your relationship status was or what distance separated you—the two of you promised not to ever go so long without talking again.
The following September, Jungwon officially started university at the same school as you, and it was the most excited you’d been in months. You loved showing him around all of your favorite places, pointing out the secret study spots you’d found in the library, introducing him to all of your friends and the coffee shop you loved just off campus.
It felt natural, felt right to have him in your life again. Even when things got busy, when you were so bogged down with assignments and projects and internships, you did your best to make time for one another.
You didn’t date again, and if he did, you never heard about it. When friends asked, you always gave the same excuse. You were too busy. You were focusing on yourself. School was more important to you than a relationship right now.
But if you were honest with yourself, your relationship with Jay had left you with a unique set of scars. You were scared of falling in love again only to be met with rejection, of course, but you were also terrified of losing Jungwon. Of the way letting someone new into your life could mean pushing him away, despite what you’d promised each other that night in his bed.
It’s why you haven’t mentioned Sunghoon to him yet. It’s not a secret, exactly, but it’s also not something you’re dying to share.
Now that you’ve graduated, you can hardly believe you’re standing outside Jungwon’s apartment with a six pack of cheap beer dangling from your fingertips. But something about all of your recent failures has you desperate for a bit of release, and you’re sure he could use some relaxation after midterms, too.
If anything, you’re hoping it will come as a nice surprise.
You knock on the door to his apartment, beer dangling loosely from your other hand. But when the door pulls open, it’s not Jungwon who greets you on the other side.
“Hi,” Jake grins, leaning against the doorframe. “Long time no see.” Jungwon’s roommate of two years now, he glances down at the beer. “And you brought presents.”
“Not for you, Sim,” you shake your head. “Is Jungwon home?”
“Depends.” Jake grins. “Are you just gonna leave if he’s not?”
You sigh, do your best not to roll your eyes. You’ve been subject to Jake’s antics long enough to know not to take any of it to heart. A golden retriever in every sense of the word, flirting comes as natural to him as breathing.
You’d be more worried if he suddenly started talking to you like a normal person.
“Can you tell me when he’ll be back?” You really should have checked to make sure Jungwon was home before driving all the way, but you’d only decided to come last minute. Besides, you remember what midterms were like. You wanted it to be a surprise.
“What’s the rush?” Jake asks. When you don’t bother to dignify that with a response, he pivots, “What are you up to these days?”
“Just working,” you shrug.
“Yeah?” he asks. “How’s post grad life treating you? Is the grass really greener after graduation?” Like Jungwon, he’s still a semester and a half away from it.
You laugh, but it sounds forced even to your own ears. “Something like that.”
“You’re still working at that flower shop over in your area, right? I was over there the other day, and I almost stopped by to say hi, but I couldn’t remember for sure. Is it—”
“I thought you said you were on your way out,” a voice interrupts from behind him. Jungwon’s. You’d know it anywhere. “Who are you talking to?”
That little shit. He lied to you. Or at least heavily implied it.
Jake at least has the decency to look sheepish when he glances at you. Opening the door wider, he reveals your best friend. Dressed in a pair of grey sweats and an oversized long sleeve white t-shirt, his hair is still slightly damp. Recently showered, if you had to guess.
“Surprise,” you grin weakly, holding up the pack of beer.
“___,” he breathes your name, surprise flickering across his features. His gaze falls to your feet for a moment before dragging back up to your face. “What are you doing here?”
“Is it a bad time?” The beer falls back down to your side. You really should have checked with him first before driving all the way here. “Sorry, I just wanted to surprise you.”
“No,” he shakes his head. “Not a bad time at all. Come in.” Side-eyeing Jake, he looks almost surprised to see him, as if he forgot he was even there. Then, he confirms, “You’re leaving, right?”
“Yep,” Jake nods, a trace of amusement flashing through his eyes. “I won’t be back until late.” He glances between the two of you. “Like, really late, probably. Enjoy… whatever this is.” Turning to you, he adds, “And it was good to see you again. Don’t be a stranger, yeah?”
“Sure, Jake,” you agree. “Have a good night.”
“You too,” he smiles. “Have fun.” Pausing for a moment, he considers, “Not too much fun, though—”
“Goodbye, Jake,” Jungwon interrupts, something unreadable crossing his features.
Jake takes the cue well enough. Stepping past the two of you, he leaves the apartment. The door closes behind him with a silent click.
And then it’s just you and Jungwon.
“You brought beer,” he reaches to take the drinks from you, passing them from your hand to his. “And yourself. What’s the occasion?”
“Midterms,” you explain. “I thought you could use a night off after all that studying. Besides, it’s been too long. The last time I saw you was when we got coffee, and that was already—”
“Two weeks ago,” he finishes for you. “Yeah.”
“Do you want to drink?” you ask, suddenly afraid you’ve placed your bets all wrong. Maybe midterms weren’t exhausting in the way that makes him want to drown his sorrows in cheap beer. Maybe they were just exhausting in the way that makes him want to crawl into bed. “I can come back a diff—”
Jungwon shakes his head. “It’s exactly what I need.” He smiles at you. It’s tired, but it’s genuine. “I’m glad you’re here.”
And that’s all it takes, all the reassurance you need to slip off your shoes and find a spot next to him on the living room sofa that’s seen better days.
It’s quiet at first, the two of you taking long sips as you ask the standard questions.
You ask how he thinks he did on midterms, and he says he’d rather talk about anything else.
He asks about your job search, and a shadow crosses your features as you also request a change in topic.
One bottle turns to two, and before long, your limbs are feeling heavier, your lips looser.
Jungwon looks at you, already flushed from the alcohol. He parts his reddened lips like he wants to say something. Closes them again.
Then, finally, “I heard something,” he says.
“Mm?” you hum. There’s a pleasant haze in your mind. One that makes it difficult to give much of a response at all.
A beat of silence passes. Another. You glance over at him, a question in your eyes, only to find his gaze already trained on your face.
Eventually, he gets it out. “You’re going on dates again.”
The tension in your shoulders is immediate. You’re not sure if he heard it from Sophia or somewhere else along the grapevine, but you suppose it doesn’t matter much either way. You shrug, feigning nonchalance. You have nothing to hide, you tell yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong. “I went on one.”
Jungwon takes a long sip of beer, the foam settling heavy when he sets it back down on the table. “How was it?” he asks. His voice is infuriatingly neutral. You can’t get a read on him.
“I don’t know,” you shake your head. “Fine.”
Jungwon’s palm splays against his knee, flexes. “Are you seeing him again?”
You feel a humorless laugh rising in your throat, one you barely manage to contain. “Probably not.”
You can feel his eyes boring into the side of your face when he asks, “Why?”
You sigh. This time, it’s you that takes a long sip of your drink. “I don’t know,” you shrug. Pulling your knees in towards your chest, you suddenly feel smaller than before. “It just wasn’t…” your words die as you try to find a way to explain the feeling you’d left the date with. Coming up blank, you decide instead on, “I don’t think he wants to see me again, anyway.”
You swear you feel a fraction of tension ease from the air. Still, Jungwon’s curiosity doesn’t seem to be sated. “Why not?” More to make you laugh than to actually guess at Sunghoon’s intentions, he asks, “Did you spill something on him?”
Wincing, you remember every one-word answer you gave. “I don’t think I spilled enough.”
Jungwon frowns, the turn of phrase not landing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know,” you repeat. “Sometimes, I just…” You lean your head back, letting it loll against the back of the couch. “I just feel like boys don’t really like me, you know?”
If you were looking, you’d see the way Jungwon goes completely still. A moment of silence passes before he breaks it, voice lower, less airy than before. “What did you just say?”
Head against the couch, you let out a small sound, breathless, a little pathetic. “Don’t make me repeat it,” you beg.
But Jungwon isn’t quite ready to let it go. You see his silhouette in your periphery, turning to face you fully. Leaning in, his attention is on you and nowhere else. His voice has an edge to it that you aren’t quite sure what to do with when he asks, “What do you mean, ‘boys don’t like you?’”
All you can do is sigh again. “I’m just… I’m not really charming or cute or good at small talk and things like that. I always say something weird or put my foot in my mouth, and it’s like I can see them losing interest in real time.”
Jungwon blows a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. Glances at you. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”
“Jungwon,” you deadpan, “he asked me what my hobbies are, and I told him, verbatim, things.”
“Oh.” He pauses for a minute. Then points out, “Well, to be fair, that’s a horrible question.”
You frown. “It’s a standard first date question.”
“Yeah,” Jungwon agrees, “which is exactly why it’s horrible. No one wants to go on a first date and be asked all of the standard first date questions.”
You know that he’s only trying to comfort you, but something about him twisting the narrative so far in your favor just makes you want to sigh. You’re grateful for his defense, but it also feels a bit misplaced.
“How would you even know?” You try not to sound too mean, but the question comes out flat. “I bet you go on dates with those dimples and that…” you trail off, waving your hands noncommittally in his general direction.
Jungwon’s brows furrow. “You just gestured to all of me.”
“Exactly,” you nod. “You have that whole boy-next-door, easy going charm thing about you.” It’s true, and right now, you can’t help but think that it’s awfully unfair. “I bet you could ask whatever stupid standard first date questions you want and girls would still be falling at your feet.”
At face value, it’s a compliment. But there’s something about your tone, the trace remnants of sarcasm, of bitterness, that make him think otherwise.
“I’m not quite sure how to take that,” Jungwon finally tells you.
You sigh. You didn’t come here to project your insecurities on him. There might be layers of truth to it, but this isn’t his fault. You’re not being fair, and you know it.
“All I mean is that boys like you don’t have to try very hard. I feel like it all just comes so naturally to you. I wish I was like that, too. That’s all I’m saying.”
And Jungwon could protest, could launch into some speech about how you’ll find your person eventually, about how there’s someone out there for everyone.
But he knows you, is well-acquainted with that contemplative, overly self-critical look on your face. Can read all of your frustration and insecurity in the way you bite at your bottom lip.
You’re not looking for a lecture or false hope and certainly not empty words.
You came here with a case of beer and the intention to surprise him, to congratulate him for work well done.
He was the one that brought up the date, anyway. He knows that you’re not looking for advice. You’re looking for a friend.
So Jungwon waits for a moment before he says anything at all.
Then, he picks up your abandoned beer off the coffee table in front of you and holds it up to you. “C’mon,” he encourages gently, “join me.” He takes a sip of his own for good measure. “It isn’t going to drink itself.”
“I don’t know,” you sigh. “I already feel kind of—”
“I think I bombed econ,” he offers. You can’t tell if it’s true or not, but that’s not the point. He needs you out of your head. “Don’t make me drown my sorrows alone.”
You can’t help but think that for all the fuss he used to put up about you being older, he certainly doesn’t mind appealing to it when it’s to his advantage.
But even lukewarm beer looks tempting when it’s him that’s offering it to you. And you’ve never been good at saying no, at least not to Jungwon.
He knows it, too. Jungwon isn’t surprised when you accept the bottle from his hands with nothing more than a halfhearted grumble under your breath.
There’s no trace of shock in his eyes when you bring it straight to your lips despite your earlier protests.
He just grins before leaning back against his side of the couch, smile still stretching across his lips as he brings his own bottle up to join you.
…..
Thursday afternoons are your favorite time in the flower shop. Run by a kind woman in her late sixties, she takes advantage of the day to attend her weekly Zumba class at the senior center, which means you have the shop all to yourself, save for the occasional customer.
Usually, you’d savor the stillness. Use it to catch up on inventory or fulfill the handful or edible arrangement requests for tomorrow.
But today, the silence is making you jittery. Mostly because your mind won’t give you a moment of peace no matter how much you beg it too.
Despite the prediction you gave Jungwon three days ago in his apartment, Sunghoon did reach out to you again.
The message still sits at the top of your text threads like a curse.
I enjoyed our time together, he said. Succinct, straightforward, and all things considered, surprising. Are you free this weekend? I’d love to see you again.
And it’s flattering, so much so that you nearly find yourself agreeing without taking so much as a moment to think about it.
Sophia will be thrilled, you’re sure. And you won’t have to burden Jungwon again with tipsy confessions of your own insecurities.
But alone in the flower shop, another thought starts to creep in, just as your fingers hover above the keyboard. A feeling.
The same one you left from your last date with. That strange, hollow emptiness that had you spiraling for days, convinced there must be something deeply, fundamentally off about you.
Again, you start to wonder why you can’t just do it. Can’t enjoy a date and a free meal and the pleasant company of a handsome stranger. Why all of your answers always come out stilted, cagey, so terribly awkward.
Why you’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop, convinced that any scraps of attention that come your way must be part of some elaborate prank that the universe is playing on you.
Why even a barely-there, trace amount of vulnerability feels like nails on a chalkboard. Why you haven’t been able to form a real, meaningful connection with anyone since Jay. A relationship that ended nearly four years ago. It’s enough to make you feel a little pathetic.
Logically, you know that this is how it goes. You can’t form connections or welcome new things into your life without a leap of faith.
But the potential fallout is terrifying. The thought of trying, really trying, and still being found lacking is enough to sober even the most romantic of your fantasies.
Something about the status quo, no matter how boring or tiresome or monotonous, feels safe. Like a cage you’ve settled into and made comfortable.
Your fingers hesitate, then fall away completely. Locking the screen of your phone, you tuck it back into your pocket with a sigh.
Busying yourself with the arrangement orders, you do your best to push Sunghoon and his unanswered invitation from your mind.
For a while at least, you’re successful. The afternoon passes slowly.
A woman in her thirties comes, looking for a bouquet for her sister who just had a baby.
A man in his fifties wants to send flowers to his daughter’s office to wish her a happy birthday.
A couple comes in, hands intertwined, asking if your shop would be able to accommodate enough flowers for their wedding to be held at the end of the month.
You greet them, you smile, you answer their questions with patience.
And all the while, you leave Sunghoon’s question hanging.
As your shift draws to an end, late afternoon sunlight spilling through the windows, your phone buzzes in your pocket once more.
Half expecting to see a string of curses from Sunghoon, angry you ignored him, convinced you’ve wronged him, you're surprised when it’s Jungwon’s name that lights up your screen instead.
His short string of messages reads,
It was nice to see you again
Missed my favorite girl
Movie night this weekend at mine? Popcorn on me
Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you can hardly stifle the smile that threatens to overtake your entire face.
Unlike Sunghoon’s, Jungwon’s message doesn’t fill you with dread, doesn’t leave you with a sudden flurry of doubts and questions clouding your mind.
And, unlike his, it’s easy to say yes to.
You wait only a fraction of a second before sending your reply.
I’ll be there
…..
The left side cushion of Jungwon’s living room couch is starting to feel familiar at this point. It’s been less than a week since you were last here, and it already feels routine sinking down into it.
When Jake steps out from his room minutes after you settle in, he doesn’t comment on his roommate’s company. Just arches a brow.
“You two drinking again?” he asks.
Apparently, he gave Jungwon shit for forgetting to clean up one of the bottles after last time. Ironic, considering it’s Jake’s dinner dishes that are gathering dust in the sink.
“No,” Jungwon shakes his head. Remote in hand, he flicks through streaming service options until he lands on the one he’s looking for. “Just watching a movie.”
Jake pauses, eyes flickering towards the screen. “Which one?”
“Not sure.” Jungwon shrugs. “___ chose it.”
You turn over your shoulder, telling him the title. It’s some rom com that’s been terrorizing your twitter feed for weeks now. And then you offer, “You can join us if you want.”
You’re not sure if there’s enough space on the couch for the three of you, but you are the one crashing into their space. You’ll make it work if you have to.
“That’s alright.” Jake shakes his head. “I’m heading out.”
“Alright,” Jungwon waves him off without so much as a second glance.
“See you later,” you offer, still turned around.
Jake grins, looking at you before he makes his way to the door. “Enjoy your movie. And nice to see you again so soon, ___. I was worried you’d make me wait again.”
Next to you, Jungwon’s jaw clenches. He mutters something under his breath about making popcorn before standing up from his seat on the couch.
Jake leaves before he can rile Jungwon up any further, and the smell of popcorn begins to fill the room just as the opening credits begin to roll. An overzealous pop song plays in the background, one you recognize from the playlist your boss makes you put on shuffle, insisting the corny, upbeat lyrics will convince people to buy more flowers.
Jungwon comes back to the couch, sets the popcorn bowl on the table in front of you. He adjusts, moving closer. His knee brushes against yours. Both of you pretend not to notice. Intimacy and closeness is nothing new between the two of you. Hell, you grew up practically attached at the hip, sleeping in the same bed until you were in middle school.
But there was always practicality to it, a purpose. You held hands at the amusement park because you didn’t want to lose each other in the crowd. You let him put his head in your lap when you had a picnic in the park because the only other pillow available was the ant-filled grass.
This feels different. Intentional. Especially since there’s still plenty of space to his left.
You lean forward, reaching for the popcorn. The fabric of your pants rustles against his. Settling back into your seat, Jungwon takes his turn to reach forward. But instead of grabbing a fistful, he takes the whole bowl, bringing it to his lap.
“Here,” he nudges you. “It’s closer this way.”
You nod. Right. Closer.
In front of you, the movie begins to unfold. Saturated color grading, wardrobe choices that already look slightly dated despite the recent release date, and a female lead that first impressions paint as adorably quirky, it has all the makings of a brainless plot. The perfect way to waste a Friday night.
And Jungwon, who usually insists on holding his tongue until after the credits have rolled, leans a little closer to you just past the twenty-minute mark. Unnecessary, given how close the two of you are already sitting. His arm, bare from the short-sleeve shirt he wears, brushes against yours.
And his lips nearly touch the shell of your ear when he whispers, “This is ridiculous.”
You frown. “What is?”
“The premise,” he hums. “I mean, why would they pretend to date each other? It doesn’t make sense. There are plenty of other things he could do to get back at his ex.”
You roll your eyes. Leave it to him to analyze the storyline like it was designed for anything other than mindless entertainment. “It’s the oldest cliche in the book,” you explain. “It’s for the plot.”
“It’s obvious,” he shakes his head. “They’re going to fall in love with each other.”
“Of course they are,” you agree. “But not every movie has to have a million twists and turns. Sometimes it’s just nice to know how things will end and enjoy seeing how they get there.”
“You like that?” he asks, voice low. “When things fall into place exactly the way you expect them to?”
“Sometimes,” you breathe. “It’s nice to not always have to guess.”
“Would you ever do that?”
Your eyebrows raise. “Fake date someone?”
Jungwon nods.
“No,” you scoff. “I can barely handle a real date, remember?”
You’re not sure what it is, but something in your answer must satisfy his curiosity, at least for now. Next to you, Jungwon is quiet once again. In front of you, the characters on screen continue to tiptoe around each other, dancing around the obvious.
The onscreen tension builds and builds and builds, all the way until it breaks. With a heated confession in the rain and the one aspect of a rom com you forgot to account for before choosing your movie for the evening.
You’re a grown woman. You have the degree and the age on your driver’s license to prove it. But the flush on your cheeks is undeniable as the two characters on screen begin to kiss.
And kiss they do. Jesus christ, you think, just how much of the budget was allotted to close up shots of their mouths?
As the scene begins to heat, so does the temperature of your skin. You’re half afraid Jungwon will feel it, scalding him through the layers of fabric between your legs that still touch. Part of you wants to screw your eyes shut, to reach for the remote and click fast forward just to end the agony, but you’re pretty sure that would be even more humiliating.
Instead, you keep your eyes glued to the screen. Watch unmoving, trying to appear unaffected, as the male lead tangles his fingers through her hair, tugging slightly as she stifles a moan against his lips. It’s so raw, so intimate, that you’re tempted to pull out your phone and confirm the PG-13 rating you swear it had.
It’s involuntary, the way you squirm against the couch cushions. The movement is no help. All it does is make you brush further against the one person you’re suddenly desperately trying to ignore.
The man on screen brushes his fingers under the hemline of her shirt, drags the fitted material upwards.
Without even really meaning to, you dare a glance at Jungwon.
And find him already looking at you. Staring at you, lips parted, eyes locked on the flush spreading over your cheekbones.
Quickly, your eyes drop to your lap, but the image stays burned behind your eyelids. You don’t dare to look at him again, not even once the scene has ended, when the plot becomes ridiculous again instead of heated.
Even once the ending credits start to roll, you keep your eyes trained on the screen, as if the list of assistant directors is something you find fascinating. But Jungwon has other plans.
He shifts against you, knee nudging yours. You hear his exhale, heavier than before.
A moment passes. Another.
Then, he finally tells you, “I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Immediately your mind starts to swim. Thinking about what? The unbelievability of the premise? The questionable casting choices? Or, worst of all, the kiss?
Out loud, you do your best to school your question into something neutral. “Thinking about what?”
“What you said,” he tells you. It soothes exactly none of your frayed nerves.
What have you said? You suddenly can’t remember. You search for a list of recent statements you’ve made and come up completely blank.
It feels like a conversation that’s going nowhere when you ask, “What did I say?”
Jungwon doesn’t spare a moment. “That you think boys don’t like you.”
Oh. Oh. Nearly a week ago now, your tipsy, self-berating rambling must have stuck with him. Well, that’s fine, you suppose. That’s something you can explain away now. Sober, even if your mind is still spinning a bit.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” you try to explain. “I was drunk and my words weren’t coming out right. I just meant that it was frustrating going on a date and leaving feeling like something was wrong with me, you know?”
Only after he’s quiet for a full thirty seconds do you dare a glance at him. Jungwon’s brow is furrowed, his lips pulled tight in contemplation. He parts his lips like he wants to say something, closes them again as if he’s thought better of it.
When he finally finds a statement to commit to, he says, “Maybe you’re going on dates with the wrong people.”
“Oh, definitely,” you agree. “But that’s the hard part, isn’t it?” In retrospect, it’s a big part of why you were so hesitant to accept Sophia’s offer in the first place, why she had to ask you, to insist, four times. “I feel like I have to go on so many terrible dates that make me feel like shit just to maybe eventually find someone I want to spend more time with. It’s not like I think there’s actually anything wrong with me, but I do feel like I have a harder time than other people. You know, making friends, going on dates, finding people I actually want to be around of my own volition.”
After already feeling so rejected from your job search, your headspace has been even more fragile. Dating doesn’t feel like stress relief for you. It feels like a reminder of all the things you wish were different about yourself.
Jungwon’s gentle when he shakes his head. “There’s nothing wrong with keeping your circle small.”
“No,” you agree, “but sometimes it feels like it isn’t really my choice. Like, even if I wanted to have more friends or go on more dates, it wouldn't pan out the way I want it to. Sometimes it’s just easier to keep to myself, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t times I wish I could be more outgoing.”
After another momentary lapse, another beat of silence, he asks, “What about me?”
A flicker of surprise crosses your features. “What about you?”
“You have an easy time talking to me,” Jungwon points out. “And I feel the same about you. We’ve been hanging out since we were kids, and I’ve never felt uncomfortable with you.”
“Really?” Your brow arches. “Even when I forced you to go down that waterslide in third grade?”
Even his mom had been surprised. He’d been terrified of that thing, apparently kicking and screaming against anyone else that tried to drag him down it. But when you, in all of your fourth-grade glory, insisted that he joined you, he just tucked his hand in yours, let you lead him all the way up the ladder even as his legs shook beneath him.
Jungwon smiles at the memory, a soft thing. But his eyes are still serious, his gaze still weighted. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah,” you sigh, “but that’s different.”
“How so?”
“Because…” you trail off, searching for an explanation. “Because you’re Jungwon.”
“Yeah.” The heat in his eyes doesn’t settle. “And?”
“And I’ve never had to think about it,” you shrug. “We became friends before I was even fully self-aware. You’ve always just been Jungwon.”
He’s quiet for a moment, considering. And then, “Can I ask you something?”
“I feel like you’re going to anyway.” It’s meant to be lighthearted, to distract from that strange bit of tension that still simmers.
Jungwon’s eyes don’t lose their edge. “Why did you start going on dates again?”
“What do you mean?” His question surprises you. “I just graduated from university. I’m young and unattached and all that. Isn’t this the time that everyone’s going on dates?”
“I suppose,” he concedes, “But I feel like that’s why you’re so frustrated.”
You frown, and he clarifies, “You’re going on dates because you feel like you should. Not because you want to.”
He pauses for a moment, gauging your reaction. Deciding your silence is permission enough, he presses on, “You’re not even sure what you want out of them or what an ideal relationship looks like for you right now. You’re just going and hoping something will stick, like throwing darts with a blindfold. Then you get upset with yourself when it doesn’t live up to your fantasy, even though you haven’t decided what your fantasy even is yet. I mean, why did you even meet Sunghoon? Because you really wanted to, or because you wanted to get Sophia off of your back about it?”
You feel exposed all of a sudden. Seen right down to your bones in a way you were prepared for. “I…” There’s a maturity to his question that you weren’t expecting, an edge you can’t quite decipher. You turn the question back to him instead of answering. “Since when did you get so observant?”
“I’ve always noticed you.”
“Jungwon…”
“So I can help you figure this out, too,” he insists. “Really,” he adds when you still look unsure. “Who knows you better than me?”
You can’t quite meet his gaze, and it’s all the confirmation he needs.
“Exactly,” Jungwon nods. “So I’ll ask you again, why did you agree to go on a date with Sunghoon?”
It would be easy to deflect, to blame Sophia’s insistence. Or to double down on your earlier statement, that this is the time in your life to try new things, to meet new people. That it felt natural to say yes.
But when you really think about it, the cold, honest truth is just that—
“I think I was just tired of hearing no all the time.”
Jungwon’s brow furrows. “Who’s telling you no?”
You sigh, try to let out an airy laugh that comes out choked, a little pathetic. “Only every hiring manager in the country, apparently. You know, I’ve been sending out job applications like crazy since graduation, but it's been six months now and the only thing I have to show for it is a stack of rejection letters cluttering my inbox.”
A flicker of understanding passes through his gaze. “So you’re compensating, then.”
You glare. “Don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m not,” he shakes his head. With the same tone you’ve heard him use to soothe a skittish kitten, he adds, “That must have been so frustrating. Putting in all that effort and not getting the result you wanted.” He knee brushes yours as he leans in closer, something unbearably earnest in his gaze. “You’ve been working too hard.”
“I haven’t been working hard enough,” you argue. “If I had, then something would have panned out at this point. I just need to—”
“There you go again,” he interrupts, shaking his head gently. “Assuming that it’s all your fault. Maybe the hiring manager was just an idiot, or you caught them on a bad day.”
“Yeah.” Your words drip with self-effacing sarcasm. “I’d believe that if it were one or two. But I don’t think over a hundred of them just happened to wake up on the wrong side of the bed the day they reviewed my application.”
It comes out sharper than you mean for it to. Settles into the air a bit uncomfortably.
Jungwon takes a moment to respond. When he does, he just sighs your name.
“I know,” you scramble for something a little lighter, “like, the economy is shit and all, and one day I’ll look back at this and laugh or whatever. But it just sucks right now, you know? I’m so sick of it. I really just wanted to hear someone say—”
“Yes,” Jungwon finishes for you.
“Yeah,” you nod. “Exactly.”
“Okay,” he nods, resolve tightening as if he’s made his mind up about something. “Then ask me.”
“What?”
Jungwon doubles down. “You can ask me,” he insists again, that same damn earnestness in his eyes, “anything you want me to do.” Meeting your gaze, he adds, “I’ll say yes. I promise.”
Against your will, you feel warmth starting to rise on your cheeks again. There’s something weighted in his promise, something desperate that simmers just behind it. Something that you have absolutely no idea what to do with.
Suddenly desperate for a reprieve, you do your best to break the tension. “That seems like a terrible idea.” You curse the strange breathlessness in your voice. Why are you like this? It’s just Jungwon. “What if I ask you to jump off a bridge?”
Jungwon just grins. “I’ll take my chances. Besides, I know I’m safe. You’d miss me too much.”
“You know,” you start, “for someone who thinks fake dating is ridiculous, this feels even more absurd.”
Jungwon doesn’t budge. “Just try it,” he encourages. “Ask me something.”
You sigh. “Jungwon…”
“C’mon.” He’s relentless. “Just once.”
“Fine.” You glance towards the bowl still sitting in his lap. “Hand me the popcorn.”
Picking it up, he ignores your outstretched hands in favor of learning forward, all the way until he settles it in your lap. His fingers remain against the edges of the bowl until he’s sure the balance is steady. Only then does he lean back into his own space.
“Easy.” He grins. Then his brow furrows, considering. “Are you hungry?” he asks. “I could make you some real food, if—”
“No,” you shake your head. Picking up a single piece of popcorn, you add, “Just wanted to do this.”
Throwing it square at his face, it bounces off of his nose harmlessly before falling to the carpet below. Jungwon’s nose scrunches in a knee-jerk reaction, eyes screwing shut before he opens them again.
“Maybe I was wrong,” his eyes are heavy-lidded, voice lower than you expect. “You are going to use it for evil.”
“Of course.” You reach for another kernel. “So maybe you should reconsider—”
Jungwon doesn’t say anything, doesn’t give you a moment to prepare for the way he wraps his fingers around your raised wrist, locking it into place before you can toss another piece of popcorn in his direction.
His grip is warm against your skin. Tight, something you’re not sure you’d be able to break out of even if you tried.
Still, you attempt to fling the popcorn at him. With the restricted motion of your wrist, it doesn’t make it far. It flies through the air for only a split second before falling uselessly down to your own lap, just in front of the bowl it came from.
“Nice try,” Jungwon breathes, your wrist still encased in his grip.
Your eyes narrow. “I do my best.”
“I’m sure you do,” he allows, “but you’re trapped now.”
There’s something strange in his gaze. Something heavy, weighted that you can’t quite place. Something that feels entirely too real.
You test it, the strength of his grip on you. True to his word, your wrist hardly makes it an inch, his fingers a vice around them.
“You’re ridiculous,” you breathe, voice airier than you mean for it to be.
“Maybe,” he agrees. A breath passes between you. Another. His eyes are still locked on yours, searching, like he’s desperate to find something. Another moment passes, and he releases his grip. Your wrist falls slowly back to your lap. “But I meant it.”
“I know you did.” You can’t quite make eye contact, but his sincerity is evident even as you place your gaze elsewhere. “Thank you.”
“Seriously,” he insists. “My schedule is a lot lighter now that midterms are done. If you ever want to do something or go somewhere or you just wanna crash for a night on my couch, you’re more than welcome to.”
“Did you get Jake’s approval for that?” You arch an eyebrow.
Jungwon’s voice is tighter than before, just slightly. “Jake will be fine." And then, still strained but a bit softer, “If there’s anything I can do for you, just let me know. Don’t make me wait two weeks to see you.”
Here, in the quiet of his living room, movie forgotten on the TV, it’s easy to agree to.
“Okay,” you whisper, regular speech suddenly feeling too loud, too abrasive. And then again, because you really do mean it, “Thank you, Jungwon.”
“Of course,” he insists, voice equally low.
For a moment, the two of you sit like that, legs brushing, you avoiding the eye contact he tries to maintain.
Then, Jungwon sighs, faces the TV again as he reaches for the remote. “Should we watch something else?” he asks.
You nod. “Something scary this time.”
Jungwon arches a brow. “You hate horror movies.”
Shrugging, you insist. “I’m in the mood for one now.”
He still doesn’t look like he quite believes you, but he doesn’t argue any further as he scrolls down, searching for the genre.
At his side, you’re quiet. It’s true. You do hate horror. But you’d take zombies and ghosts and jumpscares any day over the off chance of having to sit through another kissing scene tonight.
This time, Jungwon picks the movie. Learning back against the cushions, he reaches for a handful of popcorn.
The movie hasn’t started yet. There’s nothing on the screen to be scared of, but your heart thumps traitorously against your ribcage anyway.
…..
Two days later, you’re back at your favorite coffee shop. This time, though, it’s not Jungwon who sits across from you.
“So,” Sophia starts, and you already recognize that tone. Uh-oh, you think. “Sunghoon asked about you.”
“Why?” you ask, memories of your rather terrible date coming back unbidden. “To see if I’ve checked myself into an insane asylum yet?”
“No,” she glares. “Just to see how you’re doing.” She takes a sip of her drink, eyeing you over the rim. “Why didn’t you go on another date? He told me he texted you.”
That explains it then, you think. Him reaching out to you probably didn’t come from genuine interest. Maybe spending time with you felt like nothing more than a favor to his coworker. Maybe he was secretly relieved when you’d ignored his message. Maybe he only brought it up to Sophia to be polite.
Your eyes narrow. “Why are you so involved, anyway? You know, this is exactly why they say you shouldn’t shit where you eat.”
“I’m not dating him,” she points out. “And you two don’t work together.” It’s true. You’d applied for an open position a couple months back, actually. And, of course, had been promptly rejected. “That doesn’t apply.”
“Close enough,” you mutter.
“Why are you so against it?” she asks. “Did he suck or something?” Considering it, she’s quick to apologize. “Sorry. He always seemed so nice at work. A little shy, like I told you, but when he mentioned he was single, you were the first person I thought of. Did he say something weird to you or try to make you split the bill—”
“No,” you shake your head. “Nothing like that. He was perfectly nice. And polite.”
Her confusion returns. “So what gives? I didn’t expect the two of you to get married, but I thought you’d at least last a little longer than one date. Besides,” she leans in, voice lower but still not nearly quiet enough for what she’s about to ask you, “aren’t you practically shriveled up at this point? Did you take a vow of celibacy without telling me? When’s the last time you even had se—”
Eyes widening in panic, you interrupt her with an entirely too loud, too bright, “Hi, Jungwon!”
Frowning, Sophia turns back to look over her shoulder. Because there he is, the man in question. A surprising coincidence, perhaps, if you weren’t the one that introduced both of your friends to this cafe.
“Hey,” he grins, glancing between the both of you with his takeout cup in hand. “I thought that was you I saw over here.” Turning to your friend, he nods, “Hi, Sophia.”
“Jungwon,” she returns. Her gaze follows his, all the way from his eyes to yours. Settling back into her seat, she gestures towards the empty chair at your table. “Grab a seat,” she offers. “Join us.”
“Oh, that’s alright,” you glance at him apologetically. “I’m sure Jungwon has other—”
But he slides down into the chair without a hint of protest, your words dying on your lips.
“Sorry for interrupting,” he says. “What were you two talking about?”
You force a smile that looks anything but easy. “Nothing,” you insist, just as Sophia explains,
“____’s desperate need to get laid.”
“Oh my god,” you groan, flashing daggers at Sophia with your eyes as you pointedly avoid looking to where Jungwon sits on your right. “I did not say that.”
“So what?” she asks, either oblivious to your suffering or relishing in it. “You’re planning to be a nun forever?”
“I’m busy,” you deflect. “I have other priorities right now.”
“Busy people have sex,” she argues. “All that stress isn’t good for you. Like I said, you’ll shrivel up and—”
“Can we talk about literally anything else?” She has to know how embarrassed you are from the increasingly red shade of your face, how horrified you are that Jungwon can hear everything she’s saying. There aren’t many secrets left between the two of you, but the gory details of your nonexistent sex life isn’t something you’re exactly dying for him to be privy to.
Sophia leans back, some of the urgency of her insistence fading. Still, she’s not quite done. “I’m just confused,” she explains. “I mean, Sunghoon was kind and a gentleman and more than willing, if the way he keeps hounding me about you is anything to go by. I just don’t get it.”
Slowly, you brave a glance at Jungwon, who’s kept quiet this whole time. Maybe, at least, he shares some of your embarrassment, avoiding your gaze just as pointedly as you avoided his.
But when you turn towards him hesitantly, Jungwon is already looking at you. There’s nothing shy or avoidant as his eyes rake over you. And there’s no sign of embarrassment, no telltale flush, no fidgety shifting.
Jungwon’s just looking at you. With a cool, steady stare. Like he’s assessing you, clicking puzzle pieces into place.
When he finally breaks eye contact, it’s to look at Sophia. “Leave her alone,” he defends. His tone is light, teasing. But there’s an edge there. Something that doesn’t leave space for an argument. “She’ll find someone when she’s ready. Park Sunghoon isn’t the end all be all of men.”
“No,” Sophia agrees, “but surely he’s better than your left hand and the vib—”
“Oh my god,” you’re begging this time. “Stop.”
“What about you?” Jungwon asks, and both of you turn to him in surprise. When your eyes land on him, he’s looking at Sophia, not at you. “How’s your love life looking these days?”
“Love life…” She trails off, shrugging. “Nothing to report. But I haven’t joined your girl here,” she nods towards you, “at the convent yet. In that regard,” she grins. “I’m perfectly healthy.”
“Good for you,” Jungwon nods. “And the job is still going well?”
“Yeah,” she nods. “It’s not confirmed yet, but there’s a rumor that I might be in talks for a promotion next quarter. I’m…”
Her words trail off as you zone out, some of the adrenaline fading, the tension draining from your shoulders.
Not for the first time, you feel extremely grateful for Jungwon. It’s subtle, but it’s enough. And to you, it’s obvious. The way he maneuvered the conversation away from you. You’re sure that your discomfort wasn’t difficult to pick up on, but the way he handled it makes you appreciate him that much more.
Morbidly, you wonder what he thinks of your glaring lack of a sex life. Ever since Jay, you’ve kept the details of your relationships, or rather, lack thereof, close to the chest where he’s concerned. And even when you were with Jay, intimacy was never a topic you breached with Jungwon.
The thought has a flush starting anew on your cheekbones. You do your best to dismiss it.
Next to you, Jungwon keeps his eyes on Sophia, nodding at the appropriate times, commenting in a way that proves he’s listening.
But beneath the table, the warmth on his palm finds your knee. Without breaking conversation or giving even the slightest outward hint that his mind is anywhere besides your friend’s story about her boss’ most recent rampage, he squeezes.
Once, gently. Just to let you know that he’s there.
You fidget, and he does it again. This time, he can’t quite help the grin that spreads across his lips.
…..
Despite everything, you can’t shake the feeling of Jungwon’s hand on your knee beneath the table. Days pass, and in quiet moments, if you give your brain enough leeway, it always wanders back there.
To his easy, subtle defense of you. To the way it seemed so natural for him to soothe you silently with his touch.
To the way he looked at you, considering, evaluative, while Sophia laid out the gory details of your fruitless sex life on the table.
And maybe she was right to question you so thoroughly. Maybe it really has been too long, because that’s the only feasible explanation for the thoughts you’re having now.
It’s only natural, you suppose. Jungwon has been a constant in your life, a steady presence, for nearly as long as your memory extends. He’s been there through it all, your worst moments, your best memories. He’s seen all of it, knows you like the back of his hand, and he’s stuck around for it all.
For someone with an intense fear of rejection, it means more than you can say. You can’t think of anyone in this world that you trust more than him.
And intimacy… Intimacy is just an extension of that, you suppose. Being close with someone in that way is the ultimate act of trust.
Maybe that’s why things felt so stilted, so disjointed with Sunghoon. You had nothing against him, but you also didn’t know him at all. Trust is something that takes time, effort. How could you let your guard down with someone you had just met?
It’s just nerves, you’re sure. You’ve been out of practice since Jay, and with each passing day, that relationship just feels further and further away. A distant memory that you can’t recall well enough to guide you now.
Maybe if there was someone you really trusted, someone that you could just practice with, then—
No. You shake your head, dropping the thought as quick as it comes. It’s insane. It’s the exact opposite of everything your relationship with Jungwon has been for the last eighteen years of your life.
Still, when a message from him lights up your phone screen a handful of hours later, it takes you a full minute and a string of deep breaths to convince yourself to open it.
And when you reread the text, an invitation to drive out to a lesser known lookout where the two of you used to go to watch the sunset in high school, you agree easily. If your heart is beating a little too fast in your chest, well, you suppose no one ever has to know about it.
Years ago, you were the one that discovered the outlook. After a particularly awful day, due mostly to your terrible junior year biology teacher, you’d put your newly acquired driver’s license to good use. You had no destination in mind. You were still new to driving and liked the way that it felt, liked the way it seemed like you could outrun any problem if you just drove far enough.
A series of wrong turns led you straight to a forested area not too far from the highway. Jutting high out over a nearby valley, the scene you found sprawled out in front of you was gorgeous.
It was early spring, then. Flowers were just beginning to bloom, glowing in the late afternoon sun. You shifted the car into park, shutting off the engine. And then you sat, for hours, just looking out at all of it.
As the sun faded on the horizon, so did the most pressing of your worries. Looking around you, biology class had begun to feel a lifetime ago.
You realized that day that you found somewhere special, somewhere that you wouldn’t be willing to show to just anyone. Even then, there was only one person you thought you’d ever share the view with, that you’d ever let into your private little sanctuary.
So, one month later, when Jungwon came to your house after school with a crease between his eyebrows that usual methods couldn’t seem to soothe, you offered him the passenger seat of your car and the view you’d been keeping all to yourself.
That day, it became his too. And a tradition of sorts began to form. Whenever either of you was stressed or upset or just needed to get away from it all, you had a shared place to escape to. Somewhere that felt out of reach from everyone else. Somewhere for just the two of you.
You haven’t been back there with Jungwon for the better part of a year. Part of you is a bit worried as you see his car pull up from your apartment window—this time, he’ll be the one driving—that something happened.
After all, the two of you usually saved the outlook for difficult times.
But as you slide into Jungwon’s passenger seat, the only thing he greets you with is an easy smile.
“Good day?” he asks, handing you his phone so you can pick the playlist for the drive.
“Fine,” you nod, settling for an R&B album you know you both like. “What about you?” you ask, still wanting to dissuade your earlier concerns. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” he nods, craning his neck as he checks for cross-traffic before pulling onto the main street. “I just wanted to see you. Thought it might be nice to go somewhere quiet. And it’s a beautiful day.” He looks towards the cloudless sky. “I thought the sunset would be nice.”
The drive goes quickly as you pass familiar streets, reminiscing as memories coming back at every turn.
“Oh my god,” you say as one comes back suddenly. “Remember that time we drove out here because James rejected me at junior prom?”
Jungwon frowns. “James was an idiot.”
It rings true in hindsight. “Yeah, but I was devastated. I cried so hard I got snot on my dress.” It’s easy to laugh at now, even if the sting was unbearable in the moment. “No wonder he said no.”
“He said no because he was a dumbass,” Jungwon argues. “Besides, it can’t be worse than the time we came here because I didn’t make the taekwondo competition team.”
Something about the memory, even now, makes your heart clench a little. “That was just sad,” you tell him softly. “You were so disappointed.”
“I got over it,” he shrugs. “The dartboard you made of my coach’s face helped.”
“Oh my god,” your eyes widen. “I forgot about that.”
Jungwon smiles like it’s a fond memory. “You were so violent.”
You shake your head. “Only for you. I don’t think I’d ever wanted to hit someone more.”
Trading memories like secrets, the two of you eventually reach the right exit. Pulling off the highway, the air around you immediately feels more still. Calmer.
And when Jungwon pulls right up to the overlook, shifting his car into park and shutting off the ignition, things feel just like you left them.
The sun is getting close to the horizon now. The valley that stretches out beneath you as far as the eye can see glows in the last rays of daylight.
Your gaze stretches out too, welcoming that sense of familiarity. “It looks the same,” you whisper.
“Yeah,” Jungwon agrees. “It does.”
Returning here now makes times feel sharper, more obvious.
“We’ve been coming here for what, six years now?” You shake your head. “I can’t believe it’s been that long. I can’t believe I graduated. Like, I’m just done with university now. I still remember when it felt so far away.”
“Yeah.” Jungwon nods, eyes on the horizon. “Me too.”
For a moment, the space between you is silent, the air filled with nothing but the sound of your quiet breaths.
You weren’t the one who asked him here, but if there was ever a place to admit the worries in your mind, you suppose it would be now.
Quietly, you say, “Can I ask you something?”
Jungwon turns to you, attuned to the serious tone of your voice. “Of course.”
“If it makes you uncomfortable, you can tell me,” you promise. “I know we don’t really talk about this kind of stuff usually, and—”
“___,” he interrupts, “Ask me.”
You take a breath. You can feel his gaze on you, but you can’t quite look him in the eye when you ask, “Do you think Sophia was right?”
“About what?” His shoulders stiffen. “Sunghoon?”
“No,” you shake your head, and the tension loosens, but only slightly. “About me.”
“What about you?” he breathes.
“That I…” you trail off, searching for the right words. “That it’s been too long since I was with someone.”
Even now, you can’t bring yourself to say it. To call a spade a spade. Jungwon reads between the lines easily enough.
He shakes his head. “It’s your choice to make. Yours and no one else’s, for whatever reasons you want. Don’t let Sophia make you feel bad just because her choice is different from yours.”
“I know,” you sigh. “But sometimes I think she’s right. That the longer I wait, the more difficult I’m making things for myself, like I’m just making the hurdle in my mind bigger and bigger. I mean, the last time I was with someone, you know, like that, was with Jay, and that was already—”
Jungwon’s inhale is sharp. “It was?”
“See?” you frown, mistaking his surprise for confirmation of your fears. “It’s been so long. Too long. Even you think so.”
“I don’t—” he tries, shaking his head. Now Jungwon’s the one scrambling for words. “I don’t think it’s been too long. I was just surprised,” he says. “That’s all.”
“Yeah, surprised because of how long it’s been.” You laugh humorlessly. “Now even you think I’m a nun.”
“I don’t think that,” he shakes his head. “Like I said, it’s your choice.”
“Is it though?” you ask. “The more time passes, the more I start to think that the cards just aren’t stacked in my favor.”
Jungwon frowns. “What do you mean?”
Your palms splay against your lap. The last rays of sun stretch over the valley, and your words are spilling out before you can stop them. “Maybe Sunghoon only acted interested because of Sophia. Maybe every time anyone has expressed interest, it hasn’t been genuine.” You sigh. “It’s like, logically I know that’s just the insecurity talking, but the more time passes, the harder those thoughts are to shake.”
For a moment, Jungwon is quiet. When he speaks again, his voice is low, serious. Pleading for your understanding. “___,” he says, “you’re beautiful. Truly. Any man would be lucky for even the smallest piece of your time or attention. I know that it’s hard sometimes, and that those voices and doubts can feel so loud, but I really wish you could see yourself the way other people do. The way I do.”
“Jungwon…”
“If you decide to have a relationship with someone, one of any nature, then it should be because you want to, not because you feel like you have to or because you’re trying to prove something.”
“What if I never get over it?” you ask, voice small, hardly a whisper. “What if I never get past this fear?”
“You will,” Jungwon promises. “It might not happen as fast as you want it to or in the way you expect it to, but you will.”
It’s so him, you think. So Jungwon to have more faith in you than even you ever could. He’s been here since the beginning, and he’s not going anywhere. He’s seen you face obstacles and challenges before, and he’s always done everything in his power to help you overcome them.
Maybe this is no different. Maybe the only thing you ever needed was some help from Jungwon.
Maybe…
No. Even with your logic twisting things to your favor, you know that this is different. This is different from asking for a favor or some moral support. If you ask Jungwon to do this for you, you’re crossing a line. One that you’re not sure you’d be able to come back from.
The friendship you have isn’t just something you’re unwilling to risk. It has quite literally become something you don’t know how to live without. You’ve never had to try, never even had to imagine a life without Jungwon at your side.
The only time that came close was during your first year of university, during your relationship with Jay, and that had been nearly enough to wreck you. The potential fallout from this could be worse, so much worse. You won’t risk it.
But then, unbidden, your mind supplies a memory. One from his couch, little more than a week ago.
“You can ask me,” he’d told you, earnest in his delivery, “anything you want me to do.” He said it himself. He promised you. “I’ll say yes.”
So, before you can lose your grip on the last remnants of courage you have, you ask, “Would you ever…”
It’s as far as you get before your bravery fails you, words trailing off into nothingness.
You wish you could take them back when Jungwon asks, a little breathless. “Would I ever what?”
You shake your head. “It’s nothing. It’s stupid. Just forget I said anything.”
But he won’t let you get away so easily. “Ask me.”
And you swear, it’s like he knows. His gaze bores into yours, searching, pleading, desperate, like he can see you all the way down to your bones. Like even the most secret of your thoughts have been laid bare before him.
“___,” he whispers your name. “Ask me,” he repeats.
“I just…” Your eyes screw shut. You can’t bring yourself to look at him. “What if we…”
“What if we what?”
You open your eyes, but only to look down towards your lap. “I trust you,” you whisper. In the silence of his car, it feels like you’re shouting. “More than anyone. Maybe I’ll be able to get over that hurdle in my mind if I just let you—”
“Let me what?” he asks. “Touch you?”
The breath you draw is ragged, shallow, as he hits the bullseye with little effort. Your fingers find a loose thread on the sleeve of your sweater. You know better, but you pull anyway. “Yeah,” you exhale. “If you…” You can’t look him in the eye, even now. It’s hardly a whisper, but you can’t bring yourself to say it any louder. “If I let you touch me.”
Jungwon’s inhale is sharp, his shudder involuntary. He leans across the center console, closer to you. Closer, closer, closer, until he stops, lips parting, face inches from yours.
He takes a deep breath in, holding it as his eyes search your face even as you keep yours turned down. Your heart hammers in your chest so violently you think it must be trying to escape. You still can’t look at him.
Jungwon’s breath escapes him in a shallow huff, dusting across your cheekbone. He lingers there for a second, like he can’t stand the thought of distance.
Then, without a warning, he sits back in his seat, knuckles white against the fabric of his jeans.
“I can’t,” he tells you.
You look up, eyes widening in surprise. “What?”
“I can’t,” he repeats. This time, he’s the one avoiding eye contact. You search his features for anything, any kind of explanation, but all you find is the tense set of his jaw, the heat that still simmers in his gaze. The restraint holding him back.
And suddenly, shame flashes through you. White hot humiliation that stings all the way down to your bones. It was one thing to imagine rejection from faceless men. But feeling it now, from him, from Jungwon, is so much worse than anything your mind ever conjured.
Trying not to let accusation sit too heavy in your tone, you whisper, “You promised.” It’s so pathetic, but there’s nothing left of your pride at that point. “You told me you’d say yes to anything.”
Jungwon flinches. “And I’m trying,” he tells you, an edge to his voice that sings with desperation. “Believe me, I am. I’m doing my best to make this about you, but…”
“But what?” You scoff. “You changed your mind? The thought of me like that is so repulsive you have to—”
“No.” He won’t let you finish. “But you’re sitting here, looking at me like you’d do anything for it, like you need it, and I can’t just say yes and give it to you because I do too.”
Your anger subsides, replaced with confusion. “What do you—”
“I need it too.” Only then does he meet your eye. Wide in the dying glow of lingering daylight, he’s begging for a bit of your understanding. “I’m trying to be selfless, but if I touch you, that won’t be just for you.”
Your brow creases. You still don’t get it. “I don’t—”
Jungwon releases a shaky exhale. “I’ve been thinking about getting my hands on you since I was old enough to know what it meant. Since I was old enough to want things like that at all.”
It’s all too much, too sudden. “Jungwon, what—”
“I know that you still think of me as the kid you grew up next to, and I’ve been doing my best not to shatter the illusion because you like me like that. But you come home from a date telling me it didn’t work out, telling me that boys don’t like you, and all I can think is good.” His hand curls into a fist, knuckles white. “I could do it so much better anyway.”
“I didn’t…” You shake your head. It doesn’t make sense. “You never—”
But Jungwon isn’t done yet. “You’re sitting here asking me to touch you, but I— fuck, ___. I can’t. Not when you’re only asking because you think it doesn’t mean anything to me. That it won’t change anything for me. You tell me that you trust me, and it’s the sweetest thing about you. I can’t take advantage of that.” His breath is practically heaving now, like he’s just finished running. “I can’t use your trust and break it like this.”
The sun dips past the horizon. The only lingering remnants of daylight cast his face into a gentle glow. Even as shadows begin to trace his features, he’s still Jungwon. Your Jungwon. But no matter how many times you spin his words through your mind, you can’t form them into something you understand. Something you have any idea what to do with.
“I…” It’s so confusing. It’s entirely too much. All you can think is, “Why did you never say anything?”
Jungwon laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Would it have changed anything? I know you. You run when you get scared. You like me like this, your harmless little friend. You said it yourself, you think you know everything about boys like me. And you needed a friend. So that’s what I’ll be. Your friend. But I can’t say yes, not to this.”
“What if—”
“Don’t,” he cuts you off. “I know you think I can handle anything, but don’t tell me things you don’t mean.”
“Jungwon,” you try softly.
His fingers wrap around his steering wheel, knuckles turning white. “Just let me drive you home,” he pleads.
“But—”
“Please,” he whispers, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so broken. “I know it was too much, that it’s not fair to you, but I can’t… I don’t think I can look at you right now and see all that confusion. So just,” he begs again, “please. Let me take you home.”
You want to press the issue, want to keep going until you have even a small fragment of understanding to call yours, but Jungwon is no stranger to making sacrifices for you. It seems he’s been making even more than you ever realized.
Tonight, right now, you can do the same for him.
“Okay,” you whisper.
The drive home passes in silence. Heavy, thick, uncomfortable like a blanket on a sweltering summer night. Neither of you bother to turn on the music this time. The only company to the quiet are the thoughts spinning through your mind, the moon that begins to shine as dusk turns to night.
Still, as he eases into the driveway just in front of your apartment, you can’t help but whisper, “Good night, Jungwon” as you step out of the passenger seat.
Whatever has passed between you, whatever terrible precipice the two of you have just fallen from, he doesn’t seem to be able to either.
“Good night, ____.”
By the time you make it inside, he’s gone. You know it will be, even before you check for his car from your bedroom window.
…..
“Um,” you begin, entirely unsure how to start the conversation. Across from you, Sophia sits on her favorite kitchen stool, scrolling through her Instagram feed while you wait for the pasta water to boil. “Something happened.”
“Mm?” She hums halfheartedly, eyes still trained on her phone screen.
Your words come out too fast, like you’re in a rush to have them over with as quickly as you can. “I was with Jungwon a few nights ago, and—”
“Oh my god,” she interrupts as she finally looks up, phone forgotten as she sets in on the counter. “You two finally hooked up?”
“What?” Your face pales at just how close she is to the truth. “Why would you even ask that? We’ve never even come close.” Well, of course, except for the incident you’re currently trying to explain. That you’ve been tiptoeing around for the better part of a minute.
“Are you kidding?” Sophia deadpans. “That boy looks at you like he wants to eat you.”
You splutter. “He does not.”
Sophia rolls her eyes. “He wouldn’t look at me for a week after I set you up with Sunghoon. And I thought he was gonna kill me that day he saw us at the cafe. All I did was mention the possibility of you having sex with someone that wasn’t him, and it’s like he was writing my name on some imaginary death note.”
“You don’t even watch anime,” you point out.
“I know the reference,” she argues.
Then, something more pressing draws your attention. “You did it on purpose,” you accuse, realization dawning. “You kept pushing the subject that day to see how he’d react.”
“No,” she denies, shaking her head. “I really do think you should put yourself out there more. Whether it’s Sunghoon or him or someone entirely different. Although,” she considers, “it is always kind of fun to see him get like that. Jungwon’s one of those people you don’t really expect it from, you know? He’s always so calm and collected. But I don’t know if I’ll try it again,” she looks at you, faking a shudder. “He’s scary when it comes to you.”
Any other day, in any other situation, you’d protest. You’d insist that Jungwon is entirely unaffected by you and your romantic choices. That Sophia must have been imagining things that day.
But Jungwon has already basically confirmed every last one of her claims, whispered them to you himself from the secrecy of his driver’s seat.
It’s the reason you invited her over today. To talk. To get a different perspective. To help you work through what happened.
Now, though, you just have a question.
“Why…” You still can’t wrap your mind around it. “Why did no one ever say anything?”
Sophia senses the shift, the way you go from defense to acceptance. From arguing to spiraling.
“Oh, ___,” she pouts. “My poor, sweet, oblivious ____.”
“I’m not oblivious,” you argue.
“Not usually,” she agrees. “But it’s like you have this blind spot when it comes to him. He’ll be in the middle of undressing you with his eyes and you’ll start telling some story about the matching diapers your moms bought when you were babies.”
“They were pajamas,” you correct.
“Whatever,” Sophia waves it off. “The point still stands. That boy wants you. Like, biblically.”
It’s consistent. It’s as much as Jungwon himself told you himself. But something about it makes you feel so terribly defeated, so completely unaware of everything you thought you knew about your friendship. About him. About yourself.
A bit helplessly, you ask, “What am I supposed to do?”
Sophia takes one look at you, at the dejection clouding your features, and sighs. “Can I be honest with you?”
You nod.
“I think you’re asking the wrong question. It’s not about what you’re supposed to do. It’s not about what Jungwon wants or what I think about your weird, sexually charged friendship.” Then, she asks the million dollar question, “What do you want to do?”
But that’s exactly the problem, you think, because, “I don’t know,” you admit. “I mean, I’ve never thought about it. He’s always just been Jungwon to me.” Pausing for a moment, you suppose you have little pride left to lose. You might as well be honest. “But the other night, when I was with him. I started thinking about… things.”
“Things,” Sophia repeats. She leans in closer, resting her chin against her palm as she asks, “What kinds of things? Feel free to be graphic, by the way.”
“Sophia.”
She pouts sympathetically. “You might not know right away. You’ve spent your entire life thinking of him as some untouchable, sexless entity. Which is kind of crazy, by the way. Like, have you seen the guy?”
You sigh. “Sophia—”
“I’m just saying, it might not happen overnight.” She looks at you, and you feel a sudden surge of gratitude for your friend. She may be wildly different from you in more ways than one, but she means it when she says, “It’s okay. Jungwon will understand, too. If you need some more time to decide if you want to jump his bones or not. He’s probably already been waiting since, like, junior prom. What’s a little longer?”
A little longer, you think. Part of you already spins with doubt, waiting for someone else to supply exact answers. How long is a little longer? When should you make your decision? How long is it supposed to take for you to know if your best friend of eighteen years is meant to stay as just that, or if the relationship between you has been building, slowly, surely, undeniably, into something else this whole time?
But you suppose that’s what Sophia means when she says it’s okay. What Jungwon meant when he told you it was alright to do things at your own pace, on your own time. You don’t need someone else to decide for you.
The difficulty isn’t a flaw—it’s a sign that this decision is one that matters to you, one that’s worth taking your time with.
So you do.
You think about it while you fine tune your resume for yet another job application. You think about it while you snip thorns off of roses at the flower shop, humming along absentmindedly to the playlist in the background.
You think about it in the shower and while you dinner. When your mom calls you and tells you about the new bulbs she just bought for her garden, the one that time and experience have allowed her to grow into something beautiful and thriving.
You think about it when you reach into the bottom drawer of your dresser one evening, pulling out the gift Jungwon gave you when you graduated high school nearly five long years ago.
A photobook, full of all your favorite memories together. Something to remember him by, he’d told you, so you wouldn’t miss him too much when you went off to university one whole year ahead of him.
In every picture, you’re smiling, grinning so wide you think your face must be in danger of splitting in two. And you’re so lucky, you think, to have someone to share all of these memories with. To have someone who’s been in your life for so long, who’s always been exactly what you needed.
And then, staring at a picture of the two of you in high school, his arm around your shoulders as the two of you laugh into the camera, you think it’s obvious.
You don’t have to make a choice between the Jungwon you know and the one you’re afraid to discover. Jungwon has been, and always will be, Jungwon. The way he smiles at you, because of you, isn’t an illusion, and the love he offers you isn’t conditional.
He’s been your friend for as long as you can remember, and he will be for the rest of your life. Your feelings and hopes and desires may have shifted, but he isn’t going anywhere.
He’s not scared of the truth, you realize. He never was. But he knew that you would be.
So he fed it to you slowly until it was too prominent to deny anymore. And even then, he gave you space. Time. Let you come to your own conclusions.
And somehow, that makes all the difference.
You think of the game you used to play as kids, the one where you put on your best dress and let him pick wildflowers for you from his back yard. The one where you used the welcome mat from his porch as a makeshift aisle. The one where every time you walked down it, he was the one waiting for you at the end.
You smile, nearly identical to the picture still splayed open across your lap, and you think that maybe there was never really a choice at all.
…..
Your knuckles barely rap against the door three times before you hear shuffling on the other side. Footsteps drawing closer until the latch opens, until the door draws back and you see him standing there. Jungwon.
If he’s surprised to see you, he doesn’t show it. Dressed in gray sweatpants and a plain, fitted black t-shirt, you don’t think he was expecting company.
“Hi,” you breathe. “Can we talk?”
Jungwon still says nothing, but he opens the door a bit wider, gives you space to walk in. Standing in the entry, you take your shoes off, setting them neatly with the others before drawing back up to full height. Prolonging the inevitable as if it makes any part of what you’re about to do easier.
You finally drag your eyes back to Jungwon. He’s already looking at you, expression unreadable. His hands are loose at his sides, but his posture is just slightly unnatural. Just a little too stiff. You know him. He’s nervous.
Finally, you break the silence building between you. “I’ve been thinking,” you tell him.
“About what?” he asks.
“You,” you admit. “Us.” A string somewhere pulls taught. A thread loosens.
Jungwon sighs, his exhale shaky. His hand curls to a loose fist before he tucks it into his pocket. “And?”
“I—” Your decision is still solid, not something you’ll back away from. But the words are harder to work out than you expected. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had in my life.”
Jungwon nods. “I know.”
“So,” you try, “it feels weird to suddenly have these thoughts about…”
He won’t let you leave things unsaid, not this time. “About what?”
“You know,” you try to deflect.
“Yeah,” he agrees, “but I’m gonna make you say it.”
You fidget a bit, eyes dropping, but you didn’t come all the way here because you weren’t sure. You know exactly what you want to tell him.
So you explain, “I just… you asked me, after my date with Sunghoon, what I was looking for.” It feels like a long time ago now, like a distant memory. “And I always felt like I didn’t know, but when I think about it, I always think about…”
“What?” Jungwon breathes.
“You.” Your eyes meet his. This time, neither of you looks away. “I think about you. I don’t have to try and come up with the best answer to my favorite hobbies because you already know. You know me better than anyone and you make me feel good about myself and all the things I usually don’t like. I don’t feel awkward or uncomfortable around you, and I don’t feel like I have to explain myself to you.”
Jungwon’s breath is coming heavier now. He takes half a step towards you, almost subconsciously, as if distance is something he’s finding more difficult to tolerate. But he knows you aren’t done, so he lets you continue.
“And then,” you add, “I was thinking about the difference between our friendship as it’s always been and the kind of relationship I think I want. And the only thing that’s really different is, you know, the sex.” Your words are spilling now, faster than even you can keep up with. “But even then, when I was trying to think of someone who I trusted enough to be with like that, the only person I thought of was—”
“Me,” Jungwon finishes, gaze unreadable.
“Yeah,” you breathe. “You. I don’t want to go on blind dates with Sophia’s coworkers or find random guys to hook up with. I just want you. It’s always been you. I want all of it to be you.”
Jungwon’s eyes shutter, brows going slack as he takes a deep inhale.
But you want to give him the same courtesy he’s been extending towards you this entire time. The decision, you want him to know, will always be his to make. “I know it might seem weird or sudden or out of the blue,” you tell him, “but I just needed you to know.” Thinking of his earlier promise you clarify, “You don’t have to say yes. I don’t even know if I’m really asking you anything—”
“You think about me?” he interrupts. “When you think about what you want in a relationship?”
The bluntness of it all still makes you want to squirm. But you hold steady. “Yeah,” you tell him.
“And when you think about having sex,” He’s so direct. It makes you want to hide your face behind your hands. “That’s me too?”
You can’t quite manage words this time, but your nod is confirmation enough.
Jungwon exhales, even harsher than before. “Are you just curious?” he asks. “It’s fine if you are, but I can’t— we can’t do this if you’re just trying to scratch an itch. If you’re just doing it to move on, to get over a fear.”
“I…” you’re trying to read between the lines, to make sure that you understand what he’s saying. It seems obvious, but there’s a strange haze in your mind that has you doubting everything, including your own judgement. “If we do…”
Jungwon doesn’t seem to have the same reservations for spelling it out. “If we have sex.”
“Oh,” you breathe. And then, “No.” You shake your head.
“No?” He echoes.
“I…” You trail off, trying to find the right words to explain. “I’m not—There’s no fear when it comes to you. I’m not trying to get over anything. And there’s no one else that I even want to be with like that, so…” You trail off, searching for the words. “You told me it was my choice, and I guess I just want you to know that it’s yours, too. You don’t have to agree to anything, because you’re afraid of disappointing me or hurting my feelings or—”
“___,” he whispers your name, the sound nearly broken on his lips. You look up at him, eyes wide. “Come here,” he begs.
It only takes two tiny steps for you to stand just before him, for your chests to nearly brush. For a moment, Jungwon does nothing. Then, his arms come up, one circling around your shoulders, the other against the small of your back as he pulls you flush to him.
The side of your face rests against his chest, his heartbeat erratic under your cheek. You hear him sigh and feel the way his breath flutters through your hair.
He leans back, just slightly, and you follow the movement, chin tilting upwards as your eyes meet his. The hand wrapped around your shoulders slowly unravels itself. He brings his hand up to your temple, brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.
His other hand stays steady against the small of your back.
Jungwon’s fingertips linger against the shell of your ear for a moment. You suppress a shudder as he begins to drag them down, tracing the line of your jaw until they come to settle just beneath your chin.
“Is this okay?” he whispers.
You nod, the movement making his fingers press more firmly into your skin.
Then, slowly, he begins to lean towards you. His nose brushes against yours, once, twice, a third time.
“I’ve thought about this,” he admits. “More times than I can count.”
He’s told you as much before, but now, with his hands on you and his lips just inches away, it feels different. It feels real.
“I imagined you looking at me,” he hums, pressing a kiss to your jaw, “with those big, wide eyes.” Another kiss, this time to the curve of your cheekbone. “Clinging to me,” a kiss to your eyelid as it flutters shut. “Sighing.” The tip of your nose. “And I’d try to hold back, but—”
“You don’t have to,” you shake your head. It comes out quieter than you mean for it too. It’s ridiculous, maybe, but even now, you feel shy.
“You mean that?” he asks, lips hovering so close you can feel their warmth.
You nod, nose brushing against his.
Jungwon sighs, takes a deep breath. And then he presses forward, just enough, until his lips finally brush against yours.
His grip tightens against you, fingers bunching the fabric of your shirt that rests against the small of your back.
He’s gentle, so impossibly sweet as his lips find yours. Upper lip slotting between both of yours, he tugs slightly against your bottom lip. Releases it with a soft, wet sound. Smiles against you as you giggle into him.
When his lips find yours again, it’s with renowned fervency. The pressure is more insistent this time, more demanding as he uses the hand beneath your jaw to angle you his liking.
Jungwon takes the lead, pausing, soothing his touch against your skin while you adjust to his pace.
Your hands find his hair, tangling in the strands near his neck. You tug, an involuntary response when you feel his teeth against your bottom lip, and he groans, shuddering against you.
Without breaking connection, he moves, walking backwards, leading blindly, until he sits down on the same couch you’ve been sharing moments on for weeks now. This time, he tugs you down with him, pulling you flush against his lap.
You feel it then, the evidence of just how affected he is. As if the drunk flush on his cheeks and swollen, red tint of his lips weren’t enough.
Jungwon wraps both hands around your waist now, pulling you tighter to him as your fingers cup his jaw, tracing, gripping.
You feel it then, his tongue against the seam of your lips, and you part them without a second thought.
Jungwon waits until you’re breathless above him to decide that he’s had enough of this position. Using the leverage of his hands around you, he maneuvers your body until you're flat against the cushions, head propped against the pillow that sits by the armrest.
Hovering over you now, he uses his hands to brace himself on either side of your head. Eyes trained on your features, on the evidence of his ministrations. His gaze gets darker, heavier, as he takes in the sight of you beneath him. Skin flushed, lips swollen and parted in anticipation, in permission.
Jungwon’s had his fantasies. Has kept them close to his chest and in the back of his mind for longer than he’d be willing to admit. But the sight of you now. Under him, reaching for him, begging for him, is enough to shatter every wet dream he’s had since he was a teenager.
Jungwon doesn’t maintain distance for long. Leaning down, he invades all of your senses. All you can see, even with your eyes screwed shut, is him. All you can feel is his lips, warm and insistent against your, the press of his hands on you, hovering just above the sliver of skin where your shirt had ridden up over your waistband. Every sound, every scent, every taste—it’s all him. Something warm and familiar and entirely new all at once.
His hand plays with the fabric of your hem for a moment, testing the waters. When all you do is kiss him back—harder—he decides to press his luck. Fingertips dancing against the bare skin of your lower stomach, he starts to drag your shirt upwards.
The air of his apartment is cool, even if his touch is anything but. It makes every inch of exposed skin that much more sensitive, goosebumps rising as his fingertips trace patterns against you.
His lips press against yours, a new angle, as a sound loosens itself from your chest. He swallows it, tongue pressing against you like he wants to savor it, like he’d do anything to hear it again.
He has your shirt nearly to your ribcage now, fingers tracing against the bottom seam of your bra, nerves singing with something new as you arch up against him. You need more.
Friction, pressure, touch, it doesn’t matter. You’ll take whatever he gives you.
Then, suddenly, you remember. Pulling back slightly, his lips chase yours.
“Wait,” you pant, the syllable muffled as he presses another kiss against you.
Once your request registers, he stops, mouth still brushing against yours. Leaning back slightly, he frowns. His chest still heaves when he asks, “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you nod, breathless. “But what about Jake?”
“What?” Jungwon asks above you. You don’t seem to be the only one struggling with coherent thought.
“Jake,” you repeat. “What if he comes in?”
He wouldn’t see anything, not really. Even the expanse of your bare torso is covered by Jungwon’s body on yours. But still, something in you hesitates. This, all of it, is for you and him. No one else.
Jungwon shakes his head. “He’s not home.”
“What if he comes back?”
“He won’t,” Jungwon insists. “He’s visiting his family for the weekend. He won’t be back until Monday.”
Still breathing hard, it’s as if your interruption knocked sense back into him. Palm still splayed against your ribs, he rubs gentle strokes with the pad of his thumb.
Looking down at you, his eyes crinkle slightly at the way you look so sweet under him, so shy despite what you’d been doing only moments earlier.
“Hey,” he leans down, nudging his nose against yours, “You doing okay?”
You nod, but you still don’t match his gaze.
“Yeah?” he confirms, “Then look at me.”
It takes a moment, but you do. Your cheeks only redden further, flush more apparent than he’s ever seen it before when you finally meet his eye.
Something in his chest swells. You might be a year older, but fuck if it doesn’t make him feel like such a man knowing that he’s the reason you look like this, that he’s the one who did this to you.
“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, grinning when you look away again. He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. A chaste peck against the seam of your lips. “My beautiful, perfect girl.”
“Jungwon,” you whine.
“What?” he asks. “It’s true.”
“I thought you wanted to kiss me.”
“I can take a break to compliment you?”
You flush again, hands coming up to cover your face.
“Ah, ah,” Jungwon tsks, fingers wrapping around your wrists. “I asked you to look at me.” He pulls, gentle but insistent, until your hands fall away. Until he can once again look you in the eye.
“How long are you just gonna stare at me?” you ask.
“As long as you’ll let me,” he grins.
“Jungwon,” you whine again.
“Why?” he asks, practically cooing at you now. “Is my baby shy?”
You shudder at the pet name, and it awakens something devious in him.
“Oh,” he breathes. “I see. You’re getting impatient. Need me to touch you. Is that it?”
All you do is whine, but it’s a good enough answer for him.
“C’mon,” he urges, leaning back. “Up.”
You frown at the sudden distance, a furrow creasing your brow.
“The first time we have sex is not going to be on my living room couch,” he explains. Taking your hand in his, he guides you instead towards his bedroom.
And it’s not like you’ve never been here before, but something about the low light, the weight of what you’re about to do, makes it feel like uncharted territory.
You step into the room, even further than Jungwon, eyes trained on the queen size bed pressed up under the window on the far side of the room.
Your back to him, you hear Jungwon pull the door shut. It latches into place with a quiet click. And then, behind you, he asks, “What are you thinking about?”
“You,” you admit, turning to face him as you sit on the edge of his bed. “Us. I never thought…” you trail off, palm smoothing against the top of his sheets. “I never thought we’d be here.”
“I did,” Jungwon tells you.
“Really?” Your eyes widen when you look at him.
“Maybe thought is the wrong word,” he amends. “But I hoped.” He’s quiet for a moment, emotions playing out across his features. “Now that you’re here, I…” he hesitates, trying to find the words. “I don’t want to do anything wrong,” he admits. “I don’t want to scare you.”
“You won’t.” You shake your head. “I told you. I trust you. That includes this, too.”
Jungwon looks at you, gaze open. “You mean that?”
“Of course,” you nod.
Some of the tension drains from his broad shoulders, but he stays where he is, silhouette shrouded in the dim light of his bedroom.
This time, it’s you who takes charge.
“Jungwon,” you whisper, an echo of your earlier embrace in his entry way. “Come here.”
That’s all the encouragement he needs. His footsteps are even, steady, as he makes his way towards you. All the way until he stands just before you, looking down at where you sit on his sheets.
His hand comes to your cheek, thumb tracing patterns against your skin as you lean into his touch.
“Up,” he instructs. “Back against the pillows.” His hand falls from your face, trails down until his fingers interlace with yours. He follows in your wake as you move according to his instructions, all the way until you’re in a ghost of the position from his couch.
His body hovers over yours, breath warm as it fans against your cheekbone.
Again, his fingers find the hem of your shirt. This time, he’s less shy about pressing it upwards, all the way until it sits against the band of your bra.
Plain, black, built more for comfort than arousal. But you know Jungwon. He’ll take you as you are.
“Jungwon,” you breathe, just as his fingertip slips beneath the band. It takes him a moment to tear his eyes away, to look up and meet your gaze. “Kiss me.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice.
Lips meeting yours, the slow build from before is gone. He knows what he’s searching for now, has already learned what rhythm makes you breathless fastest, palms splaying against his chest like you’d do anything to be closer.
His hand comes to your hip, then slides to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You shudder as he guides it open, pliant to his touch. Jungwon uses the newly created space to slot his leg in between yours.
The shift has him brushing against you where tension is beginning to gather, exactly where you’re beginning to ache.
It feels good, but there’s something frustrating about it. The way sensation builds and falls in the same maddening ebb and flow, like the sea of an uncharacteristically quiet day.
You already know it’s not enough. Against his lips, you whine. A pathetic little sound that stays half trapped in your throat. But Jungwon understands.
Sees the way your hips are starting to roll against him, the way your brow creases in concentration as you try to find a better angle.
Leg still between yours, he lets his fingertips ghost over the planes of your bare stomach, dragging downwards until he’s exactly where you want him.
You whine against his lips and he shudders. “Is this what you need?”
You can hardly respond, can hardly think as his fingers dip below your waistband. Far more precise, it doesn’t take long to have you seeing stars.
He’s still kissing you, and you do your best to return it, but the sensations he levels you with are more than a little maddening. Lips parted against his, your mouth is practically slack as he works against you.
“Feels—good,” you sigh, eyes screwing shut.
“I can tell,” he whispers, some kind of awe in his voice. “Look at you.”
You’re so close. Jungwon can tell, too. He’s frantic now, movements tighter, faster as he watches the way your face twists in pleasure.
Your hand closes around his wrist, stopping him. “Jungwon,” you pant, the sound of his name hardly coherent. “Wait.”
Immediately, his hand stills. He doesn’t pull away though, just leaves it there, against you.
The sensation sends a fresh, aching throb pulsing from somewhere deep within you. Jungwon feels it too, against his fingertips, and groans.
Remembering himself, he asks, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you shake your head. “I just… I’m ready.”
Jungwon thinks he knows what you mean. He’s imagined those same words from you before. A million times, in a million different contexts. But the sight of you beneath him, eyes wide, lips parted, so terribly sweet, is so much better than he ever dreamed.
“I want you,” you whisper, tugging at his wrist. “Please.”
Jungwon won’t make you wait. Fingers still hidden beneath your waistband, he slides them towards the top now, pulling, all the way until you’re bare beneath him.
He presses a kiss against your hip, just shy of where he was moments before.
He helps you slide your shirt over your head and shudders when your bra follows in its wake. He marvels at the feeling of your hands, smaller than his, tugging at his shirt, his jeans, until the two of you are in an equal state of undress.
Again, because it’s true and because he can’t help himself, he whispers, “You’re beautiful.”
You’re still shy, even more so with the weight of his gaze on you, but you manage, “So are you.” It’s his turn to flush.
Hands pressing against your shoulders, he guides you to lay down again. Hair fanning out against his pillows, he thinks you look a bit like an angel here, tangled in his sheets.
He’d tell you, if he weren’t so distracted by the sudden feeling of your leg coming to wrap around his waist.
Skin against skin, it feels even closer than before. Warmer, Softer.
“Jungwon,” your brows pull downward, eyes fluttering shut as you chase the sensations that have begun to drown you. “Please.”
He moves slowly, not from hesitation. Jungwon doesn’t think he’s ever been so sure of anything in his life. But he knows what this means to you, to him. He wants to take his time, wants to let every part of you adjust to him until you feel like an extension of one another, until your bodies can’t quite tell where one ends and the other begins.
He swallows your gasp as he presses into you. Brows furrowed, lips parted, he drops his head into the crook of your neck, scattering soothing kisses down the length of your throat.
“Feels so good,” he encourages as you whimper, adjusting. “Perfect, like you were made for me.”
The sentiment rings true, now and later, when he feels you relax around him, when he starts to move.
Slowly, reverently, at a pace that lets him press as deep as possible.
He brings his hand from your hip to the space just beneath your navel, palm splaying over your lower stomach, just above where he presses inside of you. Pushing down slightly, the added pressure makes you whine, tightening around him.
Jungwon groans, a long, deep sound that vibrates between your bodies.
“Jungwon,” you whisper, when the ache starts to sing, when the pressure starts to build. When you close your eyes and see stars behind them.
“I know,” he pants, like he feels it too. “It’s okay,” he assures. “I have you.”
It’s a reminder of what brought you here in the first place. And the sound of his voice is all you need.
Keening high in your throat, every muscle, every nerve, every fiber in your body goes taut. Tightens, pulls, before it releases. Jungwon leans down, lips parted against your collarbone as he groans, falling over the same edge only moments after you.
The shower he runs for you is warm, the touch he washes your hair with soothing as he rinses soap from your scalp.
The sheets are soft as you crawl between them, Jungwon’s chest firm as he pulls you tight against him.
“Sleep,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss against your temple.
Body exhausted, mind sated, it doesn’t take long for you to do as he says. In his arms, the rest that finds you is deep and dreamless.
…..
“Name?” Across from you, the secretary that sits at the front desk looks bored out of her mind. As if she’s seen one too many potential new hires and doesn’t think they’re worth remembering at this point.
You give her your name, and she types a brief note into her computer. Doesn’t bother memorizing it, but you won’t let that get to you, not today.
“You can sit over there.” She gestures towards the row of chairs against the far wall of the reception area. With a smile so tight you think her jaw must hurt, she adds, “I’ll call you when they’re ready.”
It’s not much. It’s barely even polite, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when this is the first real company you’ve stepped foot in in months. When this is the first time you’ve gotten a string of congratulations in the subject line of your email inbox instead of rejections.
Still, it isn’t a sure thing. A test run, the hiring manager had called it. A week of in-person work at the company to see if you’ll be a good fit, if they’re willing to formally offer you a position.
An extension of the already lengthy interview process you’ve been subjected to for the last six weeks. But it’s far more than you’ve gotten from anywhere else.
It’s enough to have hope soaring in your chest, even at the prospect of a week of what is essentially unpaid labor.
Sliding down into the chair, you tug at the sleeve of your blazer, smooth the collar over one final time.
In your mind, you rehearse the answers you gave during your interviews. You’re not sure if you’ll be asked again, but you figure it’s better to be safe than sorry.
You’re interested in the position, because the company’s mission statement excites you. You think it aligns well with your experience and your hopes for a future career.
Are you good with deadlines? Better than nearly everyone you know. Do you work well under pressure? Absolutely. Where do you see yourself in five years? Advancing in your career as a young professional in the same field you earned your degree in. The same field a position at this company would put you in.
As the minutes pass, you remind yourself to breathe, to relax. The butterflies taking flight in your stomach won’t help you now, so you do your best to banish them.
And, minutes later, just as the secretary calls your name, you feel your phone buzz.
Glancing down, you grin at the message that comes through.
You got this, Jungwon says, the small heart next to his contact name shining like a reminder. Knock em dead
And then, beneath it,
Can’t wait to see you tonight beautiful
So, you stand up a little straighter. Shoulders square, chin high. You’re okay, even as your nerves threaten to send your heart beating out of your chest.
No matter what the results of this so-called trial run are, or every single attempt you’ll surely make after it, you’ll be fine. And if you fail, you’ll try again.
Whether this ends in an official offer letter or a bold-faced rejection, no matter what, you have Jungwon—rooting for you, thinking of you, waiting for you to come back and tell him all about it.
Jungwon, your best friend, your favorite person, and probably, if the feelings you’re starting to get whenever he’s near are anything to go by, the love of your life.
You meet the secretary’s gaze, smiling even as all she does is arch a brow. And then you tell her, “I’m ready.”
𝓦𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐍⠀ ✶ ⠀your husband, park jongseong, has spent his entire life getting exactly what he wants. unfortunately for him, you're the one person completely immune to his spoiled antics. what begins as a harmless disagreement quickly spirals into an hour of relentless whining, one very exasperated wife, and a lesson your husband never realized he desperately needed.
𝟑𝟕𝟏𝟓 🗯️ ✽ ─── ⏾ 𝗵𝘂𝘀𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗱 park jongseong⠀x ⠀ 𝓯 ! rea ´ ꒳ ` 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : established relationship ˒ porn without a plot ˒ brat taming ˒ light angst with a nice ending ˒
𝔀𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : explicit sexual content ⋮ 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗺𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝘂𝗱𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀, 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁 ✿ oral sex (m. receiving) ˒ creampie ˒ unprotected p in v ˒ handjob ˒ dirty talk ˒ praise kink ˒ edging ˒ degradation kink ˒ make-up sex ˒ consensual power dynamics ˒ dacryphilia ˒
𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬⠀ ✶ ⠀ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭
🍸 。 𝐞𝐥’𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 i love love love me some submissive jay ugh ! anyways happy july guys i love you all so so muchi
"Y/N! You're being too dramatic—it's literally just a restaurant. We've been to this one multiple times, and you're only acting up now? What gives?"
Jay's voice bounces off the marble countertops of the kitchen, sharp and incredulous. He's been trailing behind you like a lost puppy for the better part of an hour, and his patience is wearing thinner than the gold trim on his daddy's credit card.
The argument is absurd, really — over a restaurant. Your monthsary dinner, to be exact. Every single time, without fail, Jay insists on the same overpriced venue with the same underwhelming menu: three kinds of salad, a charcuterie board that tastes like cardboard, and a wine list longer than the actual food options. A new place had opened across the district, equally elegant, actually varied, garlic bread that supposedly redefined the concept, and you'd simply suggested switching things up.
Jay had said no. Not because he had a real reason, but because that was his default. No was his reflex, and everyone in his life had always caved right after.
You hadn't caved.
So here he was, spiraling.
You continued walking, pacing circles through the ground floor of the house, not even granting him the courtesy of eye contact. That made it worse. Jay's jaw tightened as he trailed you from the kitchen to the living room, back to the kitchen, then into the hallway.
"Y/N, seriously?" He huffed, running a hand through his dark hair. "I'll take your silence as a yes then. That solves the problem. We're going to the usual place."
You stopped. Turned. Looked at him with a gaze so flat it could've smoothed granite.
"God damn it, Jongseong. Just give me a moment, can't you? You're way too stubborn for a lot to be coming out of your mouth."
Jongseong? Jongseong. Not Jay. His real name, the one you only used when you were genuinely agitated, and it landed like a slap. His lips parted, something flickering behind his eyes, shock, maybe, that you weren't folding, that you weren't apologizing the way everyone else always did. His family, his friends, his staff, they all gave in. You never did. That was why he loved you, though he was currently too bratty to remember it.
"Me? Stubborn?" He let out a disbelieving laugh, gesturing at you with both hands. "Please. You're the stubborn one here. We wouldn't even be arguing if you just caved. It's tradition, Y/N. We always go there. Why mess with something that works?"
"It doesn't work. You just don't like change." You turned on your heel and walked toward the stairs. "Because nobody's ever made you deal with it."
"That's not—" He followed you, footsteps quickening. "That's not fair. I'm not some spoiled brat, I just—Y/N, come on. Can you stop walking away from me?"
No response. You climbed the stairs, one deliberate step at a time, and his voice climbed with you, gaining pitch and desperation. He rambled about tradition, about how the other restaurant probably wasn't even that good, about how you were being unreasonable, about how he always compromised — laughable, really, given that he'd never once compromised anything in his entire privileged life.
You reached the hallway. The bedroom door was ajar.
Then something in you simply snapped. Not with anger. With resolve. Enough was enough.
You turned, caught his wrist mid-stride, and pulled. Jay stumbled forward with a startled yelp, and you walked him the remaining steps to the bed, pressing a palm against his chest and pushing. He fell back onto the mattress with a soft thud, not hard, not violent, but firm enough that his eyes went wide, mouth opening and closing like a fish pulled from water. He stared up at you from the sheets, hair fanning across the pillow, chest rising and falling faster than it had any right to.
"Y/N, what—"
"Shut up." You climbed onto the bed, onto him, knees bracketing his hips, and planted both hands flat against his chest. Beneath your palms, his heartbeat was already racing. "You've been following me around this house for an hour, Jongseong, whining like a child who got his toy taken away. Has anyone ever told you no before? Has anyone ever not given you what you wanted?"
His throat bobbed. "I—"
"That was rhetorical." You leaned down, close enough that your breath fanned across his lips. His eyelashes fluttered. "You're used to people bending for you. Apologizing. Folding the second you pout. That's not how this works. You don't get to bulldoze over me because you've never heard the word no before."
"I wasn't—I wasn't trying to—"
"You were." You shifted your weight, pressing your hips down against his, and the sound that escaped him, a broken and breathy thing, made heat pool low in your stomach. Already. Just from this. From you barely touching him. "You were trying to wear me down until I gave in. That's what you do, isn't it? Push and push until people just hand you what you want because it's easier than fighting you."
He didn't answer. Couldn't, maybe. His hands had found your thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of your shorts, and his chest was heaving like he'd run a marathon.
"You're pathetic," you murmured, and the word landed soft and devastating. "A spoiled, bratty, pathetic boy who can't handle being told no. And look at you now." You rolled your hips — a slow grind that dragged the seam of your shorts directly against the growing hardness in his sweats. "You're already this hard? From me just telling you off?"
A whimper. Actual, honest-to-god whimper, high and thready, his head pressing back into the pillow.
"That worked up after just me grinding on your pathetic dick?" You ground down again, harder, watching his face contort, eyebrows drawing together, lips parting, a moan slipping free before he could catch it. "This is what gets you going, isn't it? Someone finally not putting up with your shit?"
"Baby—" His voice cracked. "Y/N, please—"
"Please what? What am I gonna do with that please of yours? Use your words, Jongseong. You had plenty of them downstairs." Another grind, slower, torturous, and his hips bucked up involuntarily, chasing friction that you immediately denied by lifting yourself just out of reach. He let out a shattered exhale, fingers tightening on your thighs. "What do you want?"
"You. I want—please touch me."
"I am touching you." You slid one hand from his chest to his jaw, gripping it firm, angling his face so he couldn't look away. "You mean you want more. Say it properly."
His eyes were glassy, overwhelmed, and his lower lip trembled. "I want more. Please, Y/N. I'm sorry—I'm sorry for being—"
"Sorry for being what?" You tilted your head, pressing your hips back down, resuming that maddening grind. The friction made your own pulse throb, but you kept your expression cool, controlled. "Say it."
"Sorry for being—a brat. For—fuck—" He swallowed thickly as you picked up the pace, rolling against him in deep, rhythmic waves. "For always needing to get my way. I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry, please—"
"Good." You released his jaw and reached for the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and off in one motion. His torso was lean, flushed pink from his collarbones down to his stomach, muscles tensing under your gaze. Pretty. He was so pretty, and even prettier like this, undone, desperate, trembling beneath you like you hadn't already given him everything he'd ever asked for. "You know, Jongseong," you said, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, watching goosebumps rise in their wake, "I think you needed this. Someone to put you back in your place."
He nodded frantically, a mess of ragged breath and half-formed sounds.
You leaned down and kissed him, hard and bruising, all teeth and tongue, swallowing the moan that poured from his mouth. Your hands found his sweats, yanking the waistband down along with his boxers, and his cock sprang free, flushed and leaking at the tip, straining against nothing. You pulled back from the kiss just to look at it, then at him, and let out a low, mocking laugh.
"You're dripping, baby. That's adorable." You wrapped your fingers around him, just barely, just enough to feel the heat and the way he throbbed against your palm, and his hips jerked up, a choked sound ripping from his throat. "So needy. So desperate. And for what? A little grinding and some mean words? That's all it takes?"
"Y/N—" His hand flew to your wrist, not pushing or pulling, just holding, like he didn't know what to do with himself.
You tightened your grip and stroked him once, slow, base to tip, swiping your thumb over the head and smearing the precum there. His back arched off the mattress, a whine ripping through the air, loud and unabashed.
"Look at you," you said softly, almost tender, which made it worse. "Whining and squirming like you've never been touched before. Tell me something, Jongseong." You stroked him again, setting a pace that was deliberately unhurried, grip just firm enough to feel good but too loose to satisfy. "You've had people before me, right? Of course, a pretty boy like you would have always had. Rich, charming. Probably had them lining up."
He nodded, biting his lip so hard it turned white.
"And how often did you actually finish with them?"
His eyes squeezed shut. A tremor ran through his thighs. "N-not—not often," he admitted, barely audible.
"Not often," you repeated, mocking. "Poor thing. Everyone is so busy worshiping you they forgot to actually take you apart, hmm?" You twisted your wrist on the upstroke, and his mouth fell open, a strangled moan echoing through the room. "No wonder you're like this. You've been half-satisfied your whole life and you didn't even know it."
"Only you—" He was gasping now, chest heaving, fingers clenching and unclenching in the sheets. "Only you can—make me—fuck, Y/N, please—"
"What? Only I can do what? Make you cum?" You slowed your hand to a crawl, and the sound he made was guttural. "Not yet. You don't get to cum until I say so. Do you understand?"
"I—I understand, please—"
"Good boy." The phrase hit him like a drug. His whole body shuddered, cock twitching violently in your hand, and you felt another bead of precum slide against your fingers. "Oh, you like that. You like being good for me."
He nodded again, frantic, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, not from sadness but from sheer, overwhelming sensation. You leaned down, kissing the corner of his mouth, his jaw, the spot below his ear that made him whimper, and then you began to move south.
Your lips traced a path down his neck, his collarbone, his chest, pausing to drag your tongue over one nipple, then the other, making him jolt and cry out, and further, over the trembling plane of his stomach, until your face hovered above his cock. It stood angry and flushed, twitching with every exhale you let fall against it.
You looked up at him through your lashes. He was staring down at you, wrecked — hair a mess, cheeks crimson, chest rising and falling like he'd forgotten how to breathe.
"Hold my hair," you said.
He reached down with shaking hands, gathering your hair into a loose grip at the back of your head, and you took him into your mouth.
The sound he made was broken. Your lips wrapped around the head, tongue swirling, tasting salt and skin, and you sank down inch by inch, letting the heat and wetness consume him. His hips stuttered up, greedy and desperate, and you pulled off immediately, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to his cock.
"What did I just say about being patient?" Your voice was cool, but your eyes were sharp.
"Sorry—sorry, baby, I'm sorry—"
"Be good." You took him again, deeper this time, flattening your tongue along the underside, and set a rhythm that was designed to ruin. Wet sounds filled the room as you bobbed your head, hollowing your cheeks, taking him as far as you could without gagging. His fingers tightened in your hair, a warning, and you felt him try to push you down, try to make you take more, and you responded by dragging your nails down his thigh.
"Ah—fuck—sorry, sorry—" he stammered, but his grip stayed, trembling, barely holding back. You pulled off again with a slick pop, and the look you gave him was pure ice.
"You want me to deepthroat, Jongseong? You ask."
"I'm sorry," he whispered, and he meant it, his voice fracturing on the second word. "Please—I'll be good—please keep going—"
You took him back into your mouth, and this time you relaxed your throat, swallowing around him, taking him deep, deep, until your nose pressed against his pelvis and he screamed, a shattered sound that bounced off the walls. His hips canted up involuntarily again but he caught himself this time, forcing himself still even as his thighs shook violently around you. Good. He was learning.
You set a brutal pace then, fucking your own throat on his cock, hollowing your cheeks, dragging suction that had him writhing and crying out in a mess of syllables — your name, baby, please, oh god, more, please more. His cock throbbed against your tongue, heavy and hot, and you could feel him getting close, his stomach tightening, his moans climbing higher, his hands trembling in your hair.
You pulled off.
"No—" The word ripped out of him, desperate, almost angry. "Y/N, no, I was—right—fuck—"
"Calm down, I know." You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, calm as anything, while he stared at you with wild, tear-glazed eyes. "You were close. And?"
"And I—please let me cum, please, I need it—"
"You need it?" You wrapped your hand around him again, slick with your own spit, and started stroking, slowly, so slowly, feeling every ridge and vein, every pulse of his racing heartbeat echoing through his cock. "You need it, but you've been a brat all day. Why should I let you?"
"I said I was sorry—I am sorry—" He was babbling now, words tumbling over each other, hips rocking up into your fist in tiny, uncontrollable thrusts. "I won't—I won't do it again, I'll listen, I'll go to whatever restaurant you want, I'll—ah—"
"Whatever restaurant I want," you repeated, amused. "You'd agree to anything right now, wouldn't you?"
"Yes," he gasped. "Anything. Anything you want, Y/N, just—please don't stop—"
You didn't stop. You kept stroking, kept that same torturous pace, watching him climb higher and higher. His abs clenched, his toes curled, his breath came in short, ragged huffs, and his cock jumped in your grip, once, twice, right at the edge.
And you felt it. That telltale tensing, the way his thighs locked up, the way his mouth opened in a silent cry.
"Oh?" You tilted your head, voice dripping with faux surprise, your hand never faltering. "You're about to cum already? Just like that?"
"I—yes—please, Y/N, let me—"
"Do I make you that needy?" You squeezed the base of his cock, and he actually sobbed. "All those people before me, and none of them could get you there, could they? But I can. Just my hand, just my mouth, and you're already falling apart."
"Only you," he choked out, and the words were so raw, so honest, that something in your chest clenched. "Only you, Y/N, nobody else—nobody's ever made me feel like this—please, I'm right there, I'm so close, please let me cum—"
"You're close," you echoed, and your voice softened, just a fraction, just enough for the air to shift. You stroked him steadily now, grip tight, pace deliberate, leaning down so your face was inches from his. "You've been so good, Jongseong. So good for me. Taking what I give you. Learning."
His eyes searched yours, wet and pleading and so impossibly open.
"You deserve it," you said quietly. "Cum for me."
And he would have, right then, right there, with those words, but you had something else in mind.
You let go of him.
His eyes flew wide with panic, but before he could protest, you were standing, shucking your shorts and underwear in one motion, and then you were back on him, straddling his hips, and you reached between your bodies to position him at your entrance.
"You want to cum inside me, baby?" You asked, and your voice had dropped low, rough, almost as affected as his.
"Yes," he breathed. "Please—"
You sank down.
The noise he made wasn't human. A full-body shudder wracked through him as you took him to the hilt, your own breath catching at the stretch, the fullness, the way he filled you so completely that your vision blurred at the edges. You gave yourself a moment, just one, to adjust, to feel the desperate throb of him inside you, and then you moved.
You bounced on him, once, twice, three times, deep, forceful strokes that had him hitting spots that made your thighs tremble. Your hand found his hair, fingers threading through the dark strands, and you gripped, firm and possessive, tugging his head back so he had no choice but to look at you.
"Eyes on me," you commanded. "Don't you dare look away."
He didn't. He couldn't. His gaze was locked on yours, glassy and worshipful, tears spilling freely now down his temples, mouth open in a silent, endless moan. You rode him hard, those few strokes enough to undo everything you'd built and broken and built again, and on the fourth bounce, he shattered.
His orgasm hit like a wrecking ball. He came with a sound that was barely a word and you felt him pulse inside you, hot and thick, filling you in waves that seemed to go on and on. His hips jerked up helplessly, overstimulated, and you kept moving, kept riding him through it, chasing the pressure that had been building in your own core since the moment you first ground against him.
It didn't take long. You were already so close, had been close through all of it, the power, the control, the way he looked at you like you were the center of his universe, and within a handful of strokes, your own orgasm crashed through you. Your walls clenched around him, milking his cock in pulses that drew a weak whimper from his throat, and your spine curved as pleasure whited out every thought in your head.
Then silence. Or something close to it, just the sound of two people breathing, ragged and uneven, slowly coming back to earth.
You collapsed forward.
Your face fell into the curve of his neck, his shoulder, and his arms came around you immediately, instinctive, warm, wrapping you up like you were something precious. His cock was still inside you, softening, and neither of you moved to change that. His hand found the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair, and he ruffled it softly, tenderly, the way you'd grip him when you were commanding him. A mirror. A response. His other arm banded around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.
For a long moment, you just breathed.
Then your chest hitched.
It wasn't supposed to happen. You'd been in control, composed, untouchable — but now, in the quiet aftermath, with his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek and his hands so impossibly gentle on your body, something cracked open inside you. A wave of tenderness so acute it hurt, and tangled up in it was guilt, the sharp, stinging kind that came from the realization that you'd been cruel. You'd called him pathetic. Degraded him. Treated him like he was less than, even if he'd liked it, even if he'd asked for it with every whimper and whine.
Your eyes burned.
"Baby?" Jay's voice was soft, concerned, the brattiness entirely gone. He shifted, trying to see your face, but you buried it deeper into his neck. "Hey. Y/N. What's wrong?"
"Nothing," you mumbled, but your voice cracked, and you hated it. "I'm fine."
"You're not." He pulled back just enough to look at you, and his thumb found your cheek, catching the tear that had just begun to slide down your face, one single tear, the only one that escaped before you clamped down. He wiped it away with more care than you deserved, his touch feather-light. "Why are you crying?"
"Because I was mean to you," you whispered, and the admission felt like pulling off a bandage. "I didn't—I didn't want to be that harsh, I just—you were driving me crazy, and I—"
"Hey. Hey." He cupped your face in both hands, tilting it up so you had to meet his eyes. They were warm. So warm it made your throat ache. "You weren't mean. You were exactly what I needed." A small, breathy laugh escaped him. "I've never… Y/N, I've never felt like that before. Ever. You're the only person who doesn't just give me whatever I want, and I need that. I need you."
"But I—"
"You put me in my place," he said simply. "And I probably needed it a long time ago." His thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone, sweeping away the dampness there, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, soft, lingering, nothing like the bruising kiss from earlier. "I'm sorry for being a brat. I'll try harder. Okay?"
"I'm sorry too," you breathed against his mouth.
"Don't be." He smiled, the one that crinkled his eyes and made him look younger, softer, stripped of all the privilege and pretense. "And for the record—we can go to the new restaurant. I was being stupid."
A wet laugh escaped you, and he caught it with another kiss, pulling you tighter against him, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other traced lazy patterns on your spine.
You melted into him, every hard edge, every sharp word, every ounce of dominance dissolving into something small, soft, and fiercely tender.
✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !
A sticky beer pong ball bounced off the rim of your cup as Jay sidled up to you at the frat house kitchen island, his expression a mix of curiosity and poorly concealed hope. "So, uh, heard a thing," he started, leaning in conspiratorially over a half-eaten bag of chips. "Word is you and Chloe... you know. Operate as a package deal." He waggled his eyebrows, which was somehow both ridiculous and endearing.
You shared a look with Chloe, who was refilling her cup with suspicious-looking punch. She smirked. "Package deal? Jay, are you applying for a position?" she asked, her tone dry. "Because the last guy who 'applied' spent twenty minutes talking about his crypto portfolio before he passed out in the bathtub." Jay's confident grin faltered for a second. "I have zero crypto," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "And I promise my bathtub-passing-out days are behind me. Mostly."
Twenty minutes later, the three of you were in his surprisingly tidy bedroom, the door locked against the party noise.
You sat on the edge of the bed, Chloe perched beside you, as Jay stood before you both, shedding his shirt. He looked from you to Chloe, his gaze appreciative and warm. "So," he said, his voice low. "How do you want to do this?" It was Chloe who answered first, leaning over to capture your lips in a soft, practised kiss. Her tongue slipped into your mouth, the familiar taste of punch and mint making you sigh. When she pulled back, her eyes were dark. "We start together," she murmured.
Jay watched, his breathing already heavier, before he moved. He knelt on the floor in front of you, his hands sliding up your thighs to push your skirt up around your hips. At the same time, Chloe’s fingers worked at the buttons of your blouse, exposing your chest. Their attentions were a synchronised, overwhelming assault. Jay’s mouth found the centre of your need through your underwear, his tongue a hot, wet pressure, while Chloe took a nipple into her mouth, sucking and grazing it with her teeth. You cried out, your head falling back as pleasure sparked through you from two points at once.
Chloe pulled back, her lips glistening. "My turn," she said to Jay, a wicked smile on her face. She pushed you gently back onto the mattress and straddled your face, lowering herself onto your mouth without hesitation. You licked into her, tasting her sharp, clean arousal as Jay moved up the bed. You felt the bed dip, then the pressure of him entering you from behind, filling you. The room dissolved into a tangle of limbs and shared gasps. Chloe rocked against your mouth, her moans vibrating through you, each one timed with Jay’s deep, steady thrusts.
You lost track of who was touching where. A hand—you weren’t sure whose—slid between your bodies to circle your clit, the touch perfectly in rhythm with the movements rocking you. Jay’s pace increased, his grip on your hips tightening, and you felt Chloe’s thighs begin to tremble around your ears. Her climax hit her silently, a tight, pulsing wave against your tongue, and that sensation tipped you over the edge. Your own release tore through you, clenching around Jay, who groaned and followed, his body shuddering against your back. For a long moment, the only sounds were ragged breathing and the distant bass from the party below.
Chloe moved first. Sliding down the bed, she settled between your legs, her hands spreading you open. She didn’t use her mouth this time. Instead, she looked up at Jay, her expression a clear challenge. “Your turn to watch,” she said softly. Then she lowered her head, and her tongue began a slow, torturous exploration, licking broad, flat strokes that made you arch off the bed. Jay groaned, the sound torn from deep in his chest. He pushed himself up, kneeling beside you, his eyes fixed on where Chloe’s mouth worked on you. His own hand went to his cock, stroking himself slowly as he watched her bring you to the edge and then back down, denying you your finish with a cruel, expert ease.
“Fuck,” Jay breathed, the word strained. He leaned over you, his body casting a shadow. “I need to be in her mouth.” It wasn’t a request, Chloe understood immediately. She pulled away, leaving you throbbing and empty, and turned her head towards him. He guided himself to her lips, and she took him in, her mouth stretching around his girth. The visual was devastating—Chloe on her knees between your legs, Jay kneeling over you, feeding his cock into her hungry mouth. The wet, sucking sounds filled the room. You reached for yourself, desperate for relief, but Jay’s hand shot out and caught your wrist, pinning it to the mattress above your head. “No,” he said, his voice thick. “You wait for us.”
He began to move in Chloe’s mouth, a slow, deep rhythm. Her eyes were closed in concentration, one of her hands coming up to cup his balls. With her other hand, she reached back for you, her fingers finding your soaked entrance and pushing two inside with a ruthless, curling thrust. You cried out, the dual sensation of watching Jay fuck her face and feeling her fingers piston inside you driving you wild. The coil in your belly tightened beyond bearing. Jay’s thrusts into her mouth became faster, less controlled. With a guttural shout, he pulled himself free, his release striping across your stomach and breasts in hot, sudden spurts. The sight of it, the sheer carnality, was the final trigger. Your orgasm ripped through you, clamping down on Chloe’s driving fingers, your back bowing off the bed in a silent scream.
In the aftermath, Chloe crawled up your body, ignoring the mess, and kissed you deeply, letting you taste her and a hint of Jay on her tongue. She then turned her head and licked a stripe through the cooling come on your sternum, her eyes locked on Jay’s as she did it. He watched, utterly captivated, his chest heaving. He lowered himself down, his body sliding through the slickness between you, and captured Chloe’s mouth in a kiss, sharing the taste of all three of you.
The kiss between Jay and Chloe broke slowly, a thread of saliva connecting their lips for a second before it snapped. Jay rested his forehead against hers, both of them breathing heavily. He then turned his head, his mouth finding the sensitive skin beneath your ear. “Still with us?” he murmured, his voice a low vibration against your neck. You could only manage a weak nod, your entire body humming and oversensitive.
Chloe slid off the bed, her movements fluid. She returned from the adjoining bathroom with a warm, damp washcloth. Instead of handing it over, she began cleaning you herself, her touch surprisingly tender as she wiped the evidence of Jay’s release from your skin. Jay watched her, his eyes dark and intent. When she was done, she dropped the cloth on the floor and climbed back onto the mattress, but she didn’t lie down. She straddled Jay’s hips, her back to you, and took his softness into her hand, stroking him slowly back to full, aching hardness. He hissed through his teeth, his hands coming to rest on her waist.
You pushed yourself up, your body aching in the best way. You pressed a kiss to the knobs of Chloe’s spine, then leaned over her shoulder to watch your own hand join hers around Jay’s length. Your fingers intertwined with Chloe’s as you both worked him, a silent, slick collaboration. Jay’s head fell back, a muscle jumping in his jaw. His hands tightened on Chloe’s hips, his fingers digging in, urging her to move. She understood, rising on her knees and positioning herself above him. She sank onto him with a slow, deliberate roll of her hips, taking him all the way in with a deep, satisfied sigh. You kept your hand where it was, your fingers now pressed against the place where their bodies joined, feeling the incredible heat and the slide of him inside her with every movement she made.
You felt the slick, rhythmic push of Jay moving deep within Chloe, the sensation vibrating through your fingertips. You leaned closer, your breath hot on Chloe's shoulder, and began to kiss and lick a trail up the side of her neck. She tilted her head, giving you better access, a low moan escaping her as you nipped at her earlobe. Jay’s eyes were locked on the two of you, his gaze feverish. One of his hands left Chloe’s hip and snaked around to find your breast, his thumb rubbing rough circles over your nipple.
The pace quickened. Chloe rode him with increasing fervor, her body slapping against his. You moved your hand, slipping it between her legs from behind to stroke her clit in time with their thrusts. She gasped, her inner muscles clamping down on Jay, who groaned and bucked his hips up to meet her. The room was filled with the sounds of skin on skin, ragged breathing, and the headboard tapping a steady beat against the wall. You felt Chloe’s climax begin to gather, a trembling tension coiling through her body. You pressed harder, faster, and with a sharp cry, she came, shuddering around Jay’s length.
Her orgasm triggered his. He held her hips down, burying himself to the hilt as he pulsed inside her, his release muffled by a choked-off shout. For a long moment, the three of you were frozen in that connected tableau—Chloe impaled and trembling, Jay throbbing within her, your hand still pressed against her. Slowly, the tension bled away. Chloe collapsed forward onto Jay’s chest, and you let your forehead rest against her sweaty back, your arm draped over them both. The only movement was the frantic rise and fall of their chests beneath you.
Jay’s hand, still resting on your breast, gave a final, absent squeeze before sliding away to wrap around Chloe’s back, holding her close against him. You felt the shift as he softened and slipped out of her, a warm wetness trickling between their joined bodies.
You shifted, lying down properly beside them, your head on the same pillow as Chloe’s. She turned her face towards you, her eyes heavy-lidded. Without a word, she leaned in and kissed you, a slow, deep, languid kiss that tasted of salt and exhaustion and something sweetly, indefinably shared. Jay watched, his expression soft. When the kiss broke, he reached out and brushed his thumb over your kiss-swollen bottom lip.
Synopsis. Gojo Satoru: he’s the best striker the Japanese national team has. The strongest, the sharpest, the fastest—and the hottest. With a 66% accuracy rate and a goal headed straight for your heart.
You: a reporter for the FIFA World Cup, and the greatest at goalkeeping Gojo’s flirtations. You just can’t stand him- or so you say…
You—1. Gojo—0.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!sports reporter!reader, football pIayer!Gojo, FIFA World Cup AU, Football AU, enemies-to-Iovers, sorta, he has a BIG crush on you, yearner!Gojo, fIirting, banter, bets, first date, paparazzi, fan cIubs, pússydrúnk!Gojo, MUNCH!Gojo, oraI (f + m), 69, bets in BED, fíngering, spítting, p taIking, sIight p sIapping, bj’s, cIit bíting, goals, races, bIack cards, tongue f, doggy, wearing his jersey, manhandIing, making it fit, stopping you from running, he’s FÉRAL, cervíx smooches, counting, he BREAKS, babbIing, sIight overstím, making him whímper, making him cry, getting together, happy ending aww, PDA, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 13.9k
A/N. In honor of the FIFA World Cup heheheh I just had to-
“—Geto—a beautiful pass to Gojo. The one and only Gojo.” Booming. If there was one word that could describe the FIFA World Cup then it would be simply that: booming. Everything from the bacchanal cheers; the resounding noise of the football coming into contact with flesh; and excitement mixed with fear that was an amorphous neighbor next to where one sat.
Speaking of seats; everyone was on the edge of theirs.
They watched as Gojo Satoru stopped the football using his chest. Alternating it to a dribble—he’s quickly bypassing some of the opposing team’s defenders- and it doesn’t take long before Gojo’s coming face-to-face with the goal.
“—the famous Gojo technique, Limitless, because of the sheer unlimited speed and strength. It’s a play unable to be recreated by another, with a 100% scoring…” Gojo takes a deep breath. He points. He kicks.
And he misses.
And in-between the commentary and the chaos, Gojo’s eyes can’t help but meet yours pitchside. Amongst the cameras and the anchors-
—you were laughing.
At him.
“And it seems the world-famous Gojo Satoru has missed! He missed! Oh—what a blow for the Japanese team—hey Mech, can we get a close-up of who he was pointing at before missing the goal?”
As requested; the wedding replays the moments before Gojo’s missed goal: his look of determination, his deep breath, his arm raising for mere split-seconds to point…straight at you. And then it’s cutting to you outright laughing at the missed goal.
Fucking laughing.
Gojo himself pauses to watch the unfortunate sequences of events from below.
“Aaaaand that’s half-time, folks!”
He immediately feels a wave of adrenaline strike him - nearly knocking him over at the force. The molten lead sensation floods every corner and crevice of him, and it makes his fingers tremble, it makes an unexplainable heat rise to his cheeks. Where the hell was this energy when he needed to score that last goal?
Gojo’s eyes remain fixated on you like two frozen-over lakes- made only brighter, not warm, in the face of the Sun.
As you’re finding yourself at the edge of those lakes, you wind down that laugh of yours- that stupid, gorgeous laugh of yours. It makes his heart ripple. And then with a soft smile upon your lips, you’re mouthing an apology. Instead of backing from those stone-cold lakes, daring to dip a toe in. Mocking, surely.
Fuck.
Gojo feels his clenched fists unfurl.
And his irritation.
He doesn’t suppose that you’re feeling guilty in the slightest - but what sort of world-famous sports reporter would you be if you got caught laughing at the star player?
And Gojo Satoru is the star player—mind you. He’s just…having an off day? It’s exactly 45 minutes and 22 seconds into the quarter finals of perhaps the biggest football tournament in Gojo’s life: the FIFA World Cup. Japan has been facing off against an opponent they’d already been told would be a tough match to beat, with the odds stacked 79% against them- it just surprised Gojo that that 21% included him, too.
After all, he’s motherfuckin’ Gojo Satoru (don’t quote that).
With his signature white hair- and his ‘twinkling’ blue eyes- and that dimple at the corner of his smile. See that dimple? That dimple’s insured for ¥2,000,000.
But it wasn’t just fanfare and his dashing good looks. There’s no football without Gojo Satoru, and there’s no Gojo Satoru without football.
Ever since he was a young kid, the game just seemed to…call for him.
Just starting out as some stupid sports channel he’d put on in order to avoid having to do his chores; then he’d started watching. Then he started paying attention. Then he started remembering their names and collecting his pocket money to buy some markers and a red, red t-shirt. He still remembers sprawling the t-shirt out on the floors of his cramped living room, and scrawling on Akers 10. Gojo Satoru was raised by Michelle Akers, Alessandro Del Piero, Roberto Baggio, Homare Sawa, and Jay-Jay Okocha as much as he was by his parents.
And then he’d started playing.
He’d begged and begged his parents to get him a football for Christmas- even going to do extra chores around the house to butter them up.
And once they caved - making him promise not to play inside - Gojo had stumbled out to the playground faster than his legs could keep up. Although he remembers thinking that he’d make them- he’d make them keep up.
He admits he wasn’t instantly amazing - just slightly above average, if anything. But kids on the playground used to think he was the coolest thing.
Wanting to become a professional footballer? Every kid wanted to become a professional footballer at that age. So he’d gather the teams, he’d assign their roles, he’d play with them until the streetlights turned on and the crickets started chirping - except the only difference between Gojo and the rest…was that he wouldn’t go home. Refused to.
Not until his parents had to come down and physically drag him back home.
Until then, Gojo would kick and kick that damn ball as long as he had to to become good enough. Until his feet had to fuse with that damn ball, if it had to.
In middle school they adored him just as much.
The best football player and he’s got dimples to boot?
He won’t lie - Gojo understands why he was called out for a confession at least thrice a week throughout the entirety of middle school. His grade, lower grades, and even some in the grade above. Manga club captains and school presidents- and some friends of friends not even going to this school. Some of his friends. Most…who’ve never even talked to him.
And he doesn’t regret not letting any of that ‘sweet Spring love’ that his father always talked about blossom. He just wished his middle school-self had a bit more tact when rejecting girl after boy after girl.
Although he admits that the attention was nice- and those onigiri they brought him after practice was a sweet touch. But Gojo could never quite understand—what did they see in him?
He was hot, yes. He was talented. He was smart. He was funny- yes. But he just wasn’t…like the heroes that he looked up to. Not yet.
Gojo Satoru could never quite understand how he could love another as much as he loved football.
Sometimes when the confessions and the onigiri got a little too much, he’d go to the school rooftop and kick his ball around until the bell rang. Sometimes he’d simply sit and stare off into the distance—what was love? If we should love another as we love ourselves, then perhaps one doesn’t need it? Who said love had to be a person, not a dream?
Around this time, Gojo applied for the local junior football club.
He smoked them all- hah!
Then high school rolled around and here people started giving him looks - still dreaming of becoming a professional footballer? Wasn’t that child’s play?
Popularity was measured, at least for most guys, by how many girls you’d banged or whether or not you’d actually tasted beer. He himself wasn’t one to subscribe to such notions - but the status quo meant that people started…distancing themselves from him.
Reaching for him- if only to point at him like a party trick. Maybe throw a volleyball at him during gym classes, or puncture his football.
They actually did puncture his football.
He beat that boy until his knuckles bled - Gojo had gotten a temporary suspension, of course. He didn’t argue with the punishment. He thinks they went so lenient on him because it was his first offense.
But when he came back, it was even worse. There goes that freak still obsessed with football- isn’t he just going to get his dreams crushed? Isn’t he going to wake up? Grow up? He didn’t need them. He didn’t need a single fucking one of them.
Gojo threw himself into playing football more than ever around these years; until every bone in his body seemed to ache, and he always tasted metal from how hard he’d grit his teeth. He imagined their sneering, snickering faces at the end of the goal and kicked and kicked and kicked that fucking ball. And it was also around this time that he’d gotten the offer.
The offer.
He was glad to leave it all behind.
He was the youngest player in Japan to get a national team offer - oh, he remembers how nervous he’d been then, walking, wondering whether they’d look at him like they all do - and the second-youngest in the world to join an international club. He was an express - and damn expensive - pick for Real Madrid, and the only Japanese player to make a first-team appearance. He was the youngest player to win a major tournament at the UEFA European Championship. He was the youngest Japanese football captain leading them into the FIFA World Cup- and the only one to lead them into the quarterfinals. Not to mention his rabid fan club and his four-time title as the world’s prettiest striker!
But fuck, man.
All that…for this.
Today, Gojo Satoru was having an off time. And he’s blaming it on you—was that necessarily fair?
Hm…not likely. But nothing matters when he’s in the zone and he’s supposed to keep his eyes on the football- but they keep somehow drifting to you.
Fuck again.
This was on him, he knows. He knows. And yet-
And without a single word to any of his teammates or Coach Yaga…he’s marching straight over to you. Behind him, he hears Yaga’s choked-up call of his name and his teammates’ confusion.
The cameras follow him with every step he takes- of course they do, he’s Gojo fucking Satoru. In the distance he can practically hear the tension tighten, as the commentators mention something about him, as the big screen zooms in on his steadfast path, as you’re turning around to see him nearing and your eyes widen.
For a mere split-second - before your hand tightens ‘round your mic, and you’re immediately holding it towards him at the ready.
“And here we have the star player-” It amuses Gojo how your lip tightens around that little phrase you just have to say when referring to him. “-Gojo Satoru’s…best friend in the distance—can the camera capture Geto Suguru during his pre-match stretches?”
The. Fucking. Audacity.
Gojo’s mouth drops as the camera hastens to focus on that damned Geto next to Coach Yaga behind him. He isn’t even the one that came up with those stretches! He stole them from Gojo-
Pointedly—he coughs into his fist.
And then you’re turning towards him with a faux-shocked expression on your face. Lashes fluttering. Those glossed lips of yours dropped into the perfect ‘oh’.
Gojo gets the urge to mimic the exact same expression - and just his luck, the camera’s turning to him at that very moment. There’s a small smirk at the edge of your lips as you’re bringing the mic up to your lips.
This wasn’t his first match interview with you.
Not in the very least.
Gojo was the greatest in his field, and you were (admittedly) the greatest in yours. So it was inevitable that the two of you would meet- match after match, interview after interview, you’d fired your questions away at him.
And sure…there were the usual ones he already scripted for. But you’d quickly climbed up the ranks for asking on-the-spot questions specific to each player, to pick their brains - and in Gojo’s case, to make him squirm.
You asked him about his elementary school nickname as ‘The Strongest’ (which he later adopted as his actual field name so hah- jokes on you!), and his affinity for sneaking sweets into his strict athlete’s diet (Yaga lectured him after that one…jokes on him), and his utterly barren love life.
For someone so flirtatious, one must wonder why he’s never seen out and about with anyone. Maybe he’s simply football-sexual?
That particular interview had racked up quite a few (…million) views across various social medias as Gojo had turned red and stuttered - the first time someone had managed to get the chatterbox to pause - s-something about well, if you really want you can date him-
But he digresses. The point is that Gojo has had interviews with you before - so this should be a piece of cake. Really. Actually…Gojo’s first ever professional interview was almost with you- but that’s a story for another time.
“—and we’re live at the FIFA World Cup Quarterfinals with Gojo Satoru, Captain of the Japanese team.” You’re plastering that camera-ready smile of yours; though honestly he finds your priggish one more- “It’s your first time at the FIFA as a team captain. How are we feeling today, Gojo-san?”
His heart leaps a little at the honorific. “G-good. Good.” And then at the little raise of your brows - did Gojo Satoru just fucking stutter? Again? - he’s instantly shaking his head free of…whatever. Splashing on his own irresistible smile- dimple? Check. “Oh- y’know me, sweetheart. I’m always good~”
“Is that so?” You ask. “I’m glad to hear that. Because it seems like we’re going to need all the confidence we can get, Gojo-san. Tell me—what changes might the defense have to see in the next half if we’re going to beat the opponent’s two-point lead?”
“Well, I can’t share every secret here now, can I~?” Gojo chuckles. “But just know that we’re going to make good use of Geto in the next half- I know Coach Yaga has some good plans for him.”
You nod. “Speaking of- how is Geto Su-”
“We’re talking about me.” Gojo whines. And he’s sure that this part of the interview is going to get clipped to hell and back—but it doesn’t matter when you’re smiling…like that. When you’re throwing your head back and gesturing at that Japanese jersey of yours- number 4?
Geto Suguru.
“My apologies, I do tend to be favorable towards defenders.” You hum. “But I see you’re rather defensive yourself today, Gojo-san. What changes might the strikers have to see for this next half-”
“Nothing.”
That makes you pause. Your smile falters, though you manage to salvage it. “Erm- my apologies, I didn’t seem to hear you over the crowd. Did you say nothing?”
“I did.” And for how priggish you might act - you’d never amount to his sheer levels. His haughty hair flip that sends a few fan club members fainting in the front row, “Absolutely nothing. I’m perfect.”
“Oh-”
“I’m Gojo Satoru, don’t you know? Neeeeext question~”
“Yes I…I am aware.” You mutter under your breath. “Unfortunately.”
“What did you just-”
“But whilst we absolutely erm- adore your confidence, Gojo-san, one really does start to wonder with the two point lead…” You have a fire in your eyes - for how much you might be exasperated by him, it was undoubtable that you needed this win, too. “And I have only one more question for you: will we win?”
He pauses at that.
Just a split-second.
It’s a fleeting moment, yet it seems to hold the world. You’re not letting your gaze waver from his, and he’s not letting his gaze waver from yours. That fire in your eyes? It’s spreading across his own cheeks and then down his neck, across every inch of his body and coiling around his heart. And who’d have thought…that the great Gojo Satoru was flammable?
Gojo shoots a quick look down at himself to make sure that he’s not actually- before then wrapping his hand around the mic handle. He doesn’t exactly take it from you - just keeps his fingers resting on top of yours, and you’re not letting go either..“Nah, I’d win.”
Someone’s breath hitches- either yours or his.
He’s leaning in - down -so close that his lips are nearly grazing the grille.
Gojo keeps his summer lake-blue eyes directly on you as he speaks—“And if I do…how about I get to take you out on a date?”
“You what-” Around you, cheers are erupting. And you’re wondering just what might have been shown on the big screen, only to realize that it was…the two of you. Glamorously displayed for millions of people to see.
You wonder if he can hear your heart race.
You wonder why he wasn’t paying attention to the thousands of people nearby that were chanting ‘say yes, say yes, say yes-’
“So, Miss Reporter?” Gojo cocks his head, a smile upon his lips. “What’ll it be?”
You’re biting down on the inside of your cheek- and it’s only too late that you’re realizing it’s to keep yourself from mirroring that world-famous smile. “Yes.” Your heart leaps.
And you’re sure that Gojo heard you- you’re sure of it. But he’s taking the mic completely now, and turning it upon yourself—“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“I said…” Something akin to…adrenaline? Something akin to…excitement? You didn’t know what name to put on it, but it’s making it difficult to keep your voice exactly steady. “-yes.” Thank goodness it was just a one-word answer.
Gojo smiles wide.
And as the commentators recite the entire interaction in various languages, Gojo’s hearing a call of his name from the coaches’ bench. Realizing that he’d nearly spent the entire break with you- he’s throwing a dazzling smile your way - and several flying kisses at the fans - before making a break for it.
Reaching Coach Yaga, Gojo’s ducking his head and listening to every word the older goalkeeper has to say. There’s a fierce look of concentration on his face—
“You’re staring~” Shoko, from behind the camera, croons. “He really is even better-looking in person, huh?” She’d long since known about the little tension between you and Gojo Satoru- not any kind of good tension, that is. You’d just somehow gotten on his nerves as much as he got on yours.
And you shake your head free of any suggestions that Shoko might put in it. “I wasn’t staring-”
“Mhm.”
“I was just imagining the look on his face after he loses that bet.”
Shoko smirks. “That’s if he loses that bet.”
“Well…”
And then you’re glancing at him once more. Gojo was now jogging in place and doing a few warm-ups before the second half of the quarterfinals started.
Because for all that talk- Gojo Satoru wasn’t going to win that easily, was he?
Was he?
.
.
.
“It’s incredible—Japan has won! The Japanese team has really won!” The commentator’s voice booms across the stadium, making it shake with sheer excitement. It was contagious. The taste of victory was often sweet. “Gojo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals—!”
2-3 to Japan.
All the way from 0.
And you knew the scores - you watched the game unfurl before your very eyes. And yet - surrounded by it all - you stand stunned.
From your right, you’re feeling Shoko euphorically shake you. Her camera equipment nearly slips out of her hands before she’s back at it and recording close-ups of the players’ tearful reactions.
Most of them had surrounded Gojo and were crushing themselves together in an embrace. They’re pushed so far together that you could only make out a flash of white hair and an uproarious distinct laugh. The microphone damn-near slips out of your hands.
“I repeat, folks—Gojooooooooooooo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals for the first time in history! It’s a momentous occasion for the underdogs- Gojo Satoru and his Unlimited hat-trick, everybody.”
They’re replaying those historic moments on the big screen: when Gojo dribbled past four players to strike his first goal of the match, just two minutes into the second half of the game; when Gojo upset the game by drawing the score 2-2 with a goal from the 18-yard box, a goal that went around the fucking goalkeeper; when Gojo finished with a flourish with a head-butted goal just over the goalkeeper’s shoulder, at the 89th minute.
At that last goal, he’d pointed right at you- a hatrick. A hatrick.
“Who’s gonna win?” He’d mouthed, as his teammates were drawn to him in embrace like magnets flying across the field.
You’d simply rolled your eyes.
It was a match for the books - and for generations of footballers just like him to watch and rewatch and watch. And maybe…just maybe they’d buy their own blue t-shirts and scribble down: Gojo 66. Around you, reporters were already chattering about Japan’s succession into the semi-finals—could these underdogs actually have a shot?
Japan had risen from an impending bitter defeat- and that very same Gojo 66 was breaking free from his teammates and flouncing across the field. And the MVP - surely - beamed as he lapped up the attention; running across the pitchside and blowing sappy kisses to his fainting fan club. He’s getting thrown a water bottle- and wastes no time before tearing it open and letting the cool water run on top of his head. Water making his jersey stick to him even more so.
Long legs slightly shaking from fatigue. Blue eyes brighter than ever. If there was one word to describe him, then it would be- dazzling. His skin glistened with sweat, and small droplets of water like diamonds - his jersey was practically glued to him—a part of him, in every single possible manner. Celebration seemed to cling to Gojo just as tight as that jersey did.
And Gojo then catches sight of you watching him- and runs. Runs.
To you.
And stops right before you.
“So…” He pants out, and makes sure to flash a quick smile at the rolling cameras. “-about that date…?”
You sigh.
But you can’t help yourself- you chuckle.
“Fine.”
“Fuck yeahhhh—!” And then Gojo’s darting back onto the field in celebration - his team engulfs him once more, and before you know it he’s being thrown into the air. Cameras shift between his ecstatic celebration, and your more muted watching, because honestly…you had no idea what to say. What to do.
You just bagged yourself a date with Gojo fucking Satoru - and you hadn’t even thought you’d be able to tolerate him just about an hour and a half ago.
But that earnestness in his eyes…
You wonder if-
Nope. And then you’re watching Gojo threaten to take his jersey off and throw it somewhere into the crowd - you’re sighing and wondering just how you’re going to get through this. When a mic happens to be shoved into your line of vision—and you’re just about to take it and get ready for your post-match interviews, when-
“Ah ah-” Shoko tuts, amusement lacing her tone. “The interviewer holds the mic. The interviewee answers the question on how it feels to be the future girlfriend of the MVP of the match? Japan’s pride and unofficial prettyboy?”
“Terrible.” You state, extremely seriously. “In fact, I’m considering breaking up with him this very second.” Well…partially seriously.
Shoko faux-gasps. “After a hatrick like that? Why?”
You’re waving breezily. “I’ve always been more of a Geto or Modrić fan myself. Strikers aren’t my thing.”
“Well they’re about to be your thing because you’ve got a date with one-” Shoko checks her watch. “-in just a few hours.”
It’s sinking in. And although you don’t regret saying yes- “Fuck, the fan clubs are gonna kill me.”
Shoko nods. “I won’t disagree with that. I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”
“Shoko- darling- sweetheart- you’re supposed to disagree to make me feel better.”
She shrugs. “You’re a reporter- give ‘em hell. Whack them with your mic or something.” She’s then finally handing you the mic—and you’re smoothing out your suit with a sigh. “But until then- try not to kill Gojo Satoru. We need him for the semi-finals.”
“No promises.”
And as Shoko and the rest of your team start counting down until you’re On Air again, you’re stealing a fleeting look behind at Gojo Satoru. It seems he hadn’t tired of the fan service yet- and now actually had taken off his jersey and thrown it at the fan clubs- was that a brawl up there in the stands?!
He catches your eye and sends you a flirtatious wink.
And a flying kiss.
You mean to swat it away- but then you’re rolling.
.
.
.
“Shoko- what does one wear to a date with a football star?”
“I don’t know, ask the Akinator.”
“Shoko, that’s…actually I should have done that.” It seems that all around you was defeat: having the team you were rooting for win the quarterfinals for the FIFA World Cup, scoring a date with the MVP of the match, getting a promotion and a bump in your paycheck all because of it? All in all, you were having a terrible day.
And not to mention- you hadn’t even begun to check your social media—according to the way that Shoko had painted it: the football side of the Internet had crashed into your little circle of the Internet, and then it’d been set on flames and trampled with cleats five times over. And that’s not even beginning to dive into Gojo’s stan Twitter…the horror…
The edits. The speculation. The articles. The fanfiction- out of curiosity, you’d searched a few up.
And you’d have to say…that they were very…descriptive. @tonycriesaboutfootball you were looking at her.
All in all- it’s safe to say that your little agreement had caused a little break in the Internet.
And here you were: cooped-up in your humble hotel room for the match. On the phone was Shoko <3 your biggest help since after the match and right now- gathering your thoughts…and your look…and yourself. After putting her on video call—the two of you worked together to sort through your suitcase and find something half-decent for some fancy schmancy date.
In the end, you’d decided on a chic outfit you’d actually planned to wear when reporting the FIFA World Cup Finals.
And nevermind how much you protested and lamented and complained about how expensive shopping for another dress is going to be, Shoko had simply replied- “Just get your millionaire athlete boyfriend to buy one. Take his black card, duh?”
Ah…
And right now you were simply putting in the final touches- slouched over your hotel vanity.
She disappears from the screen for a minute and comes back wielding her chunky laptop. “About 21% of people think this is a PR stunt…18% think you two won’t actually go on the date…and 44% think that this is true love and both of you can bear their children. They also may or may not be camped outside the restaurant.”
You take one last look at yourself in the mirror. Hell yeah…“And the other 2%?”
“Ah- well they’re out for blood.” Shoko casually closes her laptop. “Ready?”
You shudder. “As I’ll ever be. Do I look okay?”
“You look good enough to eat- now go.”
Someone from what you assume to be Gojo’s team had actually approached you after the match - something about exchanging numbers, and then letting you know the details about the date. And around 5PM that evening, you’d just been getting off of a final few interviews from another match- when they’d texted you.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): hehehe you have three guesses. clue no. 1: i’m hot asf. clue no. 2: i’m even hotter wwwww.
You: I’m blocking you.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): waitヽ(O_O )ﾉ
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): wait nooooooooooo
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): don’t block me ( ◣∀◢)ψ
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): i was jokinggggggggg
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): it’s satoruuuuu ☀(▀U ▀-͠)
You: Ah, of course.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX) added to your contacts.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX) changed to (Foot)ballz.
You: Hello, Satoru-san.
(Foot)ballz: hehe
(Foot)ballz: no need to be so formal with me when we’re going on a date~ (͡o‿O͡)
(Foot)ballz: i’ll come pick you up at your hotel so just lmk where you’re staying!!
You: You just want to find out which hotel I’m at, you perv…
(Foot)ballz: I’VE BEEN CAUGHT (ʘ ͜ʖ ʘ)
Ultimately you ended up sending your location to the ridiculous man - however you’d expected Gojo Satoru to text like…it certainly wasn’t this. But you found yourself tolerating it, for the most part.
You suppose.
And once you’re done spritzing on some of your favorite perfume, your phone lights up with a new message.
(Foot)ballz: here ⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝
With a small huff of laughter, you’re grabbing your things and heading out.
The car parked outside was anything but inconspicuous.
And you don’t exactly know what led you to think that in the first place—because when has Gojo Satoru ever wished to fly under the radar?
What was sprawled across the hotel porte-cochère was a gleaming red feline of a vehicle; that type you’d see on the covers of car magazines, or parked outside stadiums with fans surrounding it. Many, many fans. It had all those sorts of curvatures and indents that made it built for speed just like the athletes that owned these types - spoiler wagging behind it, bumper pawing forward, iridescent tyre rims catching the light and showing off. Even stopped outside the hotel, it purred as though impatient to get back on the prowl once again.
From the driver’s seat, Gojo Satoru is opening the door and standing tall- and your breath catches in your throat.
Gojo had cleaned up nicely. He was dressed in a form-fitting suit—such a dark blue that it was nearly black. The velvety fabric draped around his trim waist, flaring ever-so-slightly where his broad shoulders were- it made him look so much more handsome than was fair. His long legs were covered in the same fabric, and at the ends peeked out shoes so polished they were almost painful to look at- you wonder how long he spent on that…
That usually-messy hair of his had pushed backwards, and on his face were semi-opaque round sunglasses. On his face was a smile.
Where a celebrity often wished to blend in, Gojo stood his six-and-a-something feet high above the rest.
In seconds, Gojo’s reaching inside the car and pulling out a massive bouquet of red roses. Thus he crosses the short distance between you both in two strides, and gently hands them to you- you take it with bated breath. “This is…”
“I know I know-” Gojo cocks his head with a smug smile. “I’ve outdone myself.”
And without further ado, he’s tipping the valet well - the elderly man catches your eye, and you’re shrugging at him helplessly - and helping you inside the car. “You look gorgeous, by the way- although, of course you always do and this isn’t just me saying-”
“Gojo.” You smile. “Shut up and get in.”
He wastes no more time.
“D’you like the car?” Gojo asks as he buckles up, “It’s a Ferrari F80. I was thinking of buying this here as a little congratulatory present for myself- you’re the first one in here besides myself.”
“Seriously?” You ask. And he holds your gaze earnestly. “This is amazing.”
His smile flashes as he sets his hand on the wheel. “Then buckle up, sweetheart. We’re gonna be the hottest couple in town.”
“Not a coup- oh.” He speeds away.
.
.
.
“GOJO- GOJO—LOOK HERE—! GOJO IS THAT YOUR PARTNER?”
“GOJO HOW DO WE FEEL ABOUT THE HISTORIC WIN TONIGHT—DID HAVING YOUR GIRLFRIEND THERE HELP?”
“GOJO HOW DO YOU MAINTAIN THE TITLE OF PRETTIEST STRIKER FOUR YEARS IN A ROW?”
That…last one Gojo actually stopped to give a thorough answer.
And as for the rest, he’d given those paparazzi a coy smile and a wink before diving into the restaurant with you. The maître d’ quickly helped you get escorted to your private table.
The restaurant was…fancy. Right. That was one way to put it.
Another way to put it would’ve been: it was the type of restaurant that you honestly would’ve talked shit about with Shoko, then spent the next hour scrolling through its pictures. Then you’d catch a glimpse of a menu…and have immediately turned your phone off. Because in no conceivable world would you attend a restaurant of that high a price, for portion sizes no bigger than the meat rations you’d given yourself during your impoverished intern days.
And yet, here you were.
Gojo Satoru seemed to fit right in amongst the decor- the abstract artwork on the walls that looked like phalluses, the lights on the walls that also looked like phalluses, and the bowl of oranges upon every table - like a piece of the furniture himself. You don’t doubt that such a place was as casual as walking into a fast-food restaurant for him—but for you…let’s just say that whilst sports reporting jobs may pay high - especially for someone of your ranking - it wasn’t phallus-restaurant level quite just yet.
“So uh…what did you say the name of this place was, again?” You ask Gojo after he’d ordered…whatever he was having. You’d gone with the same primarily because you didn’t want to butcher the pronunciations of the menu.
“Hm?” Gojo delicately folds his napkin. “Big D’s, why?”
You’re biting back a laugh, “No reason.”
He sends you a look. “And um…how was your day?”
“What are we, an old married couple?” Though there was something strangely…jarring about having the world-famous football player - the very same one you’ve rolled your eyes at or been forced to interview about a million times over - speak about something so…mundane with you. What else could you have expected? Maybe to talk stats, maybe updates on his fan club—maybe what ranking he’s surpassed now. You sigh. “But if you must know, the usual- oh, although I did get to interview Gakuganji for the first time in a while today—so that was fun.”
“Gakuganji Yoshinobu?” Gojo’s interest clearly piques. “Oh, he’s a legend. Did you know that since retirements he’s taken up-”
“Electric guitar.” You nod eagerly. “And he’s damn good at it, too.”
“I was thinking that after my retirement I should take up writing or something.”
“You seem like the type to never retire.”
And so the conversation…had strangely enough flowed- not something you would have expected from the haughty football player, but it was a pleasure nonetheless. And it had been about two hours into the conversation - currently on the topic of whether sharks were misunderstood - when the two of you looked down at your empty plates—and servers that seemed to be flitting about literally every table…but yours.
“Do you think they forgot about us?” You whisper to Gojo.
“Maybe they were so stunned by my devilish good looks that-”
“Okay.” And with a semi-fond smile upon your face, you’re standing up in your seat. Gojo’s mirthful expression drops—but before panic can start setting in, you’re gesturing for him to stand up as well. So you weren’t going to leave him in the phallus restaurant…you surprised even yourself with that. “C’mon- I know this great place downtown that sells the largest pizza you’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, please.” Tipping the servers, you two darted out of Big D’s through the back entrance where no paparazzi roamed. And into a night that was wild and untamed, you snuck into the darkness between stars and created light of your own—you copped a few good slices of pizza, greasy and not half-bad for the price, before walking down shadowed alleys where no one could find you. Almost no one. A few pictures snapped here and there- surely it couldn’t do much harm?
Oh, who were you kidding.
You could see the headlines forming already - had this been anyone else, you’d have been the one writing it. But tonight…“Everyone’s going to think we’re dating after tonight.”
“I know.” Gojo had replied, half of his profile illuminated by the neon shop signs. The two of you were walking around the less-nicer parts of town, or so one would say…how strange it is that where things are discarded and dilapidated, the lights shine the brightest and the moon seems to sing softly tonight. “But strangely enough- I don’t mind.”
“Getting dating rumors?”
“Getting dating rumors with you, I mean.” Gojo’s saying- before he coughs into his fist and attempts to amend. “Although, of course, you’d be lucky to get dating rumors with the Gojo Satoru~”
“You mean the Gojo Satoru who’s never gotten a dating rumor in his life?” You scoff. “Y’know before tonight they were calling you No-game Gojo?”
Gojo’s gasp is so loud that it startles passerbys.
In order to soothe him, you’re forced to buy this grown athlete ice cream. He asks for three scoops with extra sprinkles, and the two of you walk together - close but not touching - down by a nearby waterfront—the river around the massive city and pulled it into a tight embrace. You yourself felt the strange coil of something at the pit of your stomach.
“Did you really mean it?”
Gojo, who’d been eying your own ice cream cone, startles. “Hngh?”
Sighing…you hand him your final bite. “Did you really mean the thing about not minding dating rumors with me?”
“I did. Why?”
“No…just thinking that if I had to get dating rumors with anyone- at least you’re not the worst option.”
“Awwww-”
You smirk. “Although, Geto would have been-”
“Let me have this moment—”
His pinky finger grazes yours as you two walk.
.
.
.
The door slams behind you.
And following right behind it, Gojo’s doing the same to you.
He has his hands clutched at your waist, and his mouth down your neck - leaving hot, slimy strings of spit wherever he’s pepperin’ the most filthiest kisses. You’re moaning as you let yourself get engulfed in Gojo Satoru’s wave of need—molten desperation shooting through your veins.
There’s something wet forming at the in-betweens of your pretty legs- and it seems as though Gojo almost has a sixth sense. Because he wastes no time before sliding a hand down your front and cupping your throbbing pussy through your dress. “Mmm-” He grunts off against the side of your ear. The hot breath sends goosebumps skittering down your exposed skin. “And who are you this wet for, sweetheart~?”
“Mmm, dunno.” You bat your lashes up at him. “Probably the best player on the team.”
A priggish smile toys at Gojo’s lips, and he’s leaning ever-closer to you. “And just who might that be?”
You’re pulling Gojo down as though this was a secret just between the two of you - and the man eagerly reciprocates closing the distance between you. You’re basked in his likely maddeningly expensive cologne as he leans in—“Geto Suguru, of course.”
And Gojo’s letting out just the softest surprised gasp—
He leans backwards with slightly-parted lips, and you’re getting the feeling that no one’s ever said anything like that to him before. Gojo’s eyes sweep down where your pretty body is pressed up against him- and before you know it, he’s crashing his lips onto yours. “Mmm—” He’s lappin’ at your moans- and the edge of your bottom lip. There’s a squeaky noise that’s being let out as Gojo tastes the lipgloss slathered on your maw. “Cherry.” He notes.
You’re stringing your fingers into his pure-white hair.
With the pad of his thumb, Gojo wipes off the remnants of glossy make-up on his mouth. “You taste sweeter than you are, y’know that?”
And with your fingers twisting into his hair so that he moans- you’re dragging him right back to you. “And you’re better when you shut up.”
Eventually, you’re backing him into your bed.
The hotel room wasn’t all that spacious, and it’s only a few hasty strides before you’re preparing to push him onto the mattress—
But Gojo’s reflexes are too quick. And he’s flipping the two of you around so that it’s your back that’s coming into contact with the springy bedcoils, falling onto the cloud-like bed with the MVP of the match. Mr. Hotshot Gojo Satoru himself.
Gojo smirks as he hovers above you. “Wanna hear a magic trick? I know exactly what you’re thinking about, pretty girl~” He husks.
And you’re letting out a gasp as his lips come kissing down your neck once more. You can’t help it - you’re arching into him already. “And what’s that?”
“Me.”
As he chuckles, you’re rolling your eyes. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”
“Oh?” Gojo raises one of his white brows- like a challenge. If there was anything he was weak to—then it was a challenge. And maybe you, but…you didn’t need to know that just yet. “Then let me be clearer…you were thinking about me—” As he speaks, his dominant hands are exploring your body - starting at the right side of your tits, and massaging for a few moments before switching to the other one. “-running these trained hands everywhere on your body like this, weren’t you?”
Your heart leaps to your throat- and down there. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
He chuckles. “And then you must’ve thought about my fingers- I did have a little stint as a goalkeeper—” Through your fabric, he’s pinching your left nipple and you moan. “-did you know that?”
“I did.” You admit. Your reporting habits left you investigating every single nook and cranny of these footballers’ careers and lives.
“And then maybe these spectacular abs- I have them insured, did you know that?” The urge to roll your eyes is immense—but you’re more focused on the way that the world-class player was shuffling his body purposefully down yours, letting the button-up underneath his suit push against your core- you’re feeling his abs. As though he could read your mind, Gojo flashes you a devilish smile and keeps going down- “Or these arms.” Down. “Or these thick thighs. Heh.” Dooooown.
All the way until he’s between those tremblin’ legs of yours. At least his face was.
“But most of all…how about this glorious face?” Gojo shoots you his camera-ready smile inches away from your clothed cunt—pearly-white teeth and dimple to boot. “And I know m’fucking pretty- but I get the strange feeling that I’d look even prettier between your legs.”
And just as he’s about to lean in-
You’re sitting up and putting a hand on his shoulder. Stopping him.
Gojo looks up at you with a face full of concern.
But you’re merely shaking your head. “You’d be hard-pressed to think that I’d let you get all the bragging rights.” You scoff. “Get up. Let me sit on your face.”
His blue, blue eyes gleam in delight. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
“Shut up and get over here.”
And you’re sure that Gojo murmurs something about ‘making him shut up’ (you’d be more surprised if he didn’t) and yet within seconds you suddenly have his 6’4 toned frame stretched-out beneath you.
With your knees making the mattress upon either side of his head dip, straddling him, you’ve straddled the two of you into an oh-so-perfect 69 position - but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he doesn’t care. Looking underneath you, you notice that the white-haired man has hunger consuming every inch of him, with his eyes half-lidded and his mouth slightly-ajar, licking his lips as he fucking chases your clothed cunt—
“But just ooooone thing.” You’re placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back down- Gojo lets out a cracked whimper. He stares up at your clothed cunt like the gates of heaven above.
“Yes, my demanding girl~? More demands? Isn’t having the great Gojo Satoru underneath you and begging for your pussy enough?”
“Hmm, nope.” You pop the ‘p’. Without wasting more time, you’re fumbling with Gojo’s outrageous dress pants until they’re managed off. What’s revealed to you first is his v-line that stands out—moving with every one of his impatient bucks; then his bulging boxers; then looooong smooth legs, toned from so many years of training. And then you’re almost done. “How about a bet that whoever makes the other cum first gets a reward?”
“A reward?” You’re not turning to look at him- but you don’t need to to know that Gojo’s eyes were probably shining by now. “What kind of reward?”
“Hmmmm, how about…” You suggest. “The winner gets to decide the position for se-”
“I’m in.”
And that’s all that’s being said before Gojo reaches up n’ pushes your dress up. He titters as he takes in the way your pussy was oh-so-wet being outlined against your underwear—that already-thin fabric hugging to your pretty lips n’ soaking wet for him already.
“What’s that about not being so wet?” Gojo hums. He makes the loudest noise as he leans in and presses a great big smooch right on top of your sopping lips. You’re keening out sweetly on top of him- he didn’t even know you could sound that sweet-
“You said that out loud.” You’re grumbling behind at him. “Don’t tell me you’re pussydrunk already, hotshot?”
“Awwww—” Gojo’s spankin’ that swollen exterior of your cunt. “You think I’m hot?”
And now about that damn evening dress obscuring his view- ah, he knows…
Soon enough, you’re hearing a rip-rip-riiiiip—! that makes your blood grow cold. The sensation of cool air biting into your skin is registering in your brain - and then only the realization that Gojo had just fucking ripped your best dress- “Now, I know that isn’t what I think it is.”
“Ah…” He grunts distractedly. Before reaching down to his dress pants and pulling out something dark, sleek, and cash-cold. “Buy yourself whatever you need usin’ this, sweetheart.”
Gojo reaches forwards and stuffs his black card between your pretty drivelling lips. And then he’s divin’ nose-deep between your legs and eating you out with the panties on—letting his looooong luscious tongue zigzag across your slit and accumulate every wad. Once he’s done stealing every drop of slick leaking out of you, Gojo wastes no time before slippin’ aside your panties using his tongue, then making your inner lining feel eeeeeevery coarse tastebud of his taking over you.
It’s just so much.
You’re arching your back and letting out a prolonged moan - or at least you’re attempting to. But what’s really coming out instead are a few muffled sounds as the black card holds firm between your lips.
Your eyes widen.
How could you let yourself be swayed by Gojo Satoru’s black card, of all things…?!
Spitting the black card out, you throw a glare at Gojo. “D-don’t think you’ve won the bet just because you’ve gotten a headstart.”
“Oh?” Gojo coos. “I think I’ve won the bet regardless by how much you’re stutterin’ and whining like a slut on my tongue.” He’s spitting every syllable out against your pussy- literally. He’s drizzling a splash of saliva that he’s using a hand to smack- to smear across every inch of your sodden lips.
You let out a sudden whine, and he laughs.
“Was I wrong~? Mmm- shell me. Who’s the bwest—?” Muffled by his burning-hot kisses.
And you won’t let yourself be bestest just like that, would you? Especially not when he sounds so silly already drunk on your pussy?
In sultry seconds, you’re spittin’ out his damn black card and dragging Gojo’s boxers down. By how much he’d been showing through his bulge…you’d already assumed that he’d be massive.
But Gojo was…really massive.
Mentally you’re counting about eight or nine inches- seriously. And each of those inches were fat and throbbing, the girth of a Coke can and the length of something you’re sure would leave you unable to walk. At least for a week.
As though somehow sensing what you were thinking; Gojo’s thickened tip pulses. Grows even pinker.
“Cock got yer tongue?” He giggles wetly. “Why’re you stupefied, huh? Looks like m’gonna win~”
From the top of his shaft, he’s ooooozing out a constant source of precum—and you’re leanin’ in to sweetly kiss away the syrup that clings to his tip. Just the softest kittenish kiss- but it’s enough to make the football player yelp from underneath you.
His toes curl. His hips buck up without him even seeming to realize - and Gojo lets out an echo of your name - like a prayer - as his fat tip sticks inside your mouth. “O-ohhhh, now you’re playing dirty, sweetheart.”
“M’just doing the same thing you’re- mmm, doing.” You answer- purposefully keeping your mouth on Gojo so that the vibrations shoot up his veins.
“Tch- yeah.” Gojo admits. “But s’only fun when you’re the one getting all drunk on my tongue-” And just because he’s babbling away doesn’t mean that he’s stopping his ministrations for a single second - he’s lavishing and lavishing the tight rim of your hole with his tongue. Licking. Lingering. Letting the top of it hook inside and stretchin’ you out just a little bit more. “Why can’t I be the one to have all the fun—?”
“Do you always have to win?”
“Yes.”
As ridiculous as that sentence sounded, it doesn’t surprise you that it came out of Gojo’s mouth.
The very same mouth that’s becoming more n’ more feverish on your cunt - as some form of revenge, you suppose. Gojo’s grabbing a handful of your left ass cheek and using it to drag you deeper into his mouth.
His jaw unhinges. His nose pushes against your skin.
He’s sucking onto every tender spot of your pussy- eventually resting his pinkish lips on your hole and shoving his tastebuds in so deep. “Tch- this is my fuckin’ win—and this should be my pussy, girl.” Deeper. “C’mon. C’mon. Forget sucking my cock- just fuck back in t’me, sweetheart.”
“F-forget? Sneaky…you just wanna win.”
You can feel him smile against your cunt. “Awww, you know me so well—”
“So selfish, Satoru.” You huff.
“Ohhhh.” And he’s shivering- wracking with something primal all the way head-to-toe. “Call me that again~”
“Satoru.” You’re plopping your mouth over his puckered, pretty head- he was just so cutely needy.
It wasn’t something that you’d expected over the hotshot player. Even though Gojo Satoru might not look like it upon first impression—his cock was so sensitive, so very honest with you that it almost gave you secondhand embarrassment to see. The moment you’re putting your mouth on him n’ starting to suck, he’s spurting out the sweetest honeyed wads of precum here n’ there. The moment you’re leaving him- Gojo throbs even angrily bigger and shuffles his hips to chase your warm mouth.
One of your hands reaches down to squeeze at his balls - so plump and perfectly-shaped. It was annoying that everything about him seemed to be handcrafted by the heavens themselves.
And you’re massaging his most sensitive spots using the mountain of your palm, grinding him against your hand every time your mouth sucks on him. You’re repeating this sequence a few more times.
But he’s not holding back either - Gojo’s now started using the side of your waist as a handlebar, almost.
And he’s grabbing you hard- dragging you onto his awaiting mouth even harder.
“Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart- sweetheart.” He repeats like a broken record player. All whilst his tongue was open and ready—he hones it at the tip, sharpening, so that it can probe even deeper. Slithering it inside again and agaaaaaain until you’re soaking all down his face. “Mmm- again, sweetheart.” Gojo whispers, feeling the mess start to trickle down his chin. “C’mon- Satoru needs to hear you say his name when you cum.”
“Satoruuuuu—oh.” You’re gasping. “But you’re not winning before I do-”
He’s immediately reaching for your throat with a vicious thrust of his hips.
You’re relaxing that muscle there so that he can delve deeper into your velvety cavern- the tresses of his veins scrapin’ against the roof of your mouth. Breathing through your nose as you have to win this. You fucking have to. It’s the competitiveness that’s getting to the both of you—and you’re moving in a fucking frenzy.
A stalemate.
Every zap of electricity, both of you reciprocate it twofold.
With your thighs wrapped around his head, with Gojo’s cock shoved down your throat. And the two of you move in synchronous tandem - you with the rapid bobs of your head, slobberin’ all down his plump inches—and him eatin’ away like a ravenous fucking wolf between your legs. The both of you were starved.
But you have to realize…that a draw just isn’t enough for Gojo Satoru.
Because Gojo Satoru was a competitive motherfucker.
And without warning; he swipes three slick-buttered fingers ‘round the orifice of your cunt. ‘Round and ‘round a few times. Before he’s then letting them sliiiiiiiip in—he replaces his tongue with those long fingers of his that just manage to stretch you out so right.
You’re removing yourself from Gojo’s cock with a lecherous pop! Just to gasp n’ moan away as Gojo opens you up using his fingers.
“How about it now?” Gojo coos. He elongates his words- and something about it just makes your limbs twitch—as he’s probin’ inside in loooooong yearning thrusts with his seemingly never-ending digits. Again and again. “How about you say- ngh- ‘Satoru you’re the best~’ and maybe I’ll go easy on you when I win?”
Gojo mocks your voice by pitching it about a zillion octaves higher and making himself sound ridiculously flirty.
You scoff, embarrassment sizzling across your skin. “You fuckin’ wish.”
“Now, that’s not very nice~”
And he wasn’t going to play easy. He reaches his fingers back- then slams! them down all the way till the knuckles. The curvaceous tops of his digits were slightly thicker than the rest of him—so he’s able to drive apart your sticky walls n’ stick himself into every hidden spot and crevice.
He was filling you up sooooooo good - “Oh p-please…” Tears drizzle down your cheeks. “That feels so good-”
“That’s not what I wanted you to say…” Gojo had amusement laced into his every syllable. “C’mon- tell your Satoru that he’s the best.”
“S-Satoru—” No—you can’t give up so easily. And lazily…you’re instead slobberin’ down his thick, vein-covered shaft instead. You can’t even take him in by now, because you were too afraid a sudden graze of Gojo’s fingers along your tender spots would leave you scramblin’ for air.
Speaking of tender spots…
“Y’know I’m real close to the goal.” Gojo trundles. Those long lashes of his flap, as though innocently. “Real close. I could just…”
“O-ohhhh, fuck-” All three of those fingers are slippin’ around your g-spot - you get the impression that he was missing it on purpose, and it made you nervous over just what he might have planned next. Fuck he was massaging the softest areas of your cunt’s channel. “You’re bluffing.”
“By how much wetter you’re getting…” He smirks. “-I think the fuck not. C’mooooon the world’s strongest striker is eatin’ your pussy out, and you can’t even be nice?”
“N-no-”
“I sure can be.” The area of Gojo’s knuckles were practically gluuuued like adhesive to your cunt’s folds. His other hand lifts off of your hips- starting to knead your swollen nub—you’re starting to see stars as Gojo toys with your clit. “But only if you admit m’the best. C’mon, tell me I’m the best- tell me…and I miiiiiight just go a little easier on you.”
“S-Satoru…” It’s inevitable - between the constant probing, the suckling ‘round wherever he could reach, the targeting of your clit - that you’re about to reach your high. It’s simmering right underneath your skin. “Oh no-”
“Oh yes.” Gojo’s eyes glimmer with delight. “Close, huh? And what do you have to say—?”
“Satoru—” You knew that you’d have to do this if you wanted a satisfactory orgasm- Gojo would’ve gladly left you high and dry just to prove a point. “Y-you’re the best…”
The words feel sickeningly sweet leaving your tongue.
But just as soon as they’re rollin’ off- Gojo probes deeply into your g-spot. Hitting that exact area of nerves dead-on. And your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave - it’s burning hot and feels more blissful than anything you’ve ever felt before. Anything.
You hate to admit it, but you’re seeing stars as you cum on Gojo’s tongue.
And he has the audacity to giggle- giggle, pussydrunkenly. “Mmm, you think I’m the best, sweetheart?”
“Yeah…” You breathe. “When you shut up.”
Immediately, you’re pushing back into Gojo’s mouth - shutting him up. His mouth drops open for you on instinct. His cock’s floooooding silver, satiny spurts of precum at the mere act of being used—your walls fluttering around his tongue. Sucking him up.
Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head. “G-goal…”
Your jaw drops.
His fingers are tunnelin’ straight to your g-spot during every peak of your high - those twinges of extra pleasure that he’s managing to prolong using his fingers, his mouth, his other set of digits kneading your pulsing clit. And what’s driving you even further past that tipping point is the way that Gojo whispers ‘goal, goal, goal, goal’ every time he strikes your g-spot.
Goal.
Goal.
Goal.
Goal.
Goal.
There’s no use trying to make him cum soon afterwards—you’re too drunk on your pleasure, and Gojo’s attempting to squeeze his thighs together to keep himself from cumming. Once your clit’s properly massaged, he uses that hand to squeeze his thickened hilt and prevent anymore beads of pearly-white from leaking.
Fucking unfair.
By the time you’ve ridden through your high - you’re well and fully wrung out. Struggling to catch your breath. Struggling to stop your limbs from shaking- sensitively.
He’s left you oh-so-sensitive.
Gojo Satoru hadn’t even had to fucking try to overstimulate you—he’s just that good with his fingers. He’s just so flexible with his tongue. He’s just so-
“Is this some sort of subliminal? Why are you whispering those to my cunt?” You ask him. And it’s with a final squelch! - and Gojo whispering for a goal once his fingers detach from your g-spot - that you’re managing to untangle yourself from his ravenous mouth.
Though it wasn’t for a lack of trying from his part—Gojo chases after your drippin’ wet pussy like a bee chasing his beehive. Were you the Queen or were you the honey? He’s having a hard time deciding, as Gojo finally sits up on the bed- dazedly.
“Woah-” Now sitting opposite him, you steady him with a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay there, Satoru?”
His cock twitches. For both your dignities, you pretend you don’t see that.
“You’re fucking asking me if I’m okay—?”
Using that same helping hand you’d lent him- Gojo flips your positions around so that now your back’s facing the creaky hotel headboard. And then you’re both shuffling down the mattress, so that you’re being bent into-
“A mating press.” Gojo grins. His eyes twinkle with something so…dark. “Since I won our little bet, I choose the mating press- oh, and that’s not all.”
To your astoundment, Gojo suddenly stands up and flounces off the bed. He scans for something on the floor- “Give the great Gojo Satoru one second.” And then saunters up to your open suitcases of clothes as though they were his—it doesn’t take long for Gojo to find what he’d been looking for.
And you’re feeling embarrassment curdled with something akin to an unfamiliar shyness start to rise in your chest. Because in Gojo Satoru’s hands…was his own jersey.
“You had Geto’s jersey.” He smirks. “I knew you must’ve had mine in there somewhere, too.”
“Someone should teach you not to go through others’ things.” You huff, crossing your arms.
“Oh, my apologies.” Gojo says, sounding utterly unapologetic. “How about I make it up to you? Arms up, baby.”
And, well, a bet is a bet.
You’re raising your arms and letting Gojo take off the rest of your clothes. Before you know it, the Gojo 66 jersey on you—one you’d never even admitted to Shoko that you’d bought. In your defense, it was a buy-one-get-one-free deal that they’d been doing for the FIFA World Cup- but you doubt that Gojo would be open to hearing about your transaction history right now.
Not when he’s admiring the look of his name - his last name - emblazoned against your back. The look of his team’s colors rising and falling with every deep breath.
Your hardened nipples looked so pretty against the athletic fabric that he can’t help but reach out and pinch—
“Change of plans.” Gojo grunts- breathless, as if he hadn’t planned to say this. “We’re doing it doggy style so I can look at my name across your back while I hit it from behind.”
You grumble but you’re changing positions anyway. “Ever heard of the story of Narcissus, Satoru?”
“Are you the river because you’re so wet, or…?”
“No, don’t worry- that dried me up enough.”
He temporarily shoves a knee between your legs. “Lies.” Smirking.
You’re on all fours now. And Gojo shrugs off whatever else is left of his garments- and his rock-hard abs press into your back from behind, practically gluuuued skin-to-skin. A line of goosebumps shoot up your spine at the sudden feeling of him pressing into you—and Gojo takes the opportunity to lean down and kiss up your back.
All the way sloppily to your shoulders.
Your neck.
“Mmmm—and this is my win, isn’t it?” He rasps against your skin- there’s a…slightly crazed tone in Gojo’s voice that you’d never heard before. You shiver. You nod. “Mhm- then this is going to be how a winner fucks, sweetheart.”
In the time that you’d been distracted by Gojo’s incredible body, his ruby-reddened cock had slipped between your legs. There, Gojo had been keeping his length cushioned by your pretty, pretty legs.
Only now was he lettin’ his drivelling tip sliiiiiiide down your slit- giving you an experimental stretch along your first rim. “And yer wearing my name, aren’t you~?” It makes him fucking blush - out of everything…this is what breaks him - to see Gojo 66 and the blue jersey against your skin. You can’t help but nod again. “Then you’re doing to- fucking- take it- like a winner, sweetheart.”
Between each word, Gojo pauses to give a thorough slashing of his thickened cock.
He’s not even fitting in all the way at first- just the globular tip.
Just that decadent girth; where his shaft had flared out massively - all blushing red and plastered in precum - and then honing out into a perfect point to just dive right into you. Gojo’s length also had a slight curve reaching towards the top of your cunt—and he was built oh-so-perfectly to itch at your sweetest spots inside.
Not that you were going to admit it, of course.
“Cock got your-”
“You already used that line, Satoru.” You’re grumbling- though it’s a proper task to keep your voice steady in front of him. To pretend you’re not as affected as you really are.
And Gojo notices. Of course, Gojo Satoru notices. “Y’know…you might not be honest.” He titters in your ear. And then he’s shovellin’ in a few more thick inches—you’re feeling the near-spherical end of his shaft slip inside without too much resistance. You just wanted him so badly. “But this pretty cunt sure is. And what do you think she has to say about me?”
“I-I don’t need to—”
“She’s saying…”
Gojo trails off. Though not without reason.
Almost that very instant, he’s un-velcroing his chiselled abs from your back. A soft whimper leaves your lips as you’re startin’ to miss him already. Already.
But Gojo’s merely pattin’ at your utterly stuffed pussy. You only had a few inches of him pushed inside and throbbing inside you, but your cunt still struggles to take him. “Needy girl. Be patient for a fuckin’ minute- sheesh.”
And then he’s tugging at your jersey.
You’re looking up in confusion.
Then he’s pulling at your jersey—
And only too-late are you realizing that Gojo has that hem of your - his - football jersey bunched up. Using just a single one of his hands, he’s twistin’ his fingers around the velveteen fabric and trapping you right along with it—then he’s dragging you- just by the hold he has on your jersey. He falls back on his haunches.
And he’s taking you right along with him.
Now you’ve got your arms lifted off the bed- in a praying position…except Gojo’s fat cock was drilling into you from behind. With your ass cheeks against his pap-pap-papping hips, with his thick meaty thighs kneading into yours.
His hips are pushing and pushing and pushing—wielding his cock into yours so deeply, so furiously, that it’s as if the man’s entire body has been set alight.
Raw desire runs through his veins instead of blood- and Gojo’s letting out such an animalistic growl- “S’my fuckin’ name on you…”
His mouth waters- waters at the mere notion.
Shit, what an effect you had on him. Maybe all that adrenaline during interviews was…
Gojo’s never felt so utterly drunk than he was in this very moment—pussydrunk. Like the most intense of alcoholics chase their vise, he’s chasin’ the back of your gooey cunt. Every thrust manages to scrape his pumping veins against that snug channel of yours, every thrust manages to push him a little deeper than he already was. What a wonder he’s managed to fit in the first place.
You were just so fucking tight and heavenly that it’s as though you were sucking Gojo’s sanity - and soul - right out of him.
“My fucking name.” He repeats. Breathless. Gojo thwacks! his extremely tight balls against the front slit of your cunt. More beads of syrupy slick end up leaking out of you—n’ they’re pouring down Gojo’s vast shaft. “My fucking number on you.”
“Sh-shiiiiit—” You’re clawing for a lifeline: anything. Your only hope is to bend your arms behind your head- and start clawin’ at Gojo’s own sweaty scalp instead.
As he rams in again and again and again—your poor ass cheeks were stinging.
Gojo’s almost all the way bottomed-out now. It makes your back arch, and your throat bubble over with moans instead of answers. “Fuck-”
The audacity that he has…no one but Gojo Satoru could have. He’s mocking your moans- “Satoru, fuck~” Before rolling those azure eyes of his and emptyin’ every inch of himself into the back of your pussy. “Yeah, yeah- fucking you is exactly what I’m—oh.”
Oh, was right.
It was exactly right.
Because just then Gojo finally - finally - bottoms out. He’s gotten all of his inches happily trapped between your gorgeous legs.
And it’s not just that.
Just then Gojo’s breath hitches.
Just then Gojo thinks he can’t breathe- his entire upper half collapses on top of yours—and you’re being pushed back into a regular, sloppy doggy position. Gojo’s letting shivers run amok across his skin, Gojo’s letting his handsome features twist into something of pure euphoria as he bottoms out- how can it feel this good?
This fucking good?
And in the time it’d taken the self-proclaimed world’s best striker to shatter on your pussy- you’d gathered yourself up.
At least to the point where you can look at Gojo over your shoulder and smirk. “Pussy got your tongue, Satoru?”
He frowns. “Har har—very fun- fuck, don’t squeeze me like that.” Gojo’s eyes flutter shut- on the edges of his lashes, you think you’re seeing tears. “I th-think I might cum.”
“Just that from a winner?” You’re tutting. “I thought you were the strongest, Satoru.”
“I-I am-”
“Then wouldn’t the strongest also have incredible stamina?” You’re looking at him—Gojo’s peripherals are glazed-over with a thick layer of lust. His hair was a mess. His lips were kiss-bitten. There’s a sort of unleashed hunger within him that makes you wish for him to ravage you…You pout. “And here I was hoping we could go- all night.”
He shivers at the words - cock pulsating deep inside you.
But you’re not done just yet. “But ah…I suppose if you can’t, then maybe Get-”
You don’t get to finish your sentence - not even your thought - before Gojo’s hips are pinning yours down. His upper half is cushioned against you. His bodyweight fully keeps you delightfully trapped- as Gojo’s starting to fuck you like an animal.
He pushes you into the mattress.
He fucks you into the mattress.
His thrusts deeeeeep and loooooong—all the way from the slick-embellished top of his shaft, and then down, down, down until you’re feeling your cunt struggling around his incredibly thick base. The scruff of Gojo’s white pubic hair pushed n’ pulled against your pussylips-
Grinding.
And before you could even register the different sensation, Gojo already has one of his hands looped underneath you. The calloused tips of his fingers are instantly finding your clit, like magnets find one another, and he’s teasin’ that sweet nub. Again and again—tuggin’. “I c-can’t believe…” Gojo chokes out eventually.
“What was that?” You’re asking with a pointed clench of your sopping wet lips.
And the man above you instantly shudders. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, girl.” He somewhat snaps- but rather than irritation it’s simply pure need in his words. Gojo pinches your clit. “It doesn’t matter h-hoooooow many times you clench- or just hooooow pussydrunk you’re getting me…”
You’re keening as he swabs your g-spot several times.
“But I- won’t- forget- whose- jersey- is on- you—” Gojo says between thrusts.
Every one of his movements was getting more n’ more erratic by the second- sweat drenched every part of him, and a curtain of his white hair obscured those laser-blue eyes. Locked in on his target: you.
Gojo’s touch is searing as he’s pinching your clit once again—“But just in case this pussy does- heh, get too rowdy…how about you remind me?” Your eyes are jerking open at his words. What does he…“Because it feels fucking gooood wearing the winner’s jersey as he fucks you, huh? Huh?”
Your lips quiver. Pressure was building at the pit of your stomach. “Y-yes…”
“Oh yeah? What does it say, then?” The team captain whispers. He’s using his dexterous fingers to twist your too-sensitive nub, and you’re whimpering.
“Fuck-”
“I already told you before- oh. M’already fucking you.” Gojo’s mirthful grin spreads across his face. He had that pussydrunken look about him as his hips accelerated. Even more. “But that’s not the- hah, question. What number is it?”
“S-six six…” You’re letting out in a defeated gust of air.
“Mmmm, good girl.” Maybe because you’re being such a good girl - Gojo takes the time to lazily and lethargically draaaaaaag his vein-covered cock wherever he felt like you were the most delicate. His zig-zagging patterns were getting outlined deep, deep inside you—and you’re shivering as he inches close to your g-spot. “And what name?”
He can’t stop himself from nudgin’ himself just a little closer and puuuushing down hard and thoroughly on that nerve-covered spot. “O-ohhhhh, fuck, there-”
Gojo’s face contorts - his brows furrow, his jaw drops. “Tell me the fucking name, sweetheart~”
“Gojo Satoru.” Barely even audible.
He leans in with an exaggerated smirk. “What was thaaaat?”
“Gojo Satoru- fuck.”
“And how many goals did I score today, Miss Reporter?”
You’re clawing at the pillows by now. “Th-three—!”
“Oh yeah?” Gojo hums. “M’gonna double it tonight.”
You don’t need to wait too long to find out exactly what Gojo meant- because in mere split-seconds, he’s reeling his hips baaaaack and snappin’ them. Once from the very blushin’ tip-top and down to the hilt. “Goal.” He whispers as he grazes past your g-spot - activating the white-hot pleasure from your cunt to your brain - and striking his target of your cervix. “H-heh.”
“Yellow card for being such a dick.” You whisper.
“Oh, but you love a winner’s dick.” He counters. And it’s barely three seconds later that you’re feeling another forcefield of carnal vibrations that set your teeth on edge—“Oh- and goal.”
Saliva puddles on the pillow in front of you. The hotel headboard has your nail marks on it- dammit.
Gojo repeats- faster this time. “Goal- oh, look at that…a hatrick.” His voice is on the verge of shattering- “Can we make that double hatricks?”
“O-oh my god, Satoru-”
“It’s captain.”
And then he’s pumping out those final few thrusts—hands a blur upon your throbbin’ clit, hips a blur between your legs. That jersey bearing Gojo’s name was drenched in sweat and stuck to you like a second skin- “Goal.” It’s radiating the heat that your body was giving off. “Goal.”
It’s displaying that number and that name so proudly. So fucking proudly.
And for that last and final score of his—Gojo’s bending down until he’s able to press his mouth against the area between where your shoulderblades should be. He kisses that spot. He licks his name on your skin. “Goal.”
And it’s inevitable that you’re crashing into your high as one.
Gojo holds you closely as incredible bursts of pleasure make your cunt convulse- you’re practically keeping him glued to your walls. It just felt too good to let him go, even if it was just to fuck you through your high. And it’s by pushing past that little resistance that Gojo’s managing to probe his rounded tip into you- to press those invisible buttons of yours that prolong your high.
More and more and more. This was an orgasm even better than your last one- and you hadn’t even known that’d be possible (not to boost Gojo’s ego).
Counting underneath his breath, he times the exact moment of your euphoria peaking—and then he’s bangin’ his rock-hard tip right on time. Bruising the back of your pussy.
White-hot pleasure was sizzlin’ just beneath your skin every time he did—and you felt as though your heart was beating too fast for you to keep up with. It’s a pounding drum in your ears, your chest…and your pussy.
Wrapped so vehemently ‘round Gojo’s own twitching cock.
He was pumping out wad after wad of looooong white cum that sticks to the inner lining of your pussy. Groaning. Grinding. Pleasure was tingling at the tips of his fingers, and all around him- soon enough you’re feeling a few tears of bliss splatter down your back. “You’re…” You just barely manage to breathe.
Gojo humps your behind like an animal- just shaking at the sheer force of his high. Gojo hums as he collects the droplets on the tip of his cock, and starts fucking it into your deepest depths- inside. Inside and inside.
It was just so warm and gummy inside you. Spreading. Seeping.
Overspilling.
There wasn’t to be a single ounce wasted.
Gojo’s fingers alternate between rolling over your clit n’ helping push the excess amount of cum frothing around your entrance back inside. Some of it was currently forming a ring around his hilt, and he’s swiping it away using his thumb—popping it inside his mouth. “N-not bad for a guy you hate, huh~?”
Your eyes are shooting open. “Hate?” You frown. “I’ve never hated you, Satoru.”
And that makes the smile slip off his face. “Huh? But I always thought…you always asked me those probing questions and-”
“Satoru, that’s because I’m interested in you…as a player. Of course.” You’re admitting somewhat shyly. The two of you were past your orgasms by this point, and Gojo had taken to spooning you from behind whilst his cock was still inside. “I thought you hated me-”
“Me?” Gojo gapes. “When have I ever hated you? I flirt with you all the fucking time-”
“You flirt with everyone.” You huff. “But it’s just…that time after you’d gotten your offer for the national team. I don’t know if you remember, but it was my first interview then and-”
“Of course I remember.” He interjects.
Something warms in your chest. “But then- why didn’t you show up?”
“Pardon?”
“You promised you’d do your first interview with me- and I promised you’d be the first athlete I interviewed.” There’s a sadness in your tone - not overwhelming, just missing what might have been. “I waited and waited for you, but you never showed up.”
“You waited for me?” Gojo gasps.
“Yeah? I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the field-”
“I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the media room.”
You stare at Gojo. Gojo stares right back.
You sort of want to laugh- no wait, you’re laughing.
And he’s following right after. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”
“Mhmmm, but first how about you pull out, Satoru?”
“Aw, man.”
“And then next I’ll let you put the black card in my mouth while you fuck me.”
“Fuck yeah.”
.
.
.
Eight years ago.
“Are you new here?”
Gojo startles.
The Japan Football Association (JFA) had a meeting room…as Gojo Satoru supposes that all football headquarters do.
He wouldn’t know.
But outside was the waiting room.
He also wouldn’t know whether other places had such purgatories- but then again, he digresses.
It was a hallway with two rows of chairs pushed against either side of it—gleaming plastic chairs that sat emptily - and strangely ominously - before photographs of some of the JFA’s most famous recruits. Gojo felt a strange sense of pride and fear soar up in him as the only chair occupied—perhaps mirror images of all the great players that had sat in them years prior.
Well, as the second chair occupied.
So focused on reciting his name, his age, and his position to himself - things that should come as naturally to him as breathing, now strangely so foreign in this stuffy waiting room - he hadn’t noticed you until you actually spoke to him. Which…you must forgive him.
Everything tends to slip Gojo Satoru’s mind when he thinks of football: people, places, eating and sleeping.
And yet…with your soft call- he turns to you. There’s an instantaneous and mad urge for Gojo to flash his best, most flirtatious smile that’d gotten him voted as Most Handsome Boy for every year of elementary school and middle school. And yet, the memories of high school come rushing to him unbidden—and Gojo’s suddenly tampering it down.
Expressionless. “Yes?”
“Don’t do that.” You huff. You looked about his age- and by the uniform you were wearing, it didn’t seem that you were another recruit. He wonders what you were doing in such a place. “That smile of yours is so pretty- did you know that you have a dimple?”
“I…” Gojo watches as you point at the edge of your left lip. He reaches a hand up to feel for that very spot, softly smiling—just for the experiment. “Oh- I suppose I do.”
You shrug. “Win ‘em over with that smile, I tell you. You’re Gojo Satoru—the youngest recruit for the team, aren’t you?”
He feels his heartbeat pick up. “I don’t know…I hope so.”
“Tch- don’t be silly.” And it shocked Gojo just how casually you’d waved away his uncertainties - as though they were mere annoyances, like easy-to-catch mosquitoes, and not blood-thirst buzzards. “The interview’s basically a formality. The entire building’s talking about you. Gojo Satoru: the youngest recruit in Japanese football history, the football prodigy from a small town in Hokkaido, the new generation of Japanese football.”
The more you spoke, the more Gojo’s eyes widened. The more he held his breath.
“You’re like the Luffy of football right now, man.” You smile. “Have some more confidence- you’re Gojo Satoru.”
At the time, he hadn’t known how to respond to that. So he’d simply asked—“And are you…”
“Not a player.” Turning to the chair on your other side, you pulled out a notebook and a pen, an audio recorder, and a camera. “I’m an intern for the sports reporting department- it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do when I was young.” And he watched in something he’d later come to recognize as awe as you stared at the photographs of players in much the same way he did. “All those photographs? All those articles? It’s because of reporters—and if I can’t play on the field, maybe I can write the field’s stories, y’know?”
You sigh.
And he simply keeps on staring like a buffoon.
“Everything that happens on that field is a tale to be told.” And as Gojo’s awkward silence stretches, your smile turns sheepish. “Or- something like that…I don’t know it’s just-”
“Don’t do that.” He interrupts. This time, there’s a faint smile on his lips—and you could see the dimples. “Be confident, erm…”
You share your name.
He repeats it like a winning scorecard, a legendary play, maybe a last-minute unexpected goal. Extremely unexpected.
And from inside the meeting room, there’s a call of his name. Gojo’s jerking up to his lanky feet and looking at you- you shoot him two thumbs up. He nods.
He turns.
And he’s just about to enter through those doors that could very well change his life—
But, Gojo Satoru turns back.
He looks at you and flashes you that too-handsome smile. The first sight of it seems to shock you. “How about if- when I get back you can be the reporter to get the first-ever exclusive interview with the Gojo Satoru~?”
You blink. “I’d like that.” Surprise melting from your expression and letting you smile. “I’d really, really like that—oh, shit, I should get my good camera for the photos- good luck—!”
And with your cheerful tone echoing down the hallway, Gojo huffs out a chuckle. He’s almost at the meeting room door when he realizes that he hadn’t exactly gotten a time and place for this interview - and who knows how long this meeting will last - but when he’s looking back you’re already disappeared.
Ah, that’s fine. He supposes.
He’ll find you anyway.
.
.
.
Gojo Satoru’s first-ever professional interview was alongside Coach Yaga with some veteran reporter he now can’t remember the name of.
Your first-ever professional interview as a sports reporter was with the long-retired striker, Gakuganji, who’d taken time out of his busy electric guitar shredding schedule.
The two of you shouldn’t have drifted apart.
But then again, the two of you shouldn’t have found each other either. We are all parallel lines of the same football field; untouching and unceasing—not unless there’s bound to be a—goal
Gojo Satoru was face-to-face with the goal.
He takes a deep breath.
He points.
He kicks.
He scores.
There’s a second of silence before anything happens - like the brief yet somehow deafening pause before a rocket takes off. And just as loudly—the cheers of fans, Japanese and non-Japanese supporters alike, erupt raucously until the very frame of the stadium seems to rattle itself. They were crying. They were jumping. They were cheering themselves hoarse, because—
“Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! For the first time in history, Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! Gojo Satoru has done it again—!”
1-2 to Japan.
To say that the match had been close would be the understatement of the century; but you suppose you’ll write all about it in some exclusive article. Later.
Right now, your gaze was fixated on the flashes of white n’ blue barely discernible through the explosion of confetti. As what seemed like hundreds of members of the audience break through the bars and run to the embracing team, there’s only one that’s untangling himself free from the embrace and running straight—to you.
You’re in Gojo’s strong, sweaty arms before you even know what’s happening.
“And is that Gojo—?! Our MVP Gojo is breaking free from his team- running to the lovely lady, eh? All because of that bet. And here we have more celebrations from—”
His face pushed into the crook of your neck, and his chest hammering against yours- “We did it.” Gojo pants - and you’re vaguely aware of Shoko zooming in on the scene with a cackle. “We did it, sweetheart.”
You’re pulling back slightly from him and smiling. “I always knew you could.”
He kisses you and he’s never meant anything more.
A/N. WHERE’S MY GOJOOOOOOOO?? Anyways ugh I’d been SOBBING during Modrić’s final match.
smut warnings: masturbation (f.), "sub"!riki x sub!reader (poor attempt at domming), risky sex, riding, multiple orgasms, bondage, praise (everyone clap it up!), manhandling, dirty talk, command play, choking, begging, whiny!riki (😛), hand job, spit play
NOT PROOFREAD!
MDNI!
He doesn't look at you.
Why wouldn't he look at you?
He sat in the row by your left side, up higher somewhere in the middle. He had his hood up, messy dirty blonde hair he showed up with a couple of days ago trimmed and fresh. It made his complexion warmer, more appealing.
You would know that.
How?
You were glancing at him the whole lecture. You eyes now and then going over your shoulder — subtly. At least you hoped. And not even once did he glance your way.
Riki sat there, lazyly scribbling something down on his notes. The professor's voice echoing the dull hall and simply serving as the background noise to most, but not to him.
He was still following everything, writing down important stuff, brain memorizing some of it like on autopilot.
Who could tell that?
That he was an excellent student, excelling so easily since the primary school. No one actually. At least at a first glance. His stylish persona and cold demeanor was quite contradictory to the actual way he nevertheless had always been.
It's been weeks since the last time.
He never called you up again for the actual tutoring.
And you?
You were walking on eggshells since then. Not because you were avoiding him, scared to face or encounter him in a mere radius of hundred meters — but because you were nervous. Your heart rate would pick up at the mere flash of his image through your mind. Thighs would flex at the memory of his struck face — eyes closed, eyebrows tight together and pants leaving his plump lips as he was at the verge of orgasm.
Never would you think it would be this easy for some boy to enter your head.
But here he was. Sitting just a couple of rows back, feline focused eyes stuck to the paper as he wrote down notes. Organized and responsible. That was him. His leg was bouncing under the high desk, freckles on his slightly tanned skin so attention pulling and mesmerizing.
One thing kept jabbing at you — why was he acting like nothing ever happened?
It made you glance back to the front, head dropping to your lap as you thought. Absentmindedly furrowing your brows, pointer finger digging into your thumbs cuticle. You adjusted your glasses, head turning back over your shoulder and right towards the now blonde boy.
He was too deep into his notes, hair brushing his forehead, lips slightly parted as he wrote something down.
And you hated how you noticed every single thing about it.
———
The psychology department was organizing a student conference next Friday. You signed up immediately. Not because Riki's name appeared on the presenters list.
Obviously.
That would be ridiculous.
You signed up because it would look good on your CV. Because networking was important. Because professors liked seeing students participate. At least that's what you told yourself. Three separate times.
And yet your eyes still found his name first. You arrived ten minutes early, not because you were hoping to see him.
You arrived early because punctuality was important. Because first impressions mattered. Because being late to a volunteer meeting would be unprofessional. At least that's what you told yourself while choosing a seat with a perfect view of the door.
The classroom slowly filled. Around 20 students, nothing mir enorhibg less. Just a meeting about the upcoming conference and the arrangements that needed to be made.
Small groups formed immediately, students chatting amongst themselves as they waited for the professor organizing the conference to arrive. Somebody was talking about presentation topics. Someone else complained about having to come in during their free period.
You barely heard any of it.
Every time the door opened, your eyes flicked up.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
And then—
There he was.
Your stomach dropped so fast it was almost embarrassing. Riki walked inside like he owned the place. One hand shoved into the pocket of his hoodie, backpack hanging from a single shoulder, messy blond hair falling into his eyes.
You hated how immediately you noticed him. Hated how your brain picked up details before you could stop it — the new silver ring on his finger, the dark circles beneath his eyes, the fact he looked like he slept maybe four hours and still somehow managed to look annoyingly good.
Your gaze followed him, then stopped. Because he wasn't alone —a girl walked in right behind him, laughing. Riki glanced at her, his lips moving as he answered. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You stared.
The feeling that hit wasn't even jealousy.
Just confusion.
He talked to people?
Voluntarily?
The realization was stupid. Obviously he did, you just had never really seen it. The girl said something else and Riki rolled his eyes. And she laughed again.
Your fingers tightened around your pen, eyes dropping to the notebook in front of you, glasses slightly sliding down your nose. Something unpleasant settled low in your stomach. Not because they were flirting, they weren't.
But she looked comfortable around him. Comfortable enough to tease him, to sit beside him. And when the only empty seats left happened to be the ones next to him she took one without hesitation.
Riki didn't seem to mind. That bothered you more than it should have, a lot more. He adjusted himself on the chair, a small creeping smile on his face as she spoke to him. He let his arm rest on the empty chair on the other side of him, on the backrest as he slightly shook his head with a smile.
Then, as if sensing it, his eyes lifted.
For one brief second they landed directly on yours. Your breath caught. You felt your pulse jump instantly.
Then...
Nothing.
No reaction. No acknowledgment. No expression whatsoever. His gaze slid right past you. Like you were another student in the room.
Like nothing had ever happened.
Like you weren't even worth a second look.
The girl beside him leaned over and asked him something. And Riki turned back to her. The professor walked in moments later.
You didn't hear a single word of the meeting.
The meeting ended a little after six. Students slowly filtered out of the classroom, chairs scraping against the floor as conversations overlapped into one dull buzz. You gathered your notebook, stuffed it into your bag and left without looking back. At least, that had been the plan. Your eyes still found him once.
He stood near the professor's desk, one hand shoved into the pocket of his hoodie while discussing something with another volunteer. The same girl from earlier stood nearby, listening to whatever was being said.
You looked away immediately, annoyed with yourself, then finally headed home after a long day of exhausting lectures and this pretty boring meeting.
By the time you reached your house, the sky had already begun turning orange.
Your tired footsteps echoed the hall as you made your way towards your room, huffing out a breath of exhaustion. The door of your dad's office stood open, stacks of papers covering almost every available surface. Printed surveys, research notes, student evaluations. The usual chaos that pulled your attention as you passed by.
"Perfect timing." He said the moment he noticed you passing by. "Come help me sort these." You groaned, head thrown back in protest as you took a couple of steps back.
He ignored it, eyes dancing over the laptop screen. Twenty minutes later you found yourself sitting across from him, organizing documents into neat piles while he rambled about department funding and conference schedules, making calls left and right.
Normally you enjoyed moments like these. You and your father had always gotten along easily. Today, however, your attention kept drifting. A name on one of the volunteer lists made your eyes linger for a second too long.
Nishimura Riki
You immediately moved the paper away. The rest of the evening passed quietly. Dinner was simple and usual, your mother talked about work, your father complained about administrative responsibilities.
You nodded when appropriate, answered questions when asked, and pushed food around your plate while trying your best to remain present.
Trying. Being the important word. Because every now and then your mind wandered. Not intentionally — never intentionally. A phrase would remind you of something. A tone of voice. A random thought.
And suddenly you were back in that classroom again. Back to seeing him after weeks of pretending he didn't exist, to that brief moment when your eyes met. Back to the irritating indifference on his face. You hated how easily it happened. By the time dinner ended, you felt exhausted for reasons that had nothing to do with the day itself.
You retreated to your room shortly afterward. The familiar comfort of your own space should have helped. Instead, it somehow made things worse. You changed into pajamas, washed your face, tied your hair back and settled at your desk with every intention of studying.
The textbook sat open in front of you, highlighter in hand as your eyes skimmed over the chapter. Notes were scattered neatly around the desk. For several minutes everything went according to plan.
Then your eyes stopped moving across the page. The words blurred. And before you realized it, your thoughts had wandered somewhere else entirely.
You stomach twisted at the intrusive image.
Riki. On his knees. Plump lips around your throbbing clit.
You slammed the highlighter down on the desk, eyes closing at the mere feel of your heart jolting at the thought. A deep inhale filled your tight lungs with stale air before it exited. You opened your eyes again, adjusting your glasses before taking the highlighter again, trying to focus on the theory imprinted on paper before you.
But again, just as you read the first sentence, your mind betrayed you.
The feeling of his big hands brushing your thighs. The lip bite as his eyes were stuck to the way he was pumping into you.
Your thighs clenched. The hot pressure between them all of a sudden present.
You still pushed your mind to focus, gaze following the underlined sentences and moving down the page. But it all was just simply vaguely traced.
Him pushing you into the table — against the hard wood so selfishly as he fucked into you. Fast.
Your hips subtly moved on their own, a deep inhale following through your nose. You shook your head in an attempt to get it all out of your head.
It was too late.
You were throbbing.
You crossed your ankles, thighs pushing harder together. The bottom lip stuck between your teeth, gaze still stuck to the book at a poor attempt to full yourself. To tell yourself this wasn't happening. Not to the thought of him.
But your hips grinded again helplessly against nothing. "No..."
Your hand flew between your crossed legs and over your mound. You pressed. Hard. A breathy shaky sound left you, eyes closing in delight at the feeling.
Riki spreading your thighs, ringed fingers pressing into your warm flesh. His mouth fast between your soaked folds. The way he held you down as he ate you out last time.
You grinded into your hand, ankles uncrossing hastily. "Fuck..." You cursed under your breath, softly and as quiet as possible. Your lips parted soundlessly as the pressure hit your clit so heavenly. The sound of your parents downstairs, talking and getting ready for bed the only thing keeping you tethered.
Your core felt like it was on fire, your folds pressed on repeatedly and the wetness that coated them slowly was getting sucked in by your panties under the pajamas. Your hips moved in a rhythm, making sure the pressure hits your sensitive clit just right everytime.
Images kept popping up. One by one.
His tongue poking at your entrance. Long fingers stuck in your mouth as he fucked your cunt.
And then...
The image of what if.
What if he bent you over his coffe table like he did the first time in the office? What if he ate you from the back before he slammed into you. Uninvited and sudden.
A low and desperate moan left your lips. Your shoulders slouching forward as you kept on grinding and grinding.
He would stretch you so good, your walls would burn at each drag of his, taking him eagerly. You would moan his name, arching against him as his big palms groped every part of you he could.
You couldnt take it. Your thighs parted hastily, hand was fast inside of your panties. Your middle finger glided over your soaked slit before it dipped between your folds.
You were soaked.
You hissed the moment your fingertip came in contact with your throbbing clit. Nerves on fire and toes curling as you delivered fast tight circles to it. You bit your lip at the whines that threatened to echo the bedroom.
He would lean over you, heat radiating off his toned body as he whispers filthy things into your ear. Things like "You are taking me so good baby." or "Yeah? You like the way I'm fucking you? Stretching this pussy so right."
Yes, you would like that so much. So so much.
Your finger sped up, no teasing or gradual built up. You need this. You needed to come. The slickness of your pussy made the circles so messy, finger sliding over, next and around the clit so greedily at the brink of a frenzy. Your wrist started to hurt, the sounds your cunt produced made everything even filthier. You panted, at an attempt to be quiet. And you were. The only sounds that filled the room were the low fast breaths and the sound of your finger working over your swollen clit.
The bubble formed faster and faster at the pit of your stomach. Burning and wanting to explode. One last image of him was enough.
Of him at the brink of his orgasm, deep and raspy pants leaving his lips, brows furrowed as he slammed into you repeatedly.
Your body shuddered. Uncontrollable soft moans left you, the other palm fast enough over your mouth as you kept grinding against your hand. You spasmed whole. Your pussy, your thighs, your every muscle felt the rush. Aftershocks ripped through you so carelessly and hard that it had you lightheaded.
You slowed your finger down, the sudden wetness on your palm all too filthy and gross. You sniffed, blinking in an attempt to collect yourself.
The fragments of high still in your blood, rushing through and slowly subduing.
You shook your head, eyes moving down all over the table, hand slowly retracting from your underwear.
Yeah...
You should go clean up.
———
The week leading up to the conference was pretty usual. Wake up, classes, breaks, study at the library, go home and pray your dad won't stop you for some assistance like he usually did.
The morning of the conference you showed up earlier. The university groupchat reminding everyone signed up to be at least two hours earlier, to helt set everything and review the presentations one last time.
The faculty building looked completely different this early in the morning. Students moved through the hallways carrying cardboard boxes and stacks of papers. The smell of coffee hung in the air, professors already rushing from room to room while discussing schedules and presentations.
The conference hadn't even started and somehow everybody already looked stressed.
You adjusted the volunteer badge hanging around your neck and headed toward the registration desk. The duty that was assigned to you by the department dean. Sad to say it was the boring part.
A professor spotted you before you could properly settle in and immediately handed you a stack of folders.
"Can you take these to room 204, please."
You nodded, hands already grabbing the papers. The folders felt heavier than they actually were as you carried them down the hallway. You huffed out in exhaustion, your being clinging to those four hours of sleep since the exams are coming up in a week.
People in a hurry passed by you now and then, eager to get everything done as soon as possible.
Your steps felt heavy. Like you were a walking corpse. That's how you felt.
The room numbers switched fast as ypt studded down the corridor.
200,
201,
202...
Then you saw him.
Your steps almost faltered.
Riki stood near the main lecture hall, carrying two folded poster boards under one arm. His blond hair looked brighter under the morning light pouring through the large windows. A presenter badge hung around his neck too, lazily turned sideways as if he couldn't be bothered to fix it.
One hand shoved lazily into the pocket of his blue straight fit jeans, the polo shirt he wore giving a completely different vibe he usually carried with himself and his stylish persona.
It makes look him more... Nerd-like.
And it fits him so good.
And the glasses?
You didn't know he wore glasses. It made your breath caught in a way that didn't feel like it should. Then you noticed he wasn't alone. A girl stood beside him. The same one from the meeting.
They are presenting together. At the meeting they led you all through their concept and basics of the way they are going to present.
She was holding a clipboard while explaining something, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke. And he listened, nodding his head attentively as he looked down at her smaller frame.
He answered.
The girl laughed. And he laughed too.
You observed everything, eyes one last time skimming over him attire before you continued walking.
Room 204.
There it is.
You spent the first twenty minutes sorting name tags behind the registration desk — names, departments, universities. Simple tasks.
Every few minutes another volunteer passed by. Every few minutes somebody asked you a question. Then a shadow appeared beside the table. Your fingers paused immediately.
"Those are supposed to be alphabetized."
Your heart nearly launched itself into your throat. You knew that voice. That deep voice.
You looked up and there he was.
Riki stood on the other side of the table. Close enough now that you could see the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the glasses reflecting the light. Close enough to notice the presenter badge hanging crookedly around his neck. Close enough to remember exactly how much you hated being near him.
Or at least how much you were supposed to hate being near him.
His expression remained completely neutral. No recognition beyond the basic acknowledgment one student would give another. You could smell his perfume. His strong, masculine perfume. The one that had every female spiral at the simple whiff of it.
"Oh."
The response left your mouth before you could stop it. Brilliant, very brilliant. You cleared your throat right after. "Okay." Riki nodded once, eyes roaming the table.
"The presenters need their badges separated too." His voice remained flat. Professional, almost bored. "Professor Henry asked me to tell you."
You stared at him for a second. Then immediately looked back down at the table.
"Okay."
Another nod. A second passed. Then he was gone.
The crowd swallowed him almost immediately. You watched his back disappear between volunteers carrying folders and professors rushing toward presentation rooms before forcing yourself to look down at the stack of name tags again.
The silence around you suddenly felt louder.
Because what exactly had you expected?
For him to stop? For him to look at you differently? For something to happen?
Your fingers played with the pen in your hands. Nothing happened. He told you what needed to be done. You answered. The conversation ended.
And somehow that bothered you more than it should have.
———
The conference passed preety smoothly. It was done approximately by two pm. Students after that went to get lunch, some went to their dorms to take a rest before the big clean in the evening.
The organization was simple and tactical. Come early, get everything done, and then clean up the mess by tommorow. It was pretty exhaustiong to your already overstimulated self for the day being.
Well thank god the students actually, including you, decided it would be better to actually do it later and not right away since everyone seemed to be so out of themselves after the very busy day at the campus. The few hours of break passed quicker than you expected.
One moment you were eating with a couple of volunteers at a nearby café, absentmindedly stirring your drink while pretending to listen to the conversation around you. The next, you were already walking back through the faculty doors with the evening sun casting long shadows across the hallways.
The atmosphere had changed completely.
The conference was over.
No professors rushing from room to room anymore. No presentations. No nervous students checking their notes one last time before standing in front of an audience.
Just tired people cleaning.
Music quietly played from somebody's speaker somewhere down the hallway. Laughter echoed now and then through the building as students carried boxes, folded banners and pushed chairs across the floor.
For the first time all day, everything felt relaxed, almost casual.
You found yourself helping clear one of the lecture halls, stacking abandoned programs into cardboard boxes and collecting forgotten water bottles from beneath chairs.
Your legs hurt, your shoulders hurt. And somehow your social battery had completely died somewhere around noon. You barely spoke. Just nodded whenever somebody gave you instructions and continued working.
The less interaction, the better.
Unfortunately, fate seemed to disagree.
The storage room was cooler than the rest of the building. Dimmer too.
Stacks of folded tables lined one wall while chairs were piled nearly to the ceiling on the other. You were busy organizing a box of leftover conference materials when the door opened behind you.
The sound barely registered at first until a familiar voice thanked somebody outside. Then the door shut loudly. Your stomach immediately tightened.
Of course.
Of course it was him.
Riki carried another stack of chairs inside, setting them against the wall with a dull metallic clatter. Silence followed as you kept sorting papers, back turned to him.
He kept stacking chairs, the clatter of metal loud enough in the tight room. Neither of you said anything. A thick glob of saliva dropped down your throat as you focused on the task on hand. Focused on literally anything else. The silence stretched painfully.
One chair. Then another. Then another.
Until somehow the words slipped out before you could stop them.
"You presented well."
The room went quiet. Even the sound of chairs stopped. Your eyes widened slightly, regret rising in your chest fast. Riki paused midway through setting another chair down. "...Hm?"
You stared stubbornly at the cardboard box filled with God knows what in front of you. Too late to take it back now. "Your presentation." Your voice sounded smaller than you intended. "It was good." Silence followed. Long enough to make heat crawl up your neck. Long enough to make you wish the floor would simply open and swallow you whole.
You simply rummage now through the box, things clattering around.
"Thanks."
Simple. Short.
He didn't even bother to stop, to add something more. He kept arranging the chairs, focus back on the wooden furniture. Your hands stopped, resting on top of the sides, gripping the cardboard as you absentmindedly stared at the content of the box. Your jaw tightened. Flexed as you tried to stop the next words coming out of you. You really did.
But—
"You and the girl... did a good job." You swallowed. "The—" You inhaled, eyes slwllyl closing as your voice was down to almost a whisper—tender. "The chemistry was...there."
You paused again.
The words sounded strange the moment they left your mouth.
Not wrong, just a little too specific. The room fell quieter then before. A chair scraped against the floor, making you silently wince.
You heard the movement stop altogether. Slowly, you looked down at the random papers inside the cardboard box, pretending to be fascinated by whatever was printed on them. Behind you, Riki let out a quiet breath.
"Chemistry."
He repeated the word carefully, as if tasting it. Your stomach immediately tightened.
You wished he would just let it go, forger everything, ignore you just like the past few weeks and move on. Get put of this room and leave you to wind down. Alone.
Instead, the silence stretched. Your heartbeat ringed inside of your ears. The silence was so loud, so uncomfortable since he was probably looking at you. Your mind spiraled. And somehow the thought of his eyes on you made it impossible to turn around. "You got all that from a twenty minute presentation?" There was something in his voice now.
Something subtle, not quite amusement nor quite mockery, but something in between. Your grip tightened around the edge of the box. "I was just saying." You replied quietly.
"Hm." The sound was low. Thoughtful.
You finally risked a glance over your shoulder.
Big mistake.
Riki was leaning against the stack of chairs now, arms crossed loosely over his chest. His head tilted slightly to one side as he watched you.
He... had a different outfit on. He was in a simple black hoodie, forearms exposed by the rolled sleeves. Black sweats clinged to his lean figure, just adding to the simple but still edgy look on him. Hair slightly tousled and more relaxed then before during the conference itself, glasses gone. He must have went home right after, definitely showered since the smell that you tried so hard to ignore as he entered the room was intoxicating. Clean and masculine.
Not that you realized he wasn't anywhere right after as everyone had the lunch together.
This was more him.
The attention and the weight of his gaze immediately made heat crawl up your neck.
"You seemed pretty sure."
You looked away immediately. Heart rate seemed to rise indescribably fast. Then you spoke, almost a whisper — tender and shy, meeting his eyes over your shoulder again. "I don't know."
A quiet chuckle escaped him. The sound bounced around the small storage room. Your face burned. Because somehow you knew. You knew he wasn't talking about the presentation anymore.
Not really.
And judging by the look in his eyes, he knew it too. "You don't?" The question came easy. His gaze stayed fixed on you, brow raised as a slight smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. He waited.
You swallowed. Suddenly finding the cardboard box in front of you incredibly interesting. Riki's tongue pressed briefly against the inside of his cheek, gaze slowly dropping down your figure. Your small fragile shoulders, the was the top hugged you. And then lower. To the skirt you wore since the morning, not too short but not too long. Just perfect for the professional setting that took place this morning. He can't forget that the glasses were an unavoidable detail to it. You style was completely different today.
Oh he knew what this was about.
He could feel it.
It bothered you so much. So much that he didn't talk to you for the past few weeks, call you up about the tutoring, not even glance at you. A small shake of his head followed as he delivered a bite to his cheek. Almost like he couldn't believe you — or maybe couldn't believe how obvious you were being.
"Right."
The single word was enough. Enough to tell you he wasn't buying it for a second. The silence that followed felt unbearable. You swallowed hard, fingers fumbling with a stack of papers before immediately setting them back down. Suddenly you couldn't remember why you were standing there in the first place.
The storage room felt smaller than before, warmer even. Your gaze stayed fixed on the cardboard box, anywhere but him.
A quiet scoff reached your ears.
When you finally looked back, Riki was still leaning against the stack of chairs, still watching you. His arms crossed loosely over his chest, eyes scanning you head to toe. It made your skin crawl.
"What?"
The word left your mouth before you could stop it. His lips twitched, eyes meeting yours. "Nothing."
An obvious lie. You immediately looked away again. Your pulse had started doing stupid things. The kind of things you hated. The kind of things that only seemed to happen around him lately. "You know..." He started casually. "Most people would've commented on the actual presentation."
Heat crawled up your neck harder then before. You busied yourself gathering random papers from the box. "I did."
"Hm."
You hated that sound.
Especially when it came from him. And what you hated more is how much liked it, enjoyed it. "You talked about me and my partner." Your hands froze, papers tight in your grip just for a second. A second too long before Riki noticed.
"You seemed pretty interested in that part."
You opened your mouth. Closed it, opened it again and thanked God you were turned with your back toward him. You moved over to your side, to the drawers that had all the documents stacked in them, before you somehow managed to open it calmly. The sound of the metal draws loud and screeching though the room.
"There was nothing wrong with what I said." Riki scanned your side profile.
"I didn't say there was."
His voice remained annoyingly calm, pretty steady. Meanwhile you felt like your entire brain had stopped functioning. You gathered the last few folders and held them against your chest, the ones you hoped were the same that the other students told you to bring over.
"I should go."
The words came out too quickly, too eager. Immediately giving away your nervousness. Riki's head tilted slightly. Almost curious as kept on jabbing at you.
"Should you?"
Your stomach dropped. You hated how easily he could do that to you. How your body reacted to him so fast. How easily he could make a simple question sound loaded and play with you.
You moved toward the door anyway. Pretty slowly. Because staying felt impossible — but leaving somehow felt worse. Your hand almost found the handle. For a brief second you thought you will escape.
Then his voice came again.
"Was she the problem?"
You froze, your heart and breathing seemed to stop altogether. The question hit harder than it should have. Your fingers tightened around the folders. He uncrossed his arms, body leaning back against the stacked up chairs, high enough for his hips to lean back against the edge.
"No—"
"No?" He repeated, head tilting mockingly. Your grip tightened around the folders.
"No."
The corner of his mouth twitched.
Not a smile but worse. Something amused. His tongue ran over the inside of his cheek, fingers tapping repeatedly playfully against the chairs between his slightly spread thighs.
"You sure?"
Heat overflowed you and you hated that question. Hated the confidence behind it. Hated that he sounded like he already knew the answer. Your eyes dropped to the handle right within your reach, anywhere but him. Your hand was mid air before;
"You think about it, don't you?"
Riki's head tilted in a mocking manner, eyes narrowing at your stiff figure. Your hand paused, it felt like you were stuck in time, in this position, unable to move. You tried to ignore it. Tried to find something else he could be aiming at. But deep down you knew.
"About us fucking..." He said it so casually, so shamelessly. "About me."
Riki kept on dissecting you with his feline eyes. He just knew. He knew you couldn't stop thinking about it. He could bet his life on it. It was all there. Your nervousness, your constant glancing during lectures, during the conference. The comment earlier, the initiation of conversation itself and the hesitation when wanting the exit the storage just now.
It was all too blatantly obvious.
And you were bad at hiding it.
Your inhaled sharply, mind too busy going into a chaos that you didn't care it was so loud and transparent. "I-I'm leaving—"
Your fingers slowly wrapped around the handle, cheeks and neck on fire. You need to get out. Fast. But just as you pulled the door slightly open, a hand came over yours. The sudden warmth engulfing you from the back.
"Don't you wanna use me like I used you?"
You froze. His other arm circled your waist, pulling you flush against his front as he pushed the door closed, big hand taking your wrist and pinning it to the door. His scent was too strong, your senses sensitive to his everything. His touch, his smell. And when he nuzzled his nose against your ear, breath tickling your nape, you swore your heart dropped in your heels.
"Have your sweet little revenge on me, hm?"
Your fingers tightened the folders to your chest, alarms going off in your head. No words were able to escape your paralized self. You whole nervous system screamed, muscles tensing the more you felt him against you.
"Please..."
He nudged his hips against your lower back, grinding once over your flimsy skirt, voice whiny and desperate. He delivered a kiss to the side of your neck, sound echoing the space. You were stunned.
Your mouth almost fell open, from the shock. And from the way you felt your core pool with warmth, the sudden rush of blood to your clit making it burn.
He left pecks all over the side of your neck, goosebumps arising at the feel of his plump lips against you. His teeth grazed your ear, nibbling lightly at it as he let out a needy, shaky breath. Riki's fingers dug into the side of your torso before he uncircled the arm from your waist, hand sensually carresing your hip. The skirts doing a poor job at staying down as he purposely made sure it was rising with each stroke.
It all played out too slow. Painfully slow.
His big palm set your skin on fire. You tensed up, a sharp inhale followed as he held your wrist against the door, his front flush against your frame nor giving you any space to move even if you wanted to.
But did you actually want to?
He whined against your ear, hips bucking into you again. And that was enough for the folders to drop to the floor. Your grip loosened so suddenly it even made you jolt, a squeak escaping you as the papers hit the hard concrete ground.
Riki kept on feeling you up, his hot breath teasing your sensitive skin. His hand traveled right over your hip and dipped between your thighs, your skirt bunching up on his bracelet-adorned wrist. "I will be so good to you..." He rasped out, whispering before he bit your ear. You shuddered the moment his hand went under your skirt, middle finger fast enough caressing your slit right over your thin underwear. "Please..."
He felt your thighs shake, your body betraying you completely. His finger dipped into your covered slit, sliding down till your entrance. "Ruin me. Make me regret it."
His fingertip dipped into the slight dent. Wet. Already so wet. You gasped, hand he held against the door clutched into a fist, other one grabbed his forearm. He thrusted the tip of his finger up, just enough to poke you but not quite fill you. The thin ruined underwear gave him a nice resistance, rebounding his shallow thrusts so teasingly good.
You clenched around nothing, the friction teasing your entrance was enough to set you on fire. His body all of a sudden felt closer then ever, the scent luring out a low moan from you. His strong chest felt so solid, an anchor that held your weak body upright.
Riki felt you shudder in his hold, suppressing a mocking grin that threatened to appear on his smug face. He kept breathing hard against your ear, purposely fanning your skin with his warm breath, lips now and then brushing against it. Riki tightened his grip on your wrist against the wooden door, fingertip teasing your gaping entrance — moving shallowly in, rolling around the tense hole.
"You feel so good, baby."
And that comment alone had you biting your bottom lip, suppressing the reaction after that nickname left his mouth. He felt you tense up even more, hips shifting just a bit for him, thrusting against his finger. The hand that held onto his forearm flexed, eyes closing in delight.
Riki smiled mischievously against your neck, teeth grazing the burning flesh. The wetness against his hand felt heavy and thick the more he played with you, teasing it till he could feel it ooze and drench the flimsy material.
You let your forehead meet the door a little too harshly. A breathy low moan echoed the small room, your grip on his forearm tightened as you let yourself feel everything. His finger poking at your covered cunt, the wetness coating his palm and the inner thighs. His smell, his strong forearm as you kept gripping it, his muscles flexing with each shallow thrust he delivered to your core. And even if you wanted you couldn't get away, his hand was over your hip before it was between your shaky legs, holding you up and against him as the other pinned your weak wrist to the door.
But then the overwhelming pressure between your thighs vanished, his arm was fast to grip your forearm and spin you around. Your back hit the door with a rattle as you let out a gasp of surprise. Before you could register how close to him you were, how your face almost touched his chest, it all happened in a blur — and he kissed you.
You felt his lips against yours, not for the first time. But now it different. It was soft and hungry. Not the usual angry undertone he carried the last two times something happened between you two. It was a new sensation.
You froze instantly. Arms went stiff by your sides and eyes wide. His hands cupped your cheeks, palms brought against your warm skin. He molded your lips sensually but still with a hurry so indescribably and needy. Riki's body pressed up against yours, pushing you harder against the door.
And somehow, against all that doubt and the shock — you melted into the kiss. Hands shot up to his elbows, carresing against the thick hoodie, lips moving in a reckless rhythm he set. He pulled away slightly, just enough to utter as his hips rolled against your pelvis.
"Feel that?"
You did.
He was hard.
Riki smirked at your glossy eyes behind the thin glasses, lips parted in the anticipation of his next move. He pecked them, the smacking sound eliciting a reaction so unexpected — you shivered. Your whole body almost giving out.
"It's all for you..."
His kisses moved down your jaw, the sticky saliva leaving a trail. He kept on kissing each and every part of your neck. "Please..." He begged against your skin, feeling you heat up even more. You couldn't control your hard breathing, a subtle moan tore from your lips as his teeth grazed the column of your throat. Your head feel back against the door, eyes closed tightly.
You pressed your thighs together at a poor attempt to dull the creeping and already pulsing arousal. It was dripping. Your pussy was dripping. Rikis head came up, face to face with your dazed expression before he left one more peck on your slick lips, tongue coming right after to leave a teasing lick on your bottom lip.
You shuddered.
He smirked.
A desperate deep moan left him. Grinning teasingly right in your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. He held your gaze, hips grinding against you. His cock was raging with blood. It throbbed subtle under the pressure of his clothes.
How could he let go of this chance though? To fuck you here in the storage room, where anyone could walk in searching for him. When you had this skirt and revealing top on, your breasts hugged perfectly. The way they sat begging for his eyes to devour the decolette.
The intensity of his eyes made you gulp, holding the contact in awe as you started lowering yourself against him. Your knees bucking on the way down, Riki's eyes following your descending figure before his palms were fast to squeeze the sides of your neck, pulling you up. "No no no—" He spoke as he shook his head slowly. You gulped again, legs bringing you back up. Just as you stood up, he was the one that descended, eyes holding your own as his knees hit the ground. Riki's hands carresed your waist, your hips over the clothes. His gaze penetrating the skirt he was face to face with.
He glanced up through his lashes, the dim light in the tight room illuminating him so beautifully. The shadows casting on his features, the golden hue of his hair. It was all too ethereal. Riki's palms went down to your thighs, simply carresing — up, down, and around; feeling your skin prickle with goosebumps wherever his touch reached.
One thing got his attention. The small lanyard poking from the small pocket of your skirt. The one that held the volunteer badge. He simply smiled to himself, hand getting the small thing from your skirt. He stretched the strap, eyes glancing at your quiet self as your kept observing every move of his.
"Wha—"
You stopped the moment he got it around his wrists. He layed it out over the one before he went around the other, his mouth assisting. Riki's teeth grabbed onto the one end as he made sure it went around a couple of time. He expertly got it tight, his teeth pulling at the long strap. Your heart picked up again, throat felt dry and dehydrated and no matter how many times saliva went down your esophagus, it was not helping.
A small smirk tugged at his lips as he finished off the bondage — on himself. He licked his lips once, satisfied with the tightness and the knot. He glanced up at you again, a yearning shine behind his pupils as he moved.
Riki turned his back to the door, sitting down against the same wood you are against. He kicked the forgotten folders to the side with leg, his bonded hands came next to his head, hooking them onto the door handle.
He looked up at you by his side, at your struck face as you tried to realize what was going on.
"Y/N—"
You felt a sudden rush of adrenaline.
"Please."
Riki moaned, eyes furrowing and head meeting the hard door. Your eyes moved over his figure on their own. His hoodie that clung to him, the black sweats and the so obvious tent under them. He bucked his hips into the air, a whine escaping his parted lips.
You finally moved.
You shaky legs led you a step of two away from the door finally turned to face his layed out body at the floor. You scanned him again, shamelessly.
He looked so...
So submissive.
Definitely not the usual him. The usual energy he carried with himself whenever he entered a room.
You would lie if you said it didnt make your pussy throb. A mess in your panties getting even messier. Stickier.
Your eyes moved down to his white tidy sneakers right in front of your feet — you moved again. You kneeled down, drinking in this rare sight of him. Tied up, hands bonded on the handle right by his head.
He was now the one at your mercy. Your will.
And it made your body feel like it might overheat any second.
He observed you and the way you hesitantly moved. You so didn't know what you were doing. It made him scof under his breath, hiding his smirking mouth into one of his biceps' hanging in the air right by his face.
"Come here..."
He gestured with his chin towards him, finally pulling you out of your trance and the ogling at his layed out body. You were moving forward, on your knees and palms right over him. Your breath hitching the moment you crawled over, his scent close again.
You stopped when you reached his lap, eyes hesitantly glancing at the bulge before you sat down on his thighs. "Fuck baby, sit over it." Riki's knees raised from the ground, his hips bucking at the same time and you slid over to his hips. He hissed the moment you grazed his boner, cock pulsing and leaking already.
You on the other hand gasped, the sudden strong move from him made you almost crash onto his chest as you grabbed the sides of Riki's waist. You readjusted your glasses that threatened to fall of as your back straightened.
And that's when you realized how close you actually were. How his throbbing, rock hard bulge poked your covered pussy. Riki's breath ghosted your face before he uttered, low and seductive;
"Kiss me."
He smashed your lips together. His mouth devouring yours before you could even react. Your hands shot to his chest, resting there as hia tongue carresed your bottom lip asking your entrance — and you let him. His tongue mingled with your, stroking and circling the warm muscles around your cavity.
The wet sounds filled the space between you both. His expert tongue playing with yours so softly but demandingly. A soft moan vibrated between your clasped lips, getting swallowed by his hungry ones.
Your fingers tightened around the fabric of his clothes, fisting it as you got bolder with your moves — tilting the head and switching your sides, pressing your own tongue hard against his, gliding it with controlled force. He moaned into your mouth, letting you take over.
It was getting messy.
Saliva dripped down your chin as you kept savouring his taste. He was so sweet. Intoxicating and addictive. He kept on kissing you with all his might, trying to not loose himself in the moment too much. But you were making it hard.
Bubble of arousal grew in the pit of your stomach, goosebumps raised all over your warm skin. A tiny twitch against your core, pressed so firmly but still not quite, made your own hips wake up. They pressed hard against Riki's cock, a drag so sudden but still expected made him groan into your mouth.
You pulled back just slightly, breaths mingling and teasing the swollen lips. An unexplainable fire rose in you, fueling your whole being and running it on a high so new but tempting.
You glanced over his head, where his restrained wrists stood hanging. Riki grinned teasingly against your lips, eyes switching from your eyes down to your swollen lips. "I can't touch you." He spoke throght the grin, shaking his head cockily.
You didn't need a reminder because you fast enough moved yourseld from his lap, sitting lower on his thighs again. The tent was embarrassingly large, the dark material damp from both — him and you.
Riki licked his lips, gaze stuck to you and the way your lips parted as you stared at his lap. A small smirk made its way on his face, hips rolling experimently under your attention. It was enough for your hands to fist the baggy fabric right under the same painful bulge, slowly pulling it down.
Riki raised his hips, assisting your unsure self as the waistband of the sweats slowly went down and over his hard cock. He hissed, the tight band going over his sensitive tent, pressing on every crevice as you just simply pulled it down. It made him whine, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the unexpected friction.
You pulled it all the way over his throbbing cock, the waistband stopping right under it. You looked up at him again.
He looked ethereal.
Your eyes were back to the waiting bulge under the tight boxers. A damp patch larger and darker. You knew what was next. You wanted to do it. But you still hesitated.
You glanced at him for the nth time, waiting for him to say something, to guide you.
Riki said nothing. His lidded eyes stared back at you, hair messy, lips slick. But then he nodded. And it was all you needed. You shaky hands reached for the waistband under his hoodie, fingers grazing the hot skin of his pelvis before you pulled it down. Riki raised his hips again, making sure the band went lower as you pulled only the front down.
You gulped the moment his cock stood between you two. Hard, pulsing and red. It was leaking, slick coating it down to the base.
He was quiet. You stared.
The only thing filling the painful silence was your breathing. Small whiffs of air tgta escaped your nostrils trying to cool you off from the overwhelming heat that flooded your system.
You could feel yourself leak.
Oh God.
But then like a bullet hit you, fear enveloped you. You were both in the middle of a clean up. Tons of other student littered the campus wing you were at, moving around and making sure to finish it as fast as possible. It was already late.
What if someone walked in?
For real this time.
It could happen.
"What if someone walks in? Looking for us?"
Your soft voice broke the tense atmosphere. Adrenaline rushed through you, eyes stuck to Riki's. Still in his lap. Still with his cock right in front of you. And you didn't move.
He chuckled, eyes glimming with something so powerful and controlling. "Then let them see."
It made your breath hitch. The sudden warmth simmering at the pit of your abdomen. Harder. Faster. Riki catched the sudden stiffness of your thighs on his own, his cock twitching at the mere thought and anticipation of what you are going to do next — looking all innocent, clumsy, unsure on his lap. His rock hard length leaking more and more against his hoodie staining the black fabric.
You didn't need anything else said. You were too into your head. Too lost in the boiling, dangerous feeling that led you.
You raised your palm to Riki's lips, offered, open. Slowly. He stared at it, a smirk threatening to appear on his perfect lewd face. But he didnt let that happen. His gaze switched between your palm, right at his chin and your hungry but still unsure eyes.
He held the eye contact, lips coming over to your palm. He collected the warm saliva in his mouth — and let the glob of spit fall from his pursed lips right into your palm.
The sight was filthy.
And it got you going so bad.
Your hand moved down. Nervousness ate from the inside. But still you wrapped your hand around him, for the first time feeling the heaviness of his warm cock in your palm. He pulsed. A low whimper escaped Riki as you started stroking him —up, down, up down. Wetness mixed all over, his spit with his precum. It was sticky and messy.
You fingers gripped him with a delightful pleasure, mocking all the way up to his red tip and down till his base. "Shit—" Riki cursed under his breath, eyes closed and head met the wood behind him. His arms in the air felt limp, all the blood rushing down to his pelvis as you pumped him, slowly.
"Faster, please—"
He whined. And you gradually sped up. The sound filled the room. Rikis chest moved rapidly, a thin layer of cold sweat emerged on his skin. Your hand was working him over so well. The pressure was perfect, the way your hand wrapped around him. It was all perfect.
You twisted your wrist when you got to the tip, collecting more of the sticky precum and he groaned. You met yourself free, delivering experimental squeezes as you kept gliding over him. You own arousal sticking to everything under your skirt — you underwear, your inner thighs. Hell, you even swear some of it dripped down to Riki's sweats.
Your hips grinded on their own in a search of friction but none of that came. You just humped the air, the way you were positioned on his lap made it hard to reach any kind of leverage, only if you moved over to straddle one of his thighs — but you didn't.
You kept on sensually rocking your hips, hand stroking him repeatedly. Riki felt himself almost lose his mind. The restraint on his wrists only fueling the pressure that formed gradually in his pelvis. His breathing sped up and with it your hand too. Your eyes were stuck to your moving palm and his throbbing cock.
Fuck.
You couldn't take it anymore. You want it inside of you.
Riki was on the verge of loosing his mind, he gritted his teeth at the mere feel of his release approaching. Hard breaths left his nose, eyes tight shut as he hid his face in his hanging upperarm.
"Don't let me come. Don't." He spoke through the harsh breaths, a peaking eye of his making sure you heard him. And you did. You glanced up to his flushed face. His lips were parted, gasping for air as he kept on holding your gaze, face in an attempt hidden in a sleeve of his hoodie.
You stopped.
He closed his eyes in recollection, head leaning back against the wood. His arms felt pliant, all the blood escaped the hanging limbs. They felt heavy. Heavier than they actually are. But you two just started.
Before Riki could even process anything else, your lips were on his. You devoured him right away. Your tongue fighting with his, the desperation radiating off you both. Your hands found their place on his shoulders, body moving closer to his torso, raising yourself so you tower over him. Smacking sounds filled the room, salivas mixing in a messy rhythm.
You moaned against Riki's mouth, your tongue felt too heavy with all the work. And he groaned back in response, cock twitching at the filthy kisses you two exchanged. He tugged at the strap that held him restrained before he pulled away from your lips, letting your tongue rest as he trailed his kisses down your jaw.
Your hands flew around his head, fingers playing with his hair at the back as you pressed yourself harder against him, exposing your neck to him. And he dived into it. Sticky openmouthed kisses were left down your skin. A moan escaped you, one strap of your tight top slid from your shoulder as Riki left a slight bite into it. He pulled back, just enough to get a look of your cleavage.
He licked his lips, muttering a low curse under his breath before he delivered a series of fast pecks all around your collarbones. "Yes—" You moaned out, eyes shutting as you held him close to you. Fuck, you need his hands on you.
You want them on you.
But a glance at his tied up hands was enough for another forceful rush of arousal to sprint through your veins. Your cheeks were overheating, the room felt suffocatingly hot.
Another whine escaped you as his plump lips closed around the skin right on top of your right breast, sucking it hard and letting his tongue poke it repeatedly. "Shit Riki—"
He released it, a red mark blooming on the tender skin before he trailed his kisses up your neck, your jaw, before;
"I need you to ride me."
You nodded eagerly, still on the high of the make out. You released his hair, hand fast under your skirt. God...
You are dripping.
Everything is wet, damp.
You wasted no time in moving your panties to the side, a hurry never seen before that there was no time for the clothes off.
You raised yourself on your knees, hand hastily grabbing his wet cock. Riki hissed at the sensitivity of his lenght. Your greedy hand was fast to position him at your entrance, hips angling so he would slide in perfectly.
He stretched you so deliciously. A burn followed right away as you let yourself sink down on his cock, thighs trembling and breathing stopping all together. You inhaled sharply, pausing midway before you sinked down all the way till his balls. Riki groaned, lip between his teeth as he relished in the feeling of you wrapping around him, muscles tensing and adjusting.
"Fuck yeah—"
Riki moaned, head slamming back against the door harshly. He bucked his hips, a sudden move making you tense.
Your fingers tightened onto the fabric of his hoodie, glasses sliding down as you took a deep breath.
You have never done this.
You never took control.
You never were the one to command.
So when Riki whined once again, lips parting as he uttered a desperate 'please' — it was all it took for you to start moving. You raised yourself, knees hurting against the ground as you slid up his dick, the wetness making the glide so smooth but still messy.
A breath of preparation entered your lungs before you lowered yourself down, a silent cry leaving you. Your pussy burned, the way he split you sent shivers down your spine. Your clit pulsed harshly with a need so insatiable it became unbearable.
You raised again, and then dropped.
Riki's breath hitched, fingers digging into his palms to try and control himself. To make sure he doesn't just turn you two over and fuck you senseless into the hard concrete floor right here until you cried. Until you begged him to give you more. Fill you with his warm cum till it sipped out of you.
But he kept his composure.
Letting you be the star today.
You picked up the rhythm gradually, moving on his lap with a amateur edge, sliding up, down, up, down. Your knees already hurting, thighs already burning. But the burning desire kept you going.
Breathless moans filled the room, Riki's curses joining in as you kept bouncing on him. "Fuck— So good baby...Mmm..." He spoke through the haze that made his head lighter. He glanced down to where you two are connected but his view was ruined by your skirt.
The skirt that had hidden everything that is going on — the way your juices mixed creating this filthy sound that echoed the room, the way he split your tight pussy open as you kept on dropping down on his thick cock. It made him whine in frustration, eyes tightly shut as he threw his head back again.
Everything had you drunk on the moment.
Your light headedness, his scent. Him.
Bur most importantly, his big cock that was filling you up as you pleased. The sound of skin on skin reached your ears repeatedly, your fingers twitching against the fabric of his clothes. "Oh God—" You moaned out, hands moving to anchor you somewhere else. Until one of them somehow ended up on his neck.
His adams apple right under your palm as you delivered a subtle squeeze. It made him groan. He opened his eyes, lidded gaze meeting yours as you kept on moving over him. You squeezed your eyes in endurance. It was too much. You legs felt weird, too twitchy and weak. You slowed down, letting yourself take a breather through your parted lips, gasping for air as your walls tensed around Riki's shaft.
Riki watched all of it happen.
The sudden tiredness in your moves hitting you like a truck. The twitchiness of your pussy around him as you sunked down. He felt your fingers dip into the sides of his neck, nails making him quietly wince as you tried to keep it together. Really tried.
Your head lowered, shoulders slouching as the other hand was squeezed into a tight fist by his waist.
"Grind on me."
His deep voice snapped you out of your focus, making you blink away the tears that pricked at your eyes and look at him. "Huh?" You were caught confused, movement finally coming to a complete stop. "I said, grind. It will feel better." Riki spoke again, sternly. His chest moved rapidly, trying to catch his breath.
You blinked. Mind hazy and core on fire.
You moved your eyes down, releasing the fabric you clutched so hard by his side to adjust your glasses back in place. And you moved. Hand flew to grab the hem of his hoodie, raising it and exposing his lower pelvis. His v-line, his belly button and the faint lean abs that hid underneath.
It had you going insane, you hips found the new motion — better. You kept grinding against him, his cock hitting new placed inside of you, the feel of his sweaty skin against your clit as you grinded only added to the pleasure. It was better. Definitely better.
"Does it feel better?" Riki's asked teasingly.
"Mhm..."
Your answer was short, a eager nod paired with the sped up of your hips, eyes stuck to his flexing abdomen. Riki let his back slide a little down the door, giving you more room to move and himself a more comfortable position as you kept on rubbing yourself against him.
"Yeah— That's right." He smirked, his bottom lip between his teeth as he stared at your moving hips. The damn skirt still in the way but not stopping him from imagining the way your wetness spread all over his pelvis ad your little clit dragged across it. The way your juices mixed, coating his heavy balls till oblivion as you kept on griding.
Your hand flexed around his neck, your body growing in temperature faster than you could imagine. A string of moans escaped you. The way his cock hit deeper than ever, the motion stimulating all the right places — your clit, your lips, your walls. You kept on moving back and forth, the hunger in your hips not persisting. "Fuck...Riki.." A whine erupted from you, chest felt tight and flaming with heat, your upper body pressed to his in the midst of it, gazes colliding in a dangerous flame. And he kept your eyes locked.
He nodded at you, reassuring the feeling that kept on growing in the put of your stomach. You let go of his neck hand coming down to anchor you at his waist as you kept on slamming his cock into you. Heavy breathing kept on ringing off the walls, heat overflowed the small space.
Your body felt like it will burst any second. Everything was overstimulating in the best sense possible. The feeling grew and grew, your pussy felt like it was on fire with each grind, your clit throbbed against his slick abdomen. The orgasm is close. So close.
You tensed your pelvic muscles, wanting it to last longer. Wanting to make him cum first. Since that's how it's supposed to go now — right? When he was the one on the receiving end, when he is the one that should be begging you to stop, that it's too much and he can't take it. Then why were you the one to almost scream out a plea as your body betrayed you.
Your pussy convulsed, quiet moans tore from your lips as your orgasm shook you to your core. Goosebumps pricked your sweaty skin, aggressive grinds against him followed. It onyl stimulated you more, prolonging the pleasure as you in the midst of it chanted out, your faces inches apart, breaths mixing;
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry — Im so sorry..."
The orgasm was at its highest, pussy convulsed around him as you grinded and grinded through it. Riki nodded reassuringly, eyes dancing between your lips and the lidded eyes that now and then closed tightly in embarrassment.
"It's okay. Ride it out. Ride it..." His voice trailed off, harsh breaths raising his chest as his fingers digged into his cold palms again. His own high approaching as you let yourself come undone on top of him, head almost nuzzling into his neck. You gradually slowed down, the remnants of the adrenaline still shaking your muscles. Your pussy was still recovering, convulsing around his shaft as you finally came to a stop.
You almost fell on his chest, harsh breaths trying to stabilize you. His length pulsed inside of you, your hips raised to get him out, the overstimulation was at its highest.
Riki's cock slipped out of you, it was followed a wince from you as your walls finally clamped together, your forehead almost hitting his shoulder before;
"Fuck..." He cursed under his breath, unhooked his arms from the handle. Blood finally rushed to the abandoned limbs as he started undoing the knot he himself so securely tied. His teeth pulled at the strap, somehow getting it loose before he pulled it off.
You slightly leaned away, still on his thighs, still wet and ruined as you observed his actions. Your blank face taking everything in. Riki rubbed one of his wrists, the strap left a deep, red, engraved indents in his skin. Riki's eyes met yours again, corner of his lips tugged upwards.
"You said you're sorry... Get on the chairs." He gestured with his chin behind you, right at the corner he was just earlier stacking the furniture. You looked over your shoulder. A couple of stacked chairs were right there by the high stacks. They were facing you, high enough for you to climb them but low enough for him.
You somehow pushed yourself up, legs felt like jelly as you moved across the storage room and right onto the chairs. You faced him, still breathing hard. Before you raised yourself up on the chairs Riki was already on his feet, steps fast enough bringing him over to you and he smashed your lips together. Roughly.
Your ass hit the edge of the top chair, hips moving back to sit on the stack as you both devoured each other. Riki's big palms held your face, his tongue poking at your mouth teasingly before he moved downy kissing your chin, than the jaw.
"Fuck, get on it and turn around." He spoke breathlessly between the kisses, pulling away to get a look at you. At your ruined face. The glossy eyes, glasses low on your nose, parted lips trying to catch your breath. His eyes glanced lower. Your chest. Your top straps falling off the shaky, burning shoulders.
A fucking fantasy.
You hummed in response, turning your back to him as your knee prompted you up onto the higher stack, effortlessly getting you up. Knees dug into the plastic, your hands shaky as they held onto the backrest of the same ones.
You are burning up.
It was all too much. Your head felt light, your body surrendering to the tremors that traveled through you with every breath your took.
But still you bent over.
The sharp plastic digging right under your chest, pressing against your ribs so uncomfortably. Moves of your lungs made it even harder to stay down — until you heard him, a smile audible in his tone.
"Good girl. Already knowing what to do."
Riki observed your back, the way it rose and suddenly faltered at his teasing words. You glanced back at him subtle over your shoulder and was met with him sizing you up, lip between his teeth as he drank you in.
Your heart skipped a beat, sudden nervousness arising in the deep of your pressed chest as you looked back to the floor and the furniture stacked up in front of you.
Riki's hands raised, palms pressing onto your hot skin right over the skirt. He carresed your hips, touch moving upwards. "What's up with you, huh?"
You gulped.
"Your style is...different today."
He reached your waist, the fight top letting you feel the roughness of his palms even over the fabric. "It suits you..." His voice trailed off as his hands rwched your bare shoulders, massaging them as his hips pressed against your ass. You felt it. His hard cock pressed against your skirt, heavy and needy.
He carresed your shoulders, feeling your skin prickled with goosebumps, his fingers hooked onto the bra straps tagt still clung to your skin, pushed them off as he continued to caress you, big palms sliding over to your collarbones. "But I like the baggy one better tho..." Your breathing hitched the moment he pressed harder against you, his strong form looming over you as his palms traveled lower and over your upperarms, tip of the fingers dipping into your bra cup. "It leaves more to the imagination honestly."
A exhale of pleasure left you when he cupped your breasts, pointer fingers moving over your nipples in a side to side motion as he kept on teasing the already hard peaks. Bra dug into your back harder with each move of his hands inside of it, switching from massaging to teasing your nipples. Another wave of heat overflowed you, arousal burning hotter then before between your drenches thighs. Your hips instinctively pushed back against him, his hard lenght resting right between your ass cheeks as he kept on playing with your tits.
"Please..."
You uttered out, eyes closed in pure ecstasy at the feel of his hands against you. It was even better then you imagined. His slender fingers worked you over into another dimension, his closeness adding to the high. "Impatient, are we?" Riki cocked his head to the side, gaze wandering down your back and the arch as you kept backing up on him. He pinched your nipples one last time before his hands pulled out from your bracup, earning a whine of protest at the loss of touch.
His hands were fast onto the hem of your skirt, raising it around your waist and finally revealing you. It was honestly embarrassing what a mess you were down there it made his brows shot up in amusement. "Damn..." His eyes drank in everything. The wetness coating your skin, your ass, the back of your thighs. Poor excuse of a underwear drenched like it was under a fucking faucet, stuck to every inch of crevices.
"Got this wet from bouncing on me just earlier?"
His finger traveled lower, hooking into the underwear right over your swollen pussy. The mild contact of his finger as it hooked onto it made you gasp in surprise. "Need these off." He peeled it off of you, getting it down your hips and your thighs. You raised your knees one by one, assisting him at getting them off fast. He didn't bother to throw it on the ground, instead leaving the tiny fabric clinging to one of your ankles.
You were now completely bare under his gaze. Riki watched the way you clenched around nothing, pulsing under he simplicity of his gaze. It made him chuckle. You were too far gone, everything felt like it could get you over the edge, a desperate whine reached his ears, urging him to do something. And he finally did.
The fat head of his cock pressed against your entrance, teasing the slick hole with the slight shift of his hips. You moaned out,fingers gripping the back of the chair. "This skirt irritated me so much earlier. Couldn't see shit when you rode me."
He pressed harder, the tip for swallowed by your walls. You hummed in response, fingers twitching against the plastic, body leaning down harder against the backrest. He moved forward harsher, letting his whole length enter you. You moaned when he filled you, the familiar stretch sending you completely drooling. He started moving, tip kissing your walls repeatedly as he fucked you with certainty and sterness. "You are taking me so good..."
Riki praised but with an invisible teasing edge. His hands found your hips, not pushing or pulling, just resting there. Your hips backed up against him and the overwhelming thrusts he delivered. He groaned the moment you squeezed him, but then —
A sound of steps and laughter right in the hallway. You froze. Riki didnt stop. The way he split you made it hard to completely surrender to the fear that bashed over you. He leaned over, fucking into you harder, faster — like he enjoyed this.
One of his arms found it's place beside your trembling hands that gripped the chair, breath fanning your ear. "You better stay quiet. Don't want them to see this—" He moved the hair from your ear, eyes scanning the furrowed brows and closed eyes as you tried to control the sounds that threatened to escape you.
He bit down on your earlobe, hot breath luring out a low, almost inaudible moan. "See me destroying this pussy so good, yeah?" Your breath hitched, blood rushing to your already swollen and throbbing clit as you bit your lip. "Or you do want that?" He left a slow, torturous lick on your ear, hips not faltering. You shook your head, eyes squeezing harder at the sudden knot forming in the pit of your stomach. Riki's cock pulsed, the sudden tenseness in your muscles luring out a deep chuckle from him.
"Yes you do."
The steps faded in the hall, laughter already inaudible in the midst of the shallow breaths of yours. "You would love that. Letting everyone know we fuck on the low. No one having a fucking clue about what we do when alone."
He panted against your ear, his hand tangled into your hair , fingers tugging at the roots. Your neck strained, head pulled back against his shoulder. He delivered a kiss to the side of your neck, lips brushing the place he just smooched. "You love this so much, baby. You just fucking love it."
You pressed your lips together, nostrils flaring at the big inhale you took. Your system felt like it was overheating, the constant pulsing of your clit made it overstimulating, the sweat that clung to your skin made it all too disgusting.
But you did love it.
His hips smacked and smacked against you, his cock reaching places and abusing spots that you never before knew existed. A moan slipped when he kept his rhythm constant. "Have nothing to say?" He smirked, hand coming over to smack you asscheek. A red hand print blooming as he squeezed the place, feeling your flesh in his palm. You moaned again,hips moving to meet his.
A burning sensation spilled down your core, everything felt sensitive as the knot grew. His thrusts sent you jolting against the chair, plastic digging into your ribs so painfully but that didn't matter. Not now. "Ahh— I'm...." You couldn't even bring yourself over to finish the sentence, to at least utter it out before your toes curled, back arched more against him a she keot on pounding you from the back. It all spilled over.
Your walls fluttered around him, a high moan escaped you as every seemed to shut down for a moment. Your ears ringed, a string of pleas and his name echoed the room, bouncing off the concrete walls as you same undone. "Shit—" He muttered, hips not faltering as he slammed into you mercilessly, making you take it as your moans lowered. "Yesyesyes—! Riki!"
You shamelessly moaned, your body spasming whole as the pressure easied. Everything felt lighter, your own body twitching as your hips moved back against him. A hand came to bring your glasses in place, fingers clenching them hard.
"Fuck..."
You cursed low under your breath, eyelids softly opening as you somehow mustered the strength. His thrust continued. A hand holding onto your waist as he chased his own release. His cock throbbed, pants left his slick lips. Riki's eyes closed, his exhale almost a warning as he cursed under his breath. You wanted to endure it. You did. But your limbs felt heavy, your pussy burning uncomfortably with each slide of his cock into you. You glanced over your shoulder, a tender touch over his hand;
"Riki... I can't take it..." You muttered out in a whine, his fingers dug into your waist before—
"Fuck, turn around and get on your knees."
He spat out, quickly pulling out as you hurriedly turned, sliding down from the chairs. Your legs felt like jelly, walls fluttering as they met again. The stickiness between your thighs almost making you grimace. Your knees met the floor with a thumb so loud but still quiet. Your eyes looked up and there he was right over you, tall frame swallowing you as his hand was fast around his hard and leaking cock. He stroked it. Fast. The other hand coming to the side of your face, getting the messy hair away, thumb pushing at your glasses in place.
Fuck, your glasses.
It had him weak.
His fingers tangled into your hair, chest moving with rapid short breaths as he felt the pressure rise in his abdomen. He moved over closer, one foot coming in between your knees as he kept on stroking himself right over your face. The slick sounds so loud for no reason.
Your hands found his thighs, holding yourself up so you wouldn't fall over since the tremors still shook you. "Fuck— Open that pretty mouth for me."
And you did.
You opened wide, tongue sticking out and ready to be painted with his cum. It made him groan, the pressure at the brink of releasing. And a glance at your eyes behind the glasses, looking so lost and dazed but still slutty enough as you looked him straight in the eyes was enough.
He pulled your mouth against him with a deep groan, thrusting into the welcoming warmth as the pressure snapped. Your slick cavity taking the jets of white as he kept fucking it into your throat.
You almost gagged, the thick fluid sticky and salty making you close your eyes in endurance. Tears pricked at your eyes, shoulders shook as he kept on pulling you against him. He moaned once he pulled out, forcing your head back to look at your face as you sniffed.
"Open."
He spoke sharply, feline eyes scanning your ruined face. Cheeks wet and warm, lashes damp and glasses still there but a quite erotic detail to everything.
You gulped down the thick semen, a grimace almost making its way to your face before you parted your lips, tongue went out.
You swallowed everything. All of it.
Riki let out a satisfied but still amused. "Good fucking girl." He patted your cheek, a inhale of recollection left him as he threw his head back and released his grip on you. You gulped, legs trembling as you got yourself up, the chairs your were just earlier on providing a leverage. You pulled the straps of your bra and top back up, the skirt feel into the place alone.
You wiped your nose, a weird heavy feeling still present on your tongue.
Riki got his hands through his blonde hair, pushing it back off his sweaty forehead. His hands were fast to tuck himself back into the underwear, pulling the sweats back into place. The subtle stains of fluid clinging to his hoodie and the sweatpants, more visible against the black fabrics.
"Shit." He cursed, his hands passing over then in a poor attempt of getting it off. But it was till there. Yeah, he has to sprint to the bathroom before anyone sees him.
You adjusted your self in silence, moving like you were afraid to make any noise. Afraid of actually becoming visible to him.
Like he didn't just rearrange your insides.
You reached down for your underwear tagt was ruined anyway, pulling it up your legs slowly and silently.
Riki finally looked at you, scanning the way you made small moves. Small and unsure. He turned away, steps carrying him towards the door. His hand was on the handle, ready to finally step out of the suffocating room that carried fragments of what just happened.
He paused.
Your eyes were stuck to his back, waiting for him to exit. To not even spare you glance.
Riki glanced over his shoulder, your eyes meeting as he turned toward you, hand still on the handle. Your breath hitched, eyes avoiding his intimidating gaze. He scanned you head to toe, faltering for a moment on your tremoring thighs.
"About the tutoring...I will text you so we can continue."
And he moved out of the room, leaving you confused and shaky. But even after everything, what scared you the most was the sincere and soft tone he said that with. A small smile at the end too.
Riki made his way straight to the bathroom, his steps hurried and eyes making sure there is no one else around. As he made his way down the hallway one thing kept bugging at him.
He wondered and didn't know,
What kind of relationship you two got into without each one of you even consenting to or acknowledging?
But he knew for sure,
He's going to have his fun.
———
! this is all work of fiction. in no way this is a representation of enhypen members nor do I believe this is how they behave in real life or condone these actions!
i fucking drooled, jumped, giggled, cackled, kicked my feet, acted like a victorian woman seeing ankles for the first time bcs today has been shitty asf and this js cheered me up
gojo's face down in the mattress and you're sitting on top of him, legs braced on either side of his slim waist. your fingers dig into the muscles on his back, thumbs moving up the centre of his spine to his neck. he hums appreciatively and you can feel how it vibrates through your hands.
"you're so tense, satoru," you observe, continuing to press into his muscles, "you need to relax more."
"i'm so relaxed," he mumbles back into the pillows.
“not yet,” leaning down, you whisper beside his ear, "but when i’m done with you, you will be."
you meant to tease him a little but you can feel the way he tenses up under you. it makes you laugh, pulling away to massage his back like you'd not said anything at all. he's twitchier now though, squirming every now and again.
just as you're about to tell him to lay still, he rolls under you. grabbing your hips at the last minute so he can keep you atop him. "i think my chest needs to be massaged too," he blinks up at you, pupils blown.
you're right on top of his dick, gasping a bit, "are you hard?"
"painfully so," he smiles lazily, "might need your touch there too."
the grip he has on your hips pulls you downwards, grinding your pussy against his erection. mewls slipping from you as he rocks up at the same time, his own whimpers spilling from him. his lashes flutter with it, desperately rutting against you.
"are you serious," swallowing down your moans and attempting to chastise him, "you couldn't get through— hnn— a massage without getting hard?"
gojo's panting, though still thoroughly amused, "guess not."
you're dripping into your panties, the material moulding to your cunt obscenely. gojo's cock is relentlessly grinding up against you as he pulls you down. the stimulation overwhelming and not enough at the same time.
a loud moan rips through you when he harshly pulls your shorts and underwear up in one go. his hands slipping through the holes of your shorts to grope the bare skin of your thighs and hips.
"you're so pretty on top of me," he babbles out. "can i— hng— can i put it in you like this? would you let me slip inside you and fuck you right now?"
only a few more needy thrusts upwards and he's shuddering under you, biting into his lip as he whines. his cum seeping into the material of his own pants, it's dirty but you find yourself so much more aroused than before.
he huffs at you, fingers delving into your panties, "sweetie,” pouting a bit, “you didn't answer me."
jacobvanloon
dailybridgerton
romaincrisis
theartofmadeline
annaxmalina
turnnoffyourmind
stormborns
kaledo-art
