#And I ended up using a different blazer because I felt like it was a tad too snug
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kinktober day one: overstimulation with robert fischer
pairing: Robert Fischer x f!reader
word count: 973
warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, Overstimulation, a smidge of non-con (you’ll see when), Robert drives himself places because I said so
a/n: HAPPY FIRST DAY OF KINKTOBER. I hope I make it through the whole thing. Enjoy day one!!!
Kinktober Masterlist
Friday nights were special to Robert. It was the one night a week he set aside for himself, and more specifically, for you.
He loved taking care of you. When everything felt like it was getting too much he turned to you.
You and Robert were out on a date at a beautiful restaurant on the water. You spent the night conversing and making him laugh. You truly did make him happy.
You wore his favorite dress on purpose. You knew he’d be dying to take it off by the end of the night. The deep green fabric hugged at your waist and stopped at the knee. You took his breath away the first time you wore it. And, he almost ripped a hole in it the first time he tried to take it off.
At the end of dinner, he gave the waiter his black Amex before he could even show him the bill. You had hearts in your eyes. You never expected the honeymoon period in your relationship to last over three years, yet here you were.
When the waiter returned to the table, Robert handed him a hefty cash tip. You both got up and Robert reached out his hand for you to grab. He guided you out of the restaurant. While outside the valet returned with his car.
Robert opened the door for you and you held his hand as you slipped into his silver Mercedes. He walked around to the driver’s side and got in quickly. Robert had one thing on his mind all night. He couldn’t wait to get home and slip that pretty green dress off your body.
When he finally did get you both home he was kissing you before you were even through the threshold. He was hungry for you. He grabbed your wrist and dragged you up the stairs. When you got to your shared bedroom he took off his blazer and you took off your heels.
You reached for his suspenders and dragged them off his shoulders. He kicked off his shoes. Then, you untucked his shirt and started unbuttoning it quickly. Once it was off you dragged your hands across his chest.
He grabbed your chin lightly and brought his lips close to yours. “You really want it tonight, don’t you?” You could hear the smirk in his voice.
“Really fucking bad, Robert.”, you played along.
“You’re gonna be begging me to stop, baby.” He kissed your neck.
You giggled and replied, “Yeah, right.”
He pulled away and raised an eyebrow, “‘Yeah, right?’ Do you think I’m bluffing?”
“Yeah, maybe you are.” You had meant it in a joking manner, but you could tell it struck a chord.
He hummed and reached his hand to the back of your dress, unzipping it. He placed both hands on your shoulders and dragged the dress off you, exposing your breasts and a lacey excuse for underwear. He hooked his fingers over the hem and tore them off. The sound of fabric ripping cut through the silence.
His jaw clenched as he reached in between your legs, feeling how wet you were.
He spoke in a low tone, “I think tonight… I’m gonna make you cum as many times as I say.”
He pulled his hand away and dragged you to the bed. He took off the rest of his clothing and dove down on top of you. You giggled as you crashed down onto the mattress. You liked it whenever Robert got playful, but tonight it seemed like it was something beyond playful.
Tonight he wanted control.
You grabbed his cock and began to stroke it. He held in a moan and grabbed your wrist to stop you.
“Not tonight. We’re doing something different tonight,” he grunted as he entered you quickly.
He hit a spot so deep your body jerked up. He started fucking you with reckless abandon, using his thumb on your clit to make you cum faster than you ever had. You squeezed his cock as you came.
He pulled out before he could cum and brought himself down to your clit. Before you could even recover his tongue was working on you.
Your voice was unstable, “Robert, what are you doing? Fuck.”
He didn’t respond. He was too busy sucking on your clit. The sensation was taking over your body. It felt like pins and needles all over your skin. He made you cum again but didn’t move away from you. He kept going, making your entire body shake. Whines and whimpers were all you were able to let out. Any words you had on your mind died before they even reached your tongue.
He got back into position and started to fuck you again. You were thrashing around underneath him. To put a stop to your convulsion, he pinned down your wrists and laid on top of you.
“Please, Robert, enough!”, you pleaded.
He smirked, “Told you you’d be begging me to stop.”
You wanted to be firmer in your reaction. Fight him. Scream at him to stop. But, you couldn’t. He’s never made you feel like this before. You were completely broken and it was the best you’ve felt in ages.
He made you cum again and he let go of your wrists. You put your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. He fucked you through your orgasm. You were panting as he came inside you. He was loud tonight; his moans filled the room.
He pulled out and your body trembled. All the stimulation was a complete shock to your system. You thought it was over, but then you saw him crawling back to your pussy. He licked and you yelped, trying to close your legs as he held them open.
He fixed his hair and asked, “Think I’m bluffing now?”
Taglist:
@devotedlyshadowytheorist, @dxnger-dxys, @tommyshelbywhore, @quinnlilias,@madnessandobsession, @mvpr-moon, @nela-cutie, @faebirdie, @charmed-asylum, @anasanthology, @ilikefictionalmen, @akanne-aka
(If something is up with your tag or you would like to be added, let me know!)
#kinktober ‘23#cillian murphy fic#cillian murphy#cillian murphy x reader#robert fischer smut#robert fischer x reader#annie writes
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౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡⋆ rainy days
matt sturniolo x reader
warnings: nothing, kissing, swearing
a/n: hellooo. so so so sorry for not posting anything, i was on a school trip to rome for a week! brewed this up super quickly, sorry if you can tell it hurried lmao. I LOVE YOUUU ALL
་༘࿐˚⋆ it had been raining constantly the whole day. the gentle patter of rain on the windows created a cozy atmosphere, the dark clouds outside only adding to the feeling of a huge embrace.
most people would find this weather boring or sad, unable to open the windows, or go outside, almost isolating themselves from the outside and social world.
opposite to you, you loved this type of weather. being able to allow yourself to snuggle up inside on either your couch or shared bed with matt, you were far from complaining about anything.
་༘࿐˚⋆ your past week had been frantic to say the least. on top of that it felt like it was never coming to a stop. taking extra shifts, having your amount of rude customers tripled, and your meetings seeming endless. there was nothing more you wanted than going home to your boyfriend and waste away the weekend in each other's arms.
you left the sliding doors to your workplace, running to your car to avoid getting too drenched in the hectic weather. you slouched down in the driver's seat, immediately closing the door before unbuttoning your blazer to throw it in the passenger seat beside you.
it took you a second before you turned on the car, checking to see if any mascara had been smudged, using the tiny mirror in the sun visor of your car.
the drive home wasn’t too bad. your shift had ended late, so the traffic in boston was bearable, but of course not one hundred percent avoidable due to it being a Friday night.
when you arrived in your driveway you didn’t waste a second to grab your blazer and bag, running inside again to avoid the rain soaking you. the door swung open, closing behind you as you entered the hall.
“matt, I’m home! finally,” you yelled, taking off your heels, steadying yourself by grabbing onto the wall.
in a matter of a few seconds, matt entered the hall with a blanket wrapped around him.
for a second you just stared at each other, your tired-looking face instantly lighting up into a toothy grin. matt had never looked this cozy or huggable.
“hi. sorry, i feel asleep, i look like a mess.” matt mumbled, his voice a little deeper than normally, probably due to his current state.
you didn’t answer him because deep down you didn’t mind at all. he looked so adorable. taking a few steps forward you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a tight hug.
“god, i’ve missed you so much,” you whispered into his neck, not planning to let go of him anytime soon.
“what do you mean, i literally saw you this morning?” matt chuckled, fisting his blanket to wrap it around the both of you.
“yeah, but my week has never been this packed. i feel like i haven’t seen you for weeks,” you smile back, even though he couldn’t see it, closing your eyes as you immediately got comfortable from just his touch and presence.
slowly, matt made his way backwards into the living room, careful not to hit any interior, still having his arms and blanket around you.
“don’t worry one bit about it. at least we have the whole weekend to spend together, and then we’ll pray next week is a little different,” matt laughed at his emphasis on ‘pray’, gently removing his arms from around your shoulders to let you sit on the couch.
you collapsed on the couch, immediately throwing your head back in pure exhaustion.
“plus, it’s raining.” matt smiled excitedly, allowing himself to lay his head into your lap.
you couldn’t hold back your smile, his pure excitement from rain making you blush.
“oh god, i love you so much, matt. but don’t get too comfortable, i need to get out of this skirt.” you giggled, holding onto matt’s jaw as he got up with a fake pout, eliciting a laugh from the both of you.
“and- and then chris said i was pining for you, telling me to stop bitching and whining. so then i went home again and fell asleep. and with god’s grace, you walked into the hall,” matt continued to talk about his day, sitting next to you on the couch.
the rain was still pouring outside. occasionally there would be a thunder or lightning strike, but it only added to the atmosphere. not that weather like this was enjoyable, but both you and matt found it extremely comforting.
“seriously? what the fuck, you went to chris’s place to talk about me?” you laughed, taking another sip of your cup of tea.
you were wearing matt’s pajamas since he refused to let you use your own, a huge, heavy blanket resting around you as you and matt continued on with your conversation.
matt just nodded, taking another sip from his cup to hide his reddening face. there was silence for a bit, but it was comfortable.
it didn’t last too long, because in the matter of a second, matt was sprawled out on top of you, making you laugh loudly, attempting to push him off of you but still being gentle with your pushing and kicking.
the night ended cuddled up in your shared bed, the curtains shut but the moonlight shining palely through it. one of your hands were under the covers, holding matt’s, the other resting on his cheek. the storm outside seemed to be endless since you could still hear the comforting patter on the windows.
“i love the rain,” you randomly whisper, brushing a few strands of hair out of matt’s eyes with a smile. he smiled back, pecking your forehead with adoration.
“me too. it’s definitely my favorite type of weather, no doubt.” matt whispered back, still playing with your hair.
you nod, shuffling a bit around to get comfortable under the thick covers, but luckily you weren’t too hot or too cold. matt made sure to hold tightly onto your hand, holding you as if you were gonna slip out of his grip.
“but, i love my boyfriend even more,” you said in a sing-song voice, giggling at his face, attempting to look very confused.
“ohh. i wonder who that could be. i haven’t seen you around with a lot of guys recently?” he tried to hold back a laugh, tapping his chin as if he was deeply philosophizing.
you let out a laugh, making matt drop his act to join in on your laughter. he pulled you even closer, if possible, letting you rest your head into his chest, his chin resting on the top of your head.
safe to say, you fell asleep comfortably. nothing but silence, except matt and your’s silent snoring and of course, the rain.
it was days like this that made up to your week if it had been tough. tea, rain, blankets, boyfriend, movies, cuddles and kisses.
a/n: ughh when is it fall again? i need itttttt
taglist: @chrissgirlsstuff @leah-loves-lillies @toriinie @cupidzsq @lacysturniolo @iluvmattyb @ratatioulle @emma4eva @riasturns @sstvrnioloo @sweetbabydoe @elliewrites1 @its-jennarose @abbypost @chrisstopherfilmed @sturniolossss @ducksturniolo @junnniiieee07 @klaus223492 @urfavvev3lyn @vschrissturn @cicimayx @keerahsturn @sturniolololover @domaniquessidehoe @sturniolossss @orangelala @sturnioloslvtt@gwenloremain@k-l-a-w-s @pearlzier @pjmpcyy @mbsbaby
#matt sturniolo#chris sturniolo#nick sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#matt sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo smut#Spotify
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#A NIGHT TO REMEMBER, o. dazai!
a special oneshot!
description, it’s special to know how the other feels. to communicate is the best, though, dazai isn’t one for words but it’s fine, you’re the same. neither of you can put the feelings you have into words.
— story contains, angst, established relationship, swearing, suicide mentions, depressing talks, “no longer human” connections i think?, r! psychoanalysis’s i guess?, mental health, trauma talking, character deaths, if i missed anything let me know! gender neutral! reader.
“why are you writing this?” bc dazai is one of the characters i heavily relate to on another level. hes so much different from mizuki akiyama and satoru gojo. and this is just me talking a lot about dazai’s character and analyzing him… btw, r! wears a black blazer (or leather jacket) white button up with a black waist coat, either brown shorts or pants (maybe black of u want), underneath the shorts or pants are like black tights and slip on penny loafers.
long before you started dating dazai, there was an obvious connection that you only saw and felt. obviously, you were friends during those time periods because you worked in the same place, everyone there were friends.
though, the friendship you two had were entirely different from the rest, had the same humour but showing it differently. you wouldn’t lie and say that dazai flirting with you just to ask for a double suicide didn’t concern you, because it did. there’s no doubt that he’ll try and eventually succeed (although, death doesn’t accept him).
there’s nothing that can kill this man, no matter how hard he tries. you picked that up during one of his failed attempts, it almost succeeded if kunikida wasn’t there, you thanked him a ton. all he said in response is that; “i have to look over that idiot one way or another.” no matter how much dazai annoys his coworkers, they still care.
when dazai tries to commit and somewhat fails, it’s almost like he’s punishing himself for still being alive. you know his past, after all, you were in port mafia with him, even though you two didn’t work together or how he didn’t know you during that time, you sure knew him.
he was surrounded by death, in the port mafia and the ada, it follows him yet never accepts it’s his time to come to the afterlife. he makes these plans that somewhat end up succeeding though he hurts himself in the process, always worrying you. what if eventually death actually accepts him at some point?
dazai has been extraordinarily smart every since he was a kid to the point where he’s been dehumanized by dubbing him; “the demon prodigy”. you didn’t know anything about his parents, you did know what drove him to be tired of living. he’s tired living, bored by life and the people around him, to him, they are easily predictable and manipulated that nothing can surprise him.
he can’t find sense to the world but most importantly, he doesn’t find sense in life, he ends up reverting to extensional depression, continuing the cycle he lives in.
dazai has been exploited ever since he was 14 and taken into the port mafia by mori. he was kept alive by mori, by chuuya, by everyone. he was used until there was nothing left. he never had any love nor hope (that he’d ever have someone to understand him) until a friend he later brought up to you, oda.
he truly believed he deserved everything that happened to him in the port mafia.
you believe that younger dazai never believed that he could be better, but if he’s changing now than he always had the ability to change, just never tried. he was sure the mafia was the only fate he had and the only place to escape of living.
then oda died. dazai was free, with ango’s help of wiping his criminal records. without ango’s help, he would’ve never been free from mafia, though he knows his past will always haunt him, he’s accepted that. he also knows that his indebted to ango, he knows he owes him.
since oda’s death, dazai’s trust had ran thin and he’s always on guard, his ability to open up to anyone had been cut off because he can not lose anyone again. the things he cares about and didn’t wanna lose, is lost the moment he gains it.
his plans always evolve other people, rather to manipulate or exploit. you don’t blame him, if it meant surviving, you would do it too.
he is someone who jokes but never opens up nor can be his true self. he’s a wreck who will drag anyone else down with him, that was a price you had to pay for dating him. he repulsed the idea of love and being in a relationship with you because of how he’ll be afraid of losing you.
dazai dated you as a joke, to see how thing will end, until he realized that you were somewhat different. you were always one step of ahead, had almost the same ability that involved contact, and you had this missing glint in your eyes. that’s just the surface though.
dazai knows there’s more to you— he doesn’t know about your connections to the port mafia though— but he doesn’t bother bringing the topic up to you though nor does he like talking about it.
at nights like this, where he’s staring aimlessly somewhere and devoid of emotion, he’s completely vulnerable in your shared dorm. sitting on the couch, cheek on the palm of his hand as the other searches the cold touch of your hand, seeking for some company.
—and you’re there. sitting on the couch with him and a book discarded in your lap, only staring at dazai with a look of curiosity and content, he looks peaceful despite the war going on in his head.
(you were memorized by the destruction he creates and has, it was peaceful to know what beautiful destruction that dazai carries with him).
when dazai feels the cold skin of your hand, he could feel his ability cancelling yours out as your hand covers his, holding it tightly yet so soft that he wonders if you’re even there. dazai finally looks at you, face still devoid of emotion, watching you reopen your book.
“morning, sleeping beauty.” you hummed softly, an amused tone with your words. dazai groaned and knocked your book off your lap, kicking his legs up into your lap and laying down, now staring up at the ceiling.
hearing dazai go silent wasn’t rare, it was rather common when you two are in your shared dorm, but not hearing him say something stupid back confused you.
you turned your head to dazai, taking notice of his eyes that threatened to pour tears in front of you, “you okay, ‘samu?” knowing him for a while now, he wouldn’t open up and talk about his feelings. it’s fine though, you’re like that too, and you wouldn’t mind waiting forever even if it didn’t come.
dazai didn’t respond.
he never did.
he closed his eyes and if you listened closer, you could hear the shaky breath that he exhaled. taking his hand in yours, you placed a chaste kiss to his palm, the contact making dazai open his eyes slowly and sit up on his elbows.
“when are you gonna leave?” he’s says stupid shit all the time, it doesn’t effect you, none of his words effect you. it should’ve effected you but it didn’t, and dazai could tell by the unamused look on your face, “when are you gonna take your life seriously?” you lightly jabbed at him, hearing him scoff and mutter ‘hypocrite’ underneath his breath.
dazai sat up properly, scooting closer to you and grabbing your hand, setting his head on your shoulder. dazai’s touch starved but refuses any contact that doesn’t involve him initiating it, you’re an expectation, you’ve always been every since the relationship started.
silence took over you, the fan in the background aswell as dazai’s calming breath stirring you into a tired state, laying your head on dazai’s head (knowing the neck pain wouldn’t be worth it tomorrow).
“y’know i’d wait, right?” dazai hums underneath his breath as a response, “how do i know you’re not lying?” and you scoff. rolling your tired eyes, for a guy like him to ask you that question is amusing. “we’ve been lying to eachother for a while but i’m not lying about this, ‘samu.”
the former executive makes himself more comfortable in the crook of your neck, forcing you to lay down and keep him close, “i know.” the words came out muffled, and alas, his eyes are shut again and his sleeping in your arms that are now warm.
with him being asleep, you could pick out the smallest details about the boy in your arms. in your arms, he isn’t the former demon prodigy, in your arms, he isn’t a former port mafia member, in your arms, he isn’t a dehumanized person.
he’s just a boy.
osamu dazai isn’t one for words, but it’s okay, because you’re not one for words either. it’s gonna be like that for awhile, or forever, only time could tell. dazai knows this; you know this. and since dazai’s betrayal to the port mafia, he’s changing, but if he’s changing now, he was always capable of changing, he just never cared enough to try.
osamu dazai isn’t one for words, neither are you.
tick.
#⑴ kaz’s written works!#bsd#bungou stray dogs#osamu dazai bsd#osamu dazai x reader#dazai x gender neutral reader#dazai x female reader#dazai x male reader#dazai x reader#osamu dazai#bungou stray dogs x reader#bsd x reader#dazai bsd#bungou stray dogs dazai#angst#dazai angst#bsd x gender neutral reader#bsd x male reader#bsd x you#bsd x female reader#studio bones
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nanami please with a darling who was injured by someone else 😼
yay more food. my dinner
You sigh as you open the door, taking off your shoes, placing them neatly in their respective places before ridding of all of the other things you brought outside with you. Keys, purse, you kept the small bag of groceries in hand for cooking tonight's dinner. The sun was going down and the sky was turning dark. Kento should be off of work by now.
You sigh once more, eyebrow twitching as you ignore the pang of pain in your lower stomach. You wash your hands before washing the vegetables and turning on the stove. How were you to hide this from him? I mean, you did a great job at patching the wound, making sure the bandages didn't show. I mean.....it wasn't that bad. Just a small robbery accident. It's not like you lost any of your personal items. Your face scrunches in stress as you continue to quickly chop the vegetables.
An hour passes when the front door unlocks. Kento steps through the front door and his shoulders relax at the smell of dinner wafting up his nose. You always knew how to settle him when the day ends. The thought of you puts a smile to his lips as he takes off his shoes, placing them in their respective places as well. He was going to turn around when he felt the familiar warmth of your hand on his shoulder and he turns, seeing your pleasant and radiating smile. "Hey, honey." He murmurs, pressing a soft peck to your lips, and wrapping his arms around your waist. He melts into the soft hug you both share.
"Hey," You reply, "How was work?" He almost pulls you back into the hug when you let go of him and begin taking off his cream colored blazer. "Not much different," you place the blazer on a hanger in the closet and Kento loosens his tie, willing himself to walk towards the kitchen instead of following you. "Just wish I didn't have to spend my time with that unsufferable freak for any longer than 2 minutes. Or 2 hours, for that fact." Nanami rolls his eyes as he recalls the memory of spending his time attempting to exercise a curse with Gojo.
"You mean Gojo? I haven't seen him in a while. How's he been?" You follow him into the kitchen and check on the chuck roast in the oven. Nanami scoffs. "Doesn't matter. I would rather not entertain the thought of him...at least not when I can talk about you." He waits for you to close the oven before softly smiling at you.
"How's your day been? Gone out somewhere? Did anything fun?"
Nanami allowed you to roam freely within the house without him having to watch you a year after kidnapping you. And it took a second year to get him to trust you to never leave the city, and do almost anything you want outside the house without his supervision. When you first were captured, you never ever asked him if you could leave. Because you knew eventually, if you played the long game, you could go back to living as normal as possible. Nanami wasn't.....a bad captor. He certainly was a horrible man deep down, but he never hurt you. Besides, you didn't have to do anything other than be his "wife". You didn't have a job and he always told you to use his card. So you had all of the time in the world to do whatever you pleased.
When you first left without his supervision, it was basically like he was there with the amount of times he called you and texted you to know where you were. You constantly sent him photos of the things you were getting, selfies of yourself, and calling multiple times to "make sure you were alright". He was at the front door already waiting for you when you came back. He was so relieved and was very proud of your behavior, which eventually led to him rewarding you when bedtime came.
You worked so hard to get to this point. And you would rather jump into a boiling pot of water than have your freedom that you worked so hard for taken away from you. The chains. The hand-feeding. The baths. You hated it all. He didn't even let you look at clocks for some reason. You only knew how long it had been since he kidnapped you when your birthday came around. And since then, the dynamic had finally formed into something you could work with.
A pang of pain once again struck you when he asked you that question. You forgot to take pain meds and internally cursed to yourself. You had to hide it from him.
"I went to that coffee shop that you recommended to me. And you were right, it was really nice. I loved their Chai Tea and chocolate chip muffins. We should go sometime." Kento held your hands and stared at you as you spoke. He could stare at you for hours and never get bored. You continued, "Then I went back home to do some cleaning. And when I finished, I realized that I wanted to make roast for dinner, so I left out again to go to the grocery store."
Kento nodded and lightly squeezed your hands. "So I got the groceries," Got shoved into an alleyway and was straddled by the biggest man you've ever seen. Your purse and groceries were knocked out of your hands onto the ground. The man smelled disgusting and his breath wasn't any better. He had a knife in his back pocket, you could see it. When you struggled to get off of him, he pulled it out, immediately going for your throat. You dodged and managed to sock him in his face, which threw him off. You shoved him off of you and scrambled to stand up. He crawled towards you, attempting to quickly get himself onto his feet, swiping the knife in your general direction. Of course, your luck was horrible. It managed to make some sort of gash on your lower stomach.
You gasp more in fear than in pain, making distance between you and your attacker. Neither of you were great at fighting, which made this whole thing so tough to get through. He growled, attempting to make his way towards you again. Your heel dug into his face as you kicked him and he yelped in pain, scrambling back. You took that time to gather your stuff, running out of the alleyway towards the direction of your house. You forced yourself to hide the wound and bought an entire first aid kit at a convenience store on the way back. You stumbled and took it to another dark alley way to deal with the wound yourself. You'd be damned if you were caught bleeding by Kento if he makes it home early. You downed a few pain killers, knowing it wouldn't be enough and opened the kit, grabbing the alcohol to clean the wound. The entire process was a blur, but you gritted your teeth through the stitches. Thank god for your suture training from that one high school internship.
".......and made it back home just in time to start dinner before you got back." A soft smile reached your face as you fiddled your toes together. Kento smiled back and nodded once more. "That sounds great honey. I can't wait to try it. Your cooking never disappoints me." He lets go of one of your hands and caresses your face, thumb slightly swiping under your eye. "You look tired, did you get enough sleep last night?" You leaned into his touch and nodded even though your stomach lurched in nausea. "Yeah." He muttered an 'okay' and kissed your forehead.
"I'm going to take a shower. And if there's anything else you need help with, come tell me." You nodded once more and watched him walk towards the bathroom. When he was out of your sight, you quickly finished up with dinner, taking the roast and vegetables out of the oven.
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It was around bedtime that Kento really started to feel the affects of his job wear him down. He almost seemed to be excited to go to sleep, immediately crawling under the covers when you curled up on your side of the bed. You sigh to attempt and calm your heart. You were only wearing your nightgown and underwear as usual. But you prayed to whoever was in the sky that Nanami wouldn't touch your bandages.
You hear him turn off the lamp before wrapping his big and warm protective arm around your stomach. He sighed into your neck, silently pecking the area and closing his eyes. He rubs your stomach, getting as close to you as possible to share your body warmth with his. "Goodnight, Ken." He lives for the nicknames you give him and hums in appreciation. "Goodnight, baby-" His eyes slowly open at the feeling of a lump on your lower stomach. Nothing is heard in the house besides his calm breaths, not even yours reaches the air.
Before he can say anything, you softly grab his hand and place it higher to where it was before, eyes still closed. Kento blinks and thinks to himself. "Baby?" You stay silent for a second to pretend you're going to sleep. "Hm?" You respond. He says nothing. But he does attempt to touch it again, to see if he was wrong. You don't let him bring his hand back down.
"What's that?" You caress his hand. "....what's what?" Kento scrunches his eyebrows at your behavior and uses more force to pull his hand down, you don't let him again. "Y/n." You purse your lips and open your eyes. You fucking hate him for even deciding to even touch you tonight. You weren't ready. You didn't know that man was going to hurt you. Why do you have to suffer for the things others have done to you?? A deep force settles in your stomach. You've never felt as anxious and fearful as you did right now.
Kento brings his hand down with no fight this time. He touches the bandages once more before sitting up and removing the covers. He lifts your night gown and sees the long bandage that crosses over your entire lower stomach. "What....?" He shakes his head and lightly brushes his fingers over the bandage before looking up at your face. You don't dare meet his eyes and attempt to control your breathing before you begin crying.
"Y/n, what the fuck is this??" You sit up and hang your legs over the edge of the bed and Kento immediately crawls over the blankets to sit next to you. "Y/n-" "No. Please." You choke out a sob and wipe a tear that falls down your face. Kento brings you into his arms, caressing your head as you cry into his neck. "Oh my god..." Kento mutters into the air as he considers all of the possibilities for why you're hurt. Did you do this to yourself? Fuck, he knew it wasn't safe to let you deal with knives. It looked like a very recent gash, so it must've happened today. It isn't bleeding through, which is good...
Did someone else do this to you? His muscles immediately tense at the thought and his heart drops as he looks down at you. He pulls you out of his embrace and and gently pulls your hands from your face. Your bloodshot eyes and damp face breaks his heart into a million pieces. But not like how seeing that gash did. He coos and wipes your face of the tears as much as he could. "Darling, you know I love you and would do anything to keep you safe, you know that right?"
You sob again and shake your head. "Please don't...I don't wanna-" He cuts you off and tightly grabs your hands. "No. Don't even. I would never force you do anything. I just want you to answer my questions, okay?" He gently grabs your face and stares into your eyes.
"Did somebody do this to you?"
You stay silent.
"..........yes." You whisper.
Kento's face contorts into one of frustration. "Who did this to you?" Your ears ring and you feel yourself get dizzy with nausea. Everything about this just made you think you would end up back at square one. You gulp down bile that threatens to crawl up your throat. "Some guy....that I....saw when I left the store."
"What did he look like?" You shake your head. "I couldn't see his face....he was really big and tall. Wearing all black. 'nd he had a knife. He hit me with it." Kento nodded and pulled you into his arms once more. "Thank you for telling me. Thank you for trusting me." He kisses your forehead and caresses your head. "Good girl. So good for me. Can I check it?" You slowly nod and he creates some space between the two of you to peel back the bandage. He hesitates, not wanting to see the damage. His heart lurches when he slowly peels it back, seeing the stitches that were done. They looked neat and cleaned. "Who did these?"
You look up at him when he puts the corner of the bandage back on your skin. "I did." He remembers that you took a class for medicine back in high school and nods in remembrance. "Okay. They look great. But I'm going to have to leave soon."
You know what that means and make no moves to stop him from getting up. He once again hugs you before kneeling on the ground to meet your eyes. "Next time this happens...please, please tell me. No more secrets. Remember what I said about secrets?" You nod and mess with the edge of your nightgown. "No more secrets.....I'm sorry." He softly smiles at you and wipes any stray hairs from your face. "It's alright, no need to apologize. I understand."
He presses a sweet and long kiss to your lips. Reveling in the soft plush of your lips on his. A lingering taste from your tears fall onto his tongue, but he doesn't care. He pulls back first, caressing your face. "Come on, let me tuck you in." You lean back into the soft blankets and mattress, Kento brings the blankets up to underneath your chin. He once again kisses your forehead and smiles sadly at you. "Goodnight, my love. Have sweet dreams. I will be back as soon as possible and will be here when you wake up." You nod and stare at his face. He seems to have newfound energy about him as he grabs some clothes from the closet, taking them with him into the bathroom to change.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#reader#yandere character#jjk#jujutsu kaisen x reader#yandere nanami x reader#jjk nanami#yandere nanami kento#nanami kento#nanami x reader#jujutsu nanami#nanami smut#kento nanami#kento
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‘Babydoll’
Denki Kaminari x F!Reader
Summary - Kaminari is so horrendously down bad for {Y/N}, after school he volunteers to be your piercing dummy after you get a new piercing kit. 🤭
CW - slight smut, getting caught
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[ 2ND PERS. POV ]
Denki Kaminari, class clown and #1 flirt. This poor boy has it bad for you, he would do anything for you, he follows you like a damn puppy. Sure you had a crush on him, but you didn’t know if he was being friendly or not, because he did ask out almost every girl in your grade.
You’re sitting in class as you wait for the bell to ring, fiddling with an unopened box, as the contents inside of it jingle, sparking Kaminari’s attention. “Hey babydoll, what’s that ya got there?” He got closer to you, ‘babydoll’.. you loved when he called you that, but you roll your eyes, “wouldn’t you like to know, sparks?”
He smirks, a light shade of red brushing his cheeks, “new piercing kit, need to practice on someone.” His face gets close to yours, nose-to-nose as his smile gets wider, “Me! Use me!! I’ll do it {Y/N}!” he practically shouts, a few classmates turning their heads due to the commotion.
You put your finger to his lips, shushing the loud, beautiful boy in front of you. “Follow me to my dorm when the bell rings.” You whisper, “I like the sound of that, sounds like a plan” Winking at you, you look away, flustered.
—————————————————————
You’re walking to the dorms, Kaminari following you per usual. He’s behind you, staring you down, eyeing every little inch of you. He especially can’t keep his eyes off of your legs, as the flesh of your thighs spill out. Your black nylons thigh highs that he loved, one of them higher up than the other due to the friction of you walking around.
Denki had taken this walk with you many times, almost every day since the two of you had become friends. Except this time, he’s following you all the way into your room, you open the door and turn on the lights to your room, bed messy and desk unorganized. “Set your shit down and sit on my bed” you say sternly as you take off your blazer, kick your shoes off and loosen your tie. Kaminari takes his blazer and tie off, unbuttoning the first two buttons of his wrinkled shirt as he sits at the edge of your bed.
“How much damage am I doing today, Denks?” His face gets a bit warm, “u..uhm.. well I’ve never really done this before.. I thought’d you know what to do?” He rubs the back of his neck, you can’t help but laugh, “of course I know what i’m doin’, I meant what kinda of piercing you want, dummy”
[ KAMINARI POV ]
The thought of her, so close to my face, digging a needle through my skin, just sounds.. so hot. I snap out of it when she asks me what kinda of piercing I wanted, I must’ve given her a weird look when she begins to name different names of piercings, none of them sound interesting until I hear “what about an eyebrow piercing? I think it’d fit you, or snakebites?”
Apparently chicks absolutely dig facial piercings, I’ve seen the effect with Shinsou, atleast. Without thinking I blurt out “how about both? I can take it, I promise!” she lifts one eyebrow and smiles, “both? you sure Denks?” She gets close to my face, “..I wouldn’t wanna hurt you too bad” I rest my head on her shoulder to whisper in her ear, “I can take it.. i’m a big boy, babydoll” I can feel her smile, god I love her smile, I love every single thing about this girl.
[ 2ND PERS. POV ]
That sentence, it got to you. You even choked a bit on air after he said it, you turn around and put on your latex gloves, grabbing the needle and marker. Leaning down to his face, you start with his lips as you take the marker, drawing a dot on each side.
You ended up straddled on top of him, it was the most logical, and comfortable way to do this. You felt Kaminari tense up, “Uhm, what are y..you doing? {Y/N}?!” You smile, “chillax, it’s the easiest way to do this..” after disinfecting the needle and his skin, you put ur finger up to his chin, ever so slightly moving his face up. The tension between you two is insane, “..hold still, it’ll hurt more if you move Denks..” he smiles, as you begin to sink the needle into his lip.
He hissed, inhaling deep at the feeling, a small whimper escapes his lips “m-mm!”, one hand instinctively grabs your thigh and squeezes. Smirking when you laugh, feeling a bit risky, “you okay, pretty boy? That was some reaction” You slip the jewelry through his lip before grabbing another needle to pierce through the other side of his bottom lip. “..s..sorry man, I didn’t mean to.. heh..” his hand let go of your leg.
You hold his face again, as you take the needle and pierce his other side a bit quicker this time, thinking it’d help with the pain. “..a-ahh~” this time he grabs both thighs, a small spark of electricity leaves his hands as one more small moan comes out of him. His eyes become wide, your gaze meets with his, “I..I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I did t..that!” his stutters are so cute. “No worries, it happens” laughing once more, adjusting yourself on his lap, grinding slightly against his crotch. You look at him, his face a deep shade of red, then you look down at your legs, his hands are still squeezing your thighs, he immediately lets go as he prepares to apologize. “I didn’t say you needed to stop, I don’t mind” as you rest your arms on his shoulders, leaning in closer to his face. He looks so nervous, his shakey hands meeting with your thighs once more, you feel the growing tent in his crotch grind against yours. “You like this scene, sparky? Or do you like the pain of the needle deep in your skin..” he whimpers again, “a little of.. both..” That’s all you needed to hear.
You take the initiative to finally kiss him, after months of waiting you finally just went for it. The both of you moaning as your lips met, one hand trailing up to your waist. The pain of his fresh piercings was unbearable, but he sucked it up, he had better things to focus on. This boy is so fucking needy, he can’t get enough of you right now, he grinds against you, his left hand squeezing your thigh and his right one squeezing your hips. The kissing gets more heated by the second, slipping your tongue into his mouth, when you feel an unusual round object on his tongue, you pull away. “..Surprise?” he sticks his tongue out, he’s been hiding a tongue piercing for god knows how long, “you do like the pain, little freak..” You put your mouth to his neck, sucking and marking him a bit, then crashing your lips onto his once more. One of your hands trace down his body, his oh so perfect body, reaching to his pants, you play with his belt buckle as he moans once more.
He grabs your hips, grinding again before flipping you over to your back, he crawls top of you. Hoisting your legs around him, he continues to grind his clothed dick against you, he starts whimpering louder. He breaks the bond between your lips, as he leaves light kisses all down your neck, unbuttoning your shirt, as he desperately bites and sucks on your soft skin, marking you back. “..p..please, I c..can’t get enough of you.. babydoll..” God, that name turned you on like crazy, you wanted him and he wanted you 10x more, my god he was so desperate and needy for you.
He kisses you once more, as he slips your skirt down, your nylons ripped. He begins to unbuckle his belt, you squeeze your legs tighter around his waist, “f..fuck.. {Y/N}.. I..I’m not even inside you.. but you a..already make me feel sooo~ so good.. a-ahh~” You wanted nothing more but to please him, you’ve thought about this day for months, and my god so has he. So many nights of touching himself to the thought of you, he never expected anything like this to actually happen. He unzips his uniform pants, slipping them down when..
“OH MY GOD? Kaminari.. {Y/N}?! Holy shit dude!” You left your door unlocked. You jump up, and Denki stumbles onto the floor, Sero had walked in on the two of you. He turns around and runs away before the two of you could say anything, “Y’ALL, Y’ALL WILL NEVER BELIEVE WHO I JUST SAW SEXING IT UP IN THEIR ROOM!!” You heard him scream as he ran down the stairs to the common hall. “Shit.” is the only thing you could say before looking at Denki, the two of you start laughing hysterically. He sits down next to you, still laughing as tears form in your eyes, “Guess i’ll have to finish that eyebrow piercing another time?” A small laugh comes out at the end of your sentence, he looks at you, the eye contact is unbearable as he smiles warmly.
“Yeah I’d like that, but maybe we should finish that other thing first.”
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[A/N]
Is this what the people wanted.
I’ve never written shit like this before 🤙
#denki#denki kaminari#kaminari#denki x reader#kaminari x reader#fanfic#mha#myheroacademia#bnha#bokunohero#x reader#mha x reader#smut#suggestive#kaminari x y/n#kaminari smut#kaminari defender#hanta sero#sero#anime#anime boy#manga
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Hi :) I have a Larissa x reader request, feel no pressure to do this if u don’t want to and ofc u can mix it up and stuff <3
I’ve had this song from mean girls stuck in my head all week and I was wondering if you could perhaps write a young!larissa x young!reader fic based on this song? For example, Larissa wanted readers attention so she changed herself to be more like the popular girlies (perhaps morticia?) or asked reader to tutor her in a subject to spend more time w/ them only to find out that reader preferred her before she changed herself.
The song ends in angst but the fic could be however you like ofc. Anyways I just love the idea of Larissa being like cady from mean girls, tish being like Regina and reader being like Aaron.
If u do end up doing this- thank u sm 🥹 and if u don’t wanna, don’t worry :) I love ur work and I’m happy to read anything u write 💘
a/n: thank you again for the request! i really really hope this did it justice because damn, was i excited to write this! even though the song ends on an angsty note, this fic will have a happy ending <3
young!Larissa Weems x young!fem!reader
{other pairings: references to (young!)Morticia Frump x reader, Morticia x Gomez}
words: ~6.1k (oops)
warnings/content: slight angst with a fluffy ending, Larissa is adorably shy, Morticia is possessive as shit, sapphic yearning
You Don’t Have to Pretend With Me
A light breeze passed through the quad - the last days of summer were slowly waning, giving way to cooler autumn weather. The colder air raised the hairs on your arm and you felt Morticia’s arm slink loosely around your waist, her warm palm coming to rest on your forearm and gently stroking the skin there.
“Are you cold? Gomez, give her your jacket,” she snapped her fingers at the boy, who immediately began to shrug off his blazer at the command.
“Tish, I’m fine,” you soothed, leaning into her touch, your eyes darting subconsciously over to her roommate, Larissa. Her eyes bore holes into the stone surface of the table as she twisted her fingers in her lap. You shifted in Morticia’s grip and gently kicked at Larissa’s shins under the table, causing her to jump in surprise. A smirk graced your lips at the blush that crept up her cheeks - you’d noticed more often lately that the taller blonde was rather shy around you, and you couldn’t help but tease her a bit. You loved how easily you were able to fluster her, adored the pinkish hue that would overtake her face, a bit like your own personal sunset.
“Earth to Larissa. Are you with us?”
“Sorry, I must’ve zoned out for a moment,” she mumbled, smiling in such a dorky way that had you struggling to suppress your swooning.
“Morticia and I are going shopping on Sunday, you wanna come?” Larissa’s eyes lit up and she nodded, soft blonde curls bouncing on her shoulders.
You felt the arm around your waist tighten possessively and bit your lip. Your relationship with Morticia was, in a word, complicated. You’d been dating on and off for around a year now, though most of that time was admittedly off. You’d most recently decided you were better off as good friends, but sometimes Morticia’s flirtatious and rather possessive side still came out to play.
But Larissa, she was different… where Morticia was a little overwhelming, always in your personal space, Larissa was reserved, held back. Where Morticia loved to show off, Larissa expressed her pride quietly. Larissa was always so soft and reassuring, showing you so much compassion and empathy whenever you’d confided in each other. She was intelligent and quick-witted and knew how to use it to her advantage. And god, she was breathtakingly beautiful…
The bell rang, signaling the end of your lunch break. Thanking the heavens that you had a free period, you sighed and leaned into Morticia’s casual embrace to shield yourself from another cold breeze, waving goodbye to Larissa and Gomez as they headed off to their next class together.
—
As soon as he was sure he was out of earshot of you and Morticia, Gomez stopped dead in his tracks, nearly causing Larissa to stumble over his much shorter figure.
“Gomez, what are you-”
“Larissa, you like her, yes?”
“Who are you-” Larissa’s eyes went wide, then her face flushed as she realized to whom Gomez was referring. Of course he’d caught on - the boy was no fool when it came to romance, and he’d caught her staring at you when she thought you weren’t looking more than once.
“Yes,” she relented with a huff and an eye roll. “But it doesn’t matter, it’s not like I compare to Morticia anyway.” There was a hint of sadness in her voice, her blue eyes wavered a bit and she cast them to the floor. She was not going to cry, not in front of Gomez.
“Larissa, how could she not love you?!” Gomez lifted Larissa’s chin to hold her gaze and she rolled her eyes at the boy.
“What do you want?” She narrowed her eyes at him, critically searching his face for any signs of mischief - he’d never been this kind to her, she suspected he mostly hung out with you guys to get closer to Morticia.
Gomez let out a long sigh. “It’s obvious you have eyes for Y/N. And I’ve been trying to court Tish for a while now. Both can’t happen if they’re still all over each other. And I’d like to ask Tish to the Rave’n this year.”
“Okay… what does this have to do with me?”
“You have to distract Y/N.”
Larissa snorted. “So that you can make a move on Morticia. Right. And how do you suppose I do that, Gomez? Morticia’s all over her.”
“She’s very good at botany. She could tutor you. You get close, spend some time together, just the two of you. Give me time to woo Morticia.”
“But I don’t need a tutor, I’m the best in our class…”
“You don’t have to need one,” Gomez rolled his eyes. “Just pretend to need one.”
Larissa chewed her bottom lip as she considered his proposal. Just then, your melodic laughter floated from the quad and caught her attention. She looked over his shoulder just in time to see Morticia pull you onto her lap and tuck your hair behind your ear. Her stomach dropped, a familiar twinge of jealousy burning bright in her chest, licking at her ribcage like an untamed flame.
“Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll do it. This better be worth it.”
—
“Tish,” you cried out between giggles as the dark-haired girl pulled you onto her lap and brushed your hair off your face, tucking it behind your ear.
“Yes, mon cher?” She raised her eyebrows and grinned down at you, causing you to blush deeply and look away. Your eyes met Larissa’s across the quad. She seemed upset somehow, and you offered her a sheepish smile. Even with a frown on those pouty red lips, you thought she was the most beautiful girl at Nevermore, and your stomach did a backflip imagining it was Larissa pulling you into her lap, not Morticia. Maybe if you could somehow get her alone, if she weren’t so damn shy around you…
~~~
Sunday rolled around and that meant it was finally time to go shopping with Morticia and Larissa. Once you were ready, you burst into the girl’s shared dorm room, a wide grin spread on your face.
“Mooorning, ladies, are we ready?” You sing-songed, plopping down on Morticia’s bed and watching as she sauntered over to give you a hug.
“Nearly,” she said. “If that one finishes her makeup soon.” She jerked her thumb at Larissa who sat at her vanity in the corner, applying her lipstick. Larissa paused mid-stroke, looking mildly annoyed, and furrowed her brows.
“Take your time,” you cooed from across the room, before an argument could ensue. “You’ll look gorgeous.”
Larissa’s cheeks reddened, she quickly averted her gaze and focused on her reflection in the mirror, a slight tremor overcoming her hands. Morticia sighed dramatically and sat down next to you on the bed, handing you her brush in a silent command to brush her hair, which you happily took over for her, while keeping an eye on the blonde from the corner of your eye.
Ten minutes later you were out the door, following the roommates down the winding staircase of Ophelia Hall, trying to keep yourself from staring at Larissa. She looked stunning today, her long, silvery blonde hair pulled away from her face, curled into an elegant ponytail. Whenever she pulled back her hair, it emphasized her smooth, porcelain cheekbones and arched brows, drawing attention to the sapphire pools of her eyes… And then there was the matter of her style, so different from Morticia’s and even your own. A high-cut white turtleneck, with a long gold skirt and a matching coat. Oh shit, now you were staring. You coughed and covered your face to hide your blush and followed your friends outside.
The taxi ride to Burlington was a bit tense, as the cab driver was suspicious of outcasts, and Morticia’s goth aesthetic coupled with Larissa’s impressive height never failed to make them stick out. The three of you breathed a collective sigh of relief as you were all but dumped outside the mall entrance.
Morticia set the pace for the day, as she usually did, dragging the two of you in and out of various shops until she found something worth trying on, which was how you found yourself sitting on a chair in a dressing room, waiting for Morticia to try on outfit after outfit. For each dress, she gave you quite the show, twirling around and showing off, tossing you a wink and blowing kisses in your direction. You humored her, giving her the “oohs” and “ahhs” she so desperately desired, telling her which dresses were “simply made for you!”
Little did you know, Larissa was watching from the sidelines, absolutely seething. Seeing how you responded to Morticia, to the dark, provocative things Morticia tried on… so completely the opposite of the conservative, drab things she herself normally wore. If she was going to get your attention, she was going to have to step up her game.
“Larissa, did you find anything?” You asked her softly, noticing that the blonde was lost in her own thoughts.
“I did, in fact,” she answered rather smugly, brushing past you towards a changing room and all but slamming the door behind her.
Minutes later, the door to Larissa’s changing room opened. She emerged and your breath caught in your throat.
“Rissa?” She looked… different, that was for sure. The sleeveless black gown was a stark contrast to her alabaster skin, you racked your brain but you weren’t sure you’d ever seen her wear all black before. It clung to her curves like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination, bringing a flush to your cheeks. Her breasts all but spilled out the top - you were sure you’d heard her complain before about Morticia wearing similar low-cut pieces.
“Do you like it?” She was breathless and looked very eager, a shy smile plastered on her face, cheeks dusted pink, and you thought it was the cutest smile you’d ever seen - you couldn’t possibly tell her you thought it was a bit… out of place on her. Maybe she wanted to branch out a bit? And you had to admit you didn’t really mind the extra bit of skin showing. You bit your lip and nodded, relishing in the grin that spread across her face at your approval.
“God, I’m exhausted after all that shopping,” you giggled a short while later, as the three of you stood in line at the food court. “I can’t wait to sit down and eat.”
“Rest your head on my shoulder, mon cher, it’s the perfect height,” Morticia cooed, drawing you into her and allowing you to rest against her. You hummed absentmindedly and Larissa’s shoulders stiffened from where she towered over the two of you. You eyed her with interest, wondering why she was suddenly so tense, but you didn’t have time to linger on the thought as Morticia pushed you up to the counter to order lunch for the three of you.
~~~
You were always the first to arrive to botany class, and as such you saved your friends' seats around you. Soon after, Morticia arrived, Gomez trailing behind her like a lost puppy. She slid into the empty chair next to you and Gomez took a seat at the table behind you.
“Where’s Larissa?” You craned your neck towards the door, wondering if you’d somehow missed her.
Morticia let out a groan and pinched the bridge of her nose. “She’s having some sort of identity crisis. She’s coming.” She sounded annoyed, and just as you were about to ask her what exactly she meant by “identity crisis”, Larissa walked into the classroom.
It quickly became apparent what Morticia had meant. The girl had traded her signature cherry-red lipstick for something darker, a plum color similar to what Morticia generally opted for, and even her eye makeup was considerably darker than usual. She also seemed… shorter somehow? You couldn’t quite place it, but she didn’t seem to tower over everyone quite as much as she usually did. She took her place behind you, next to Gomez, and you turned around, worry marring your features.
“Larissa, are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Her eyes widened imperceptibly, brows knitting together as she offered you an unnerving grin.
“It’s just… yeah. Nevermind. You look good,” you offered weakly, smiling and turning back around as your botany teacher, Ms. Morrison, was starting the lesson.
“Miss Weems, we’re looking at Triphyophyllum peltatum today. Could you be so kind as to tell the class which family this plant belongs to?”
“Umm… is it Droseraceae?”
Ms. Morrison’s brow creased. “Unfortunately, Miss Weems, that is incorrect. I expected better from you.”
You stole a glance at Larissa, who gazed sheepishly down at her desk. It went like this a few more times, Larissa answering questions incorrectly and Ms. Morrison becoming increasingly more annoyed.
When the bell rang, you felt a hand on your shoulder. Looking up, it belonged to Larissa. She was definitely closer to your height now. Weird. You were brought out of your daze at her next words.
“You’re good at botany, right?” She fiddled nervously with the hem of her blazer.
“I mean, I think I’m pretty decent, yeah.”
“Well… clearly I’m pretty shit at it. There’s no way I’m passing the midterm like this. Do you think you could tutor me this semester?”
You were taken aback by the request - you’d always thought Larissa was intelligent, way smarter than you were, she was top of nearly every class. You’d never dreamed of having to tutor her in anything. But judging by today’s lesson she really was struggling, and you would never pass up the opportunity to finally get to spend some one on one time with her - away from Morticia’s prying eyes, no less.
“Of course, Larissa. I would love to. How about you come to my room after dinner, my roommate won’t be there and it’ll be quiet,” you grinned at the flush this brought to Larissa’s face. She agreed and you parted ways, spending the rest of your day with your head in the clouds, daydreaming about your study date with Larissa.
~~~
After dinner you all but ran up to your dorm room. This would be the first time you’d spent time alone with Larissa and even though you knew it was only a study date, you wanted to impress her anyway. You freshened up your makeup and decided to throw on your favorite forest green cardigan, just as you heard a knock on your door.
With a deep breath, you opened the door. Larissa stood before you, her makeup still, well, extremely overdone. She wore a short skirt paired with a black, lacy blouse that had nearly all the buttons undone, drawing attention to her cleavage and the scarlet bra she wore underneath. You gulped and drew your attention back to her face, stepping back a bit to allow Larissa to step into your room and (hopefully) giving you time to cool the blush on your cheeks.
“Make yourself comfortable. Do you want something to drink? Tabitha convinced Ms. Morrison to let us get a mini fridge in here and we just stocked it up last weekend. Or I could make you tea or something?”
“Tea would be lovely,” Larissa smiled shyly, sitting gingerly at the edge of your bed and playing with the hem of her skirt.
You plugged in your electric kettle and waited for the water to boil, a comfortable silence falling over the dorm room as you prepared two mugs. The tea bags were on a shelf next to your desk, just out of your reach, and you grunted as you pushed yourself onto your toes, stretching out to grasp for the box.
“Rissa,” you complained loudly, turning towards her and giving her your best pitiful pout. “I’m too short. Can you reach the tea bags for me?”
Larissa made to stand up, then hesitated a moment, hovering over the edge of the bed. “Umm… I don’t know. I… yeah I’ll see…” she stepped over to the shelf, reaching towards the box but her arm wasn’t quite long enough. “Sorry… I can just climb on the desk though, it’s fine.” She seemed frustrated with herself as she clambered up in order to reach the shelf and pull down the box of tea bags for you.
You took the box from her, eyeing her as she slipped back down and stood there awkwardly as if waiting to be dismissed.
“Did you shapeshift?” you asked quietly, watching Larissa out of the corner of your eye as you poured the boiling water into the mugs. Larissa nodded, folding her arms across her chest and seemingly caving in on herself, eyes trained on the water kettle in your hand.
You nodded back, not wanting to make her more uncomfortable, and handed her one of the mugs, a white mug with a rainbow unicorn.
“Soooo… Larissa Weems is bad at botany?” you teased, pinching her side and moving to sit on your bed, curling your legs under you and patting the empty spot at your side.
Larissa looked like she was about to argue, then thought better of it and swallowed thickly, coming to sit beside you.
“Y-yes, well I took a look at the homework that’s due next week and I don’t understand any of it, I’m afraid.”
“Then let’s start there,” you gave her a reassuring smile and grabbed your textbook from where you’d tossed it at the foot of the bed earlier, scooting closer to her until your thighs pressed together and you could feel her warm breath on your cheek.
As the evening wore on, you’d gotten a fair bit of studying done, but the botany textbook was soon discarded on the floor of your dorm room. The two of you were laying on your backs, giggling about something that had happened in class the other day, when you decided you were going to be brave.
You reached out until you felt Larissa’s hand, warm against your own. You threaded your fingers between hers, lifting her hand up and tracing the faint lines on her palm with the pad of your thumb. You could hear her breath hitch next to you, which only spurred you on.
“Larissa?” You turned your head to face her, waiting until your gazes locked, and for a moment the air around you stilled, your stomach turning pleasantly.
“Yeah?” There was a beat of silence, the only sound was the rustling of some leaves outside the window. Larissa’s eyes were wide, her lips parted slightly, warm breath coming out in ragged puffs.
The door to your room slammed open as your roommate stepped over the threshold and tossed her bag unceremoniously at the foot of her bed. You groaned, slamming your eyes shut and giving Larissa’s hand an apologetic squeeze.
“Y/N, what are you - oh, shit, I’m sorry!” Tabitha’s eyes widened as her gaze fell to your hand, fingers still intertwined with Larissa’s. “I thought you’d be done by now, it’s nearly 2 am.”
“It’s fine,” you pushed yourself up on your elbows and gave Tabitha a meek smile. “I didn’t realize it was that late.”
Tabitha offered you a salacious smirk as she crossed over to bed and plopped down, crossing her legs. “So what have you two lovebirds been up to?”
“Tabitha!” You tossed your pillow at her head and she let out a hearty chuckle, catching it and grinning at you, but saying no more.
Larissa was frozen in place next to you, cheeks rosy, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers.
“Can I walk you back to your room?” You slid to the edge of your bed and offered her your hand, praying you weren’t overstepping, grateful when she beamed up at you and took said hand.
Throwing a glare back at Tabitha (who had the decency to at least pretend to look ashamed), you guided Larissa up the two flights of stairs to her dorm room, apologizing profusely for your roommates utter lack of manners.
“It’s fine,” Larissa giggled, her hand warm and so very soft in your own. “She seems funny, and like she cares about you.”
“Yeah, she’s alright I guess,” you rolled your eyes playfully, having arrived at the door to Larissa’s room. “So, umm… I was thinking maybe we could meet at the Weathervane after class on Thursday? You know, to study… or whatever.”
“Or whatever?” Larissa’s smile unnerved you and your gaze dropped to the ground, you suddenly felt a bit lame for even suggesting it. Would she even want to go with you? Didn’t she have better things to do? “I can’t wait.”
You looked up, meeting sapphire eyes that danced with excitement. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
~~~
You stood in line at the Weathervane, humming quietly to yourself as you waited for the barista to take the order of the businessman in front of you. A pair of gloved hands came to rest over your eyes, causing you to yelp and jump out of your skin.
“Guess who?” The smooth, English accent of the low voice in your ear gave her away in an instant.
“Riss,” you grinned, pulling at her wrists. “Don’t scare me like that!”
“Sorry, it was too tempting!” Larissa pulled you into a one-armed hug, which you gladly reciprocated, enjoying the closeness to the object of your affections.
“What can I get for you?” The barista - Kevin, if his name tag was anything to go by - eyed the two of you warily. It was no secret the disdain that the normies held for outcasts, and even though you were used to it in your daily interactions here in Jericho, it still stung a bit.
“I’ll have a cappuccino. Larissa?”
“Could I get a hot chocolate please?”
Kevin nodded, ringing up your order. “That’ll be $6.00 even.”
“Allow me,” you swatted away Larissa’s hands as she reached for her purse and proceeded to pay for the order, then ushered her towards a booth at the back of the café.
“Thanks for paying, you didn’t have to,” Larissa’s voice was quiet, as if she hoped you wouldn’t hear her, and you reached out to hold her hand across the table.
“I wanted to,” your thumb stroked the back of her hand and she ducked her head, looking up at you through mascara-coated eyelashes. Your heart began to thump erratically in your chest and you considered closing the distance between the two of you as a shadow appeared next to the table. Kevin cleared his throat, awkwardly placing your mugs down in front of you and shuffling away.
You sat back with a huff, groaning internally at another moment lost to some external intrusion. Even when Morticia wasn’t there, the world seemed hell-bent on ruining every intimate moment you had with Larissa.
The girl in question took a sip of her hot chocolate, setting the mug down between the two of you and pushing it across the table.
“You have to try it, it’s the best I’ve ever had!”
Your gaze flicked down to the mug, eyes drawn to the lipstick mark at the rim. It was the exact shade of plum that Morticia always wore, you noted. You picked up the mug, gingerly, as if it would shatter in your hands. For a brief moment, you wondered if you should drink from that exact spot. Be daring, you told yourself. Your pulse skyrocketed at the thought. How would Larissa react? You locked eyes with the blonde, who watched you eagerly.
You chickened out, placing your lips on the opposite side of the rim and taking a sip.
“Mm, yeah, it’s really good!” Larissa grinned smugly, clearly proud that she’d been right to make a good recommendation.
You pulled out your botany textbook, deciding you might as well do what you’d come here for and at least help the struggling girl a little bit. She was a quick learner, which was good, considering you were finding it harder and harder to focus with her leaning across the table - her breath ghosting over your face, her perfume clouding your senses, her cleavage on full display.
Your mugs were long empty and the evening crowd was slowly clearing out of the café. The sky outside the window was casting hues of orange and pink on the table, on Larissa’s porcelain skin and silver hair. She looked ethereal in this light, her eyes glistening, leaving you entranced. Kevin was starting to sweep the floors, his gaze flitting in your direction every so often - probably a sign you should be getting up to leave soon.
“I think he wants us to leave,” you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and eyed Kevin as he moved to clean the espresso machine, his eyes wandering again over to your booth. You were the only two customers left.
“I don’t want today to be over,” Larissa admitted with a sigh, pulling your attention back to the striking blonde.
“I don’t either…” It was now or never. “Larissa… do you think maybe you’d want to go on a date with me?” You held your breath as you waited for a reply.
“Like… a real date?” Larissa’s eyes shone with wonder, her tone was hushed, as if she was afraid you’d take it back.
“Yeah, no studying or anything like that. A real date.”
Larissa beamed. “I would love to.”
You let out a shaky breath. “Perfect. Maybe we should get out of here now though, before Kevin over there bans us from the Weathervane permanently or something. I would hate for you to have to miss out on your hot chocolate.”
Your teasing earned you a hearty laugh and Larissa took your hand as the two of you darted from the café.
~~~
Larissa took your breath away from where she stood at the center of the quad. Her hair hung long and pin-straight down her back, her plump lips were painted a shade of deep purple, her sapphire eyes dark and sultry. Today she’d opted to wear the black gown she’d tried on when you’d gone shopping with Morticia, and you needed a moment to tamp down your blush before making your presence known to her.
“Hi,” she replied breathlessly.
“You ready?” She nodded and you led her out of the school and down the winding path to the lake. Butterflies erupted in your belly as the back of your hand brushed against Larissa’s, and your heart constricted in the most pleasant way as Larissa took your hand in her own.
You walked in companionable silence until you reached the docks. Once there, you tossed down your bag and sat at the edge of the dock, pulling at Larissa’s hand and urging her to sit next to you.
“Thanks again for tutoring me,” Larissa said softly.
“Of course,” you scooted closer to her, hearing her breath hitch as your thighs met. “I get to spend more time with you this way. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I think you’re really beautiful.”
Larissa’s gaze met yours, hope swirling in those sapphire pools. “You do?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“I do,” you confirmed, bravely tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, feeling her shiver beneath your touch.
“Sorry, it’s a bit chilly,” Larissa giggled, and you took the opportunity to pull her into you, rubbing your palms gently over her bare arms.
“I mean, yeah, you’re barely wearing anything,” you retorted, burying your face in her neck, dangerously close to her cleavage, breathing in her intoxicating scent. It completely overwhelmed you, made you dizzy with desire, and you had to place a hand on Larissa’s thigh to steady yourself.
“I mean, apparently it worked,” she leaned back slightly to wink at you, causing your heart to flutter. “Like pretending I needed a tutor.”
“Wait… what? Pretending?” What did she mean pretending?
“Yeah…” Larissa twisted her fingers in her lap. “I-I pretended to be bad at botany to get you to talk to me.”
You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You’d never thought Larissa would lie to you like that. Morticia had manipulated you during your relationship, you knew that much, you were even used to it, but Larissa? You thought she was different.
“Why didn’t you just talk to me?”
“Because of Morticia. Because you were her property.”
“Her property?” That had you seething. You were no one’s property.
“No, shut up, not property-” Larissa’s eyes were wide with panic now, she tried to lay a gentle hand on your arm but you pulled away as if you’d been burned, sitting back on your heels.
“No, don’t tell me to shut up! You are like a clone of Morticia!”
Larissa’s dark lips fell into a pout, her chin began to wobble. “No, wait - I mean, I just thought you liked that… you like her!”
“I liked you more. The old you. Not whatever this is.” You waved a dismissive hand over Larissa’s form, causing her to shrink back and cross her arms over her chest. You almost felt bad at how insecure she looked, but you were too angry to care.
“Is that why you’re wearing all this? Is that what the makeup is? Because you think I want you to look like Morticia?” you spat out. You’d spent the last year with Morticia, you didn’t want to spend another year with her clone. You’d really liked Larissa the way she was.
Larissa flinched at your tone, at the pure venom dripping from every word. “Morticia looks really good,” she shrugged, eyes downcast, twisting her hair between her fingers as her eyes began to water.
“I don’t care what Morticia looks like. That’s just her style. I liked your style. I liked how you looked.” You stood up, slinging your bag over your shoulder and turning on your heel, before chancing a final glance at the blonde.
“And you know what?” Larissa looked up, watery eyes meeting yours, pale tear tracks streaking her cheeks. “You didn’t need to shapeshift to impress me.” Larissa bit her lip as you stormed off back towards your dorm, not stopping until you were facedown in your bed. You were eternally grateful that Tabitha had chosen that evening to spend the night with her boyfriend (“just in case you and Larissa need some alone time”, she’d said with a wink, you recalled bitterly).
The tears flowed freely then and you allowed yourself to cry into your pillow. You couldn’t believe Larissa had betrayed you like that, that you’d fallen for something so stupid. Of course she was good at botany. She was good at everything - she didn’t need you. And did she really think you were so vain, so shallow, that you only wanted Morticia, that you only wanted Morticia for her aesthetic and her body?
That night, you cried yourself to sleep, wondering how you’d ever face Larissa again. Wondering if she really thought so little of you. Wondering if the Larissa you’d fallen for was gone for good. If she’d want you anymore. If you even wanted her anymore. Your stomach clenched and and your heart ached as sobs racked your body, only stopping when the first rays of morning sunlight began to filter in through your curtains and exhaustion finally overtook your body and threw you into a fitful slumber.
~~~
You’d successfully managed to avoid Larissa for a few days after that, but eventually you had to go to botany class. You were nearly late, and annoyed to find that Morticia hadn’t saved you a seat. Your usual seat was occupied by Gomez, who was doting on your ex-girlfriend - and she was soaking up every bit of attention she was getting. Good for her, she deserves it, you thought, at least she’ll leave me alone for a few days.
The bad news was that this meant you were stuck next to Larissa. She gave you a meek smile as you slid into the seat next to her, which you returned half-heartedly. You were happy to see that at least her face was devoid of makeup, save for some mascara and her signature red lipstick, and that her hair was curled again and pulled back into some fancy updo.
“Can anyone tell me which plant we’re dealing with here today?” Ms. Morrison asked.
Larissa raised her hand and Ms. Morrison gave her a curt nod.
“Atropa belladonna - deadly nightshade.”
“Hm. Thank you, Miss Weems. Good to have you back.”
Larissa continued to impress, even correcting your answer at one point as you worked on a group assignment, to which you only responded with a raised eyebrow. Larissa bowed her head and lowered her gaze to her own paper, chewing at her lip to keep from saying anything else.
The rest of the week was rather lonely. Morticia was distracted, having apparently been thoroughly romanced by Gomez. They seemed to spend every free period making out in some corner of the quad, Morticia straddling Gomez’s lap and giving the students of Nevermore Academy quite the show.
More than anything you wanted to talk to Larissa, but you didn’t know how. It was like every time you were in the same room, your mouth went dry. You were still wary after having been lied to - sure it had come from a good place, she’d wanted to impress you. But by pretending to be a ditzy airhead version of Morticia? Did she really think you were that stupid?
Divine intervention took over and the decision to talk to Larissa was taken off your hands when you were sitting in the quad, reading, knees tucked under your chin, as a shadow appeared behind you.
“Hey.” Your heart clenched as you realized how much you’d missed that soft voice.
“Larissa,” you looked up at the taller girl - she was definitely back to her normal height, as she now towered over you again.
“May I sit?” She crossed her arms defensively over her chest as she waited for a response.
“Of course,” you scooted over to give her more space. She left a few inches between the two of you, and seemed rather stiff.
“Those two won’t leave each other alone, I can barely go back to my room. They’re just so damn loud all the time.” There was a hint of annoyance in Larissa’s tone and you followed her gaze towards Morticia and Gomez, who were enjoying each other’s company on the other side of the quad.
You snorted, closing your book and watching the pair with amusement. “You could always come to my room,” you offered, somewhat unsure about your proposal but knowing that, despite everything, you’d love to spend more time with her.
You heard a sharp intake of breath and turned to watch Larissa’s face carefully - she seemed to be grappling with something.
“I wanted to apologize for the way I acted,” Larissa began timidly, “I made an assumption and it appears I was wrong. I thought you would like me more if I changed myself. I didn’t think I was interesting enough to compete with Morticia, because I’ve always been second best to her. I didn’t think this would be any different.”
“Well I don’t think you’re second best at all… not to me anyway,” you took Larissa’s hand in yours and laced your fingers together. “I fell for you long before you decided to become some sort of weird Morticia clone.” It had slipped out before you knew what you were saying, and a heat rose in your cheeks, all the way to the tips of your ears.
“You fell for me, huh?” Larissa’s cheeks looked just as pink as yours felt.
“Maybe,” you whispered, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
“Then maybe you wouldn’t mind going to the Rave’n with me?” Larissa met your gaze, cocking her head to the side in question.
“Yes! I mean no, no I wouldn’t mind!” You blurted out, internally scolding yourself for seeming so eager. Larissa let out the breath she was holding.
“Be sure to ditch that ghastly makeup though. It may suit Morticia but I much prefer your lipstick.” You winked and Larissa’s lips twitched up into a hesitant smile.
Larissa leaned in, placing a chaste kiss at the corner of your mouth, leaving behind a light stain of red lipstick and causing your heart to flutter pleasantly.
Suddenly, long arms enveloped you and dragged you onto her lap, drawing a loud squeak from your chest.
“Since when has the Larissa Weems gotten so bold?” you teased after regaining your composure.
Larissa sunk her teeth into her plush lower lip, clearly weighing her next words carefully. “Since I saw Morticia do that and decided I wanted to know what it was like.”
“And?” You were breathless, you were both breathless.
“I think I could get used to it.”
-
thank you to @afeatherformills for the beta, as well as my gf for swooping in with some last minute ideas to save my ass lmao.
tags for those who may be interested: @orchidsshine @sapphicsbeloved @scumppa @zephyr-is-tired
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❥ 𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚
trent frederic.
word count: 7.1k
warning: explicit content
"she can get a taste" — tyga
- - -
ALLISON
Trent Frederic.
Only the most annoying neighbor someone could possibly have. His snarky personality, his cocky demeanor, his massive ego…wildly unpleasant, to put it plainly.
I only know him because of Brady—my best friend. He has been since we were kids. I went to school with him for years, so it was only natural that we ended up gravitating toward one another. Not to mention we lived only one street away from each other.
When I started to go over to his house, I met his older brother, Matthew. I ended up becoming closer with him over the years, as well as their younger sister, Taryn.
Trent was friends with Matthew. They were only a year older than me and Brady, but Trent just loved to act like I was so much younger. He was usually at their house whenever I was, so I had the displeasure of seeing him more often than I would’ve liked to.
He’s the only person I know who calls me “Al”. And boy, do I hate it. I’ve told him countless times that I despise it, but he refuses to call me anything else. He knows it pisses me off—that’s why he does it.
In 2016, Matthew and Trent got drafted into the NHL. I was upset at the time about Matthew leaving—as I said, we had gotten close—but I felt a sense of relief that Trent would eventually be all the way out in Boston after college. I would barely have to see him anymore.
Then, Brady got drafted in 2018, and it was just me and Taryn.
Every year, the Tkachuks would host this big party and invite a bunch of people for Christmas. It was always fun for us, especially as kids. For a few years after the kids got drafted, they would continue the tradition. It’s gotten harder for them, though, and they eventually stopped doing it as a whole.
This year, they did something different. It would just be the kids—Matthew, Brady, Taryn, me, a few other friends…and Trent. I’d be seeing him for the first time in a few years.
Great.
- - -
I walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell, then waited for an answer. Not long after, it swung open, and a familiar face stood before me.
“Allison White,” his voice rang from the other side of the doorway. “As I live and breathe.”
He looked…different.
His hair was longer; curlier than it used to be. It was gelled up slightly and a loose strand hung in front of his forehead. He was wearing a suit—a light blue blazer with black pants, and a white collared shirt under it. His tie was red with white polka dots, and a brown belt sat at his waist.
His arms were…bigger. And a thick, titanium ring wrapped snugly around his right index finger.
But his face was the same. It always has been.
“Trent Frederic,” I sighed, folding my arms. “What a pleasure it is to see you again.”
He chuckled and stepped aside. “Come in before I lock you out.”
“Alright, alright.”
I walked past him, my arm brushing against his, then slipped off my jacket and hung it on the coat rack. I flattened my hands over my dress, smoothing it out before turning back around. Upon turning back, I found Trent standing still, his eyes fixated on me. A few moments passed before he looked back up, snapping out of his state, and spoke.
“Come on, Al.”
“Really?” I rolled my eyes, “I told you to stop calling me that. It makes me sound like a guy.”
“Oh no,” he pouted, taking a step forward, his back facing me as he walked away. Completely disregarding my complaint, he shouted, “Al’s here!” to the rest of the bunch and I shook my head, following behind him.
After walking inside, I greeted the others, some of whom I hadn’t seen in a long while. Eventually, the group sectioned off, and I ended up sitting at the kitchen island with Taryn and a few friends, just talking and having drinks. Trent went off with Matt, which wasn’t surprising, but he found a way to keep coming over and bothering me like he always did.
He pushed past me—roughly, at that—as he came into the kitchen to grab another drink.
“Do you mind?”
He turned around, a smug grin shaping his lips. “Me? Not at all,” he winked, then pushed me again as he walked out.
“Isn’t he cute?” one of Taryn’s friends asked, looking at me. “I wish that was me.”
“Hell no,” I shook my head. “He’s a dick. Trust me—no you don’t.”
“Man, I don’t care. Have you seen him? I would let him do whatever he wants to m—”
“Oh my God,” Taryn cut her off, “shut up!”
I laughed, picking up my glass and bringing it to my mouth once more to take a sip. She wasn’t wrong—Trent was good-looking, sure—but he was nothing more than an ass. It wasn’t often that a guy was more irritating than him.
I looked up to see Matt and Trent separating from the rest of their group and wondered where they were off to. But the thought ended up leaving my mind as quickly as it came.
- - -
TRENT
Matt didn’t say anything when he wanted me pulled aside. He just elbowed my arm and nodded his head to motion me out. I stood up and followed him into an empty bedroom down the hall. I crossed my arms as he shut the door behind him, then walked over.
“What’s this about?”
“Listen, man, I’ve gotta talk to you about something,” he spoke, folding his arms as well. “It’s about Allison.”
I was confused when he mentioned her name. There wasn’t much to talk about when it came to her, other than the fact that the two of us never got along. It wasn’t exactly shocking, either. I only knew her in the first place because she was friends with Brady, and she was always over their house. It was like I was forced to see her no matter what. Our personalities clashed, anyway. She’s not all that different from me, so it came to nobody’s surprise that we wouldn’t exactly be fond of each other.
I rolled my eyes and sighed heavily. “What about her?”
“Before I say anything, you need to know that I was in the same boat as you before, alright? I didn’t believe it, either.”
“Believe what?”
He took a breath. “Allison’s got the hots for you, man.”
The laugh that came out of my mouth was almost instantaneous. Allison? Please. She’d rather throw herself into oncoming traffic than see me. And sometimes, I could say the same for her.
“Good one,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. “Seriously. You almost had me interested for a minute there.”
His expression fell flat with his voice. “I’m not kidding, Fred,” he said. “Taryn’s been talkin’ to me. She’s been telling me about how she mentions you constantly, how she’s all of a sudden taken an interest in the Bruins, all of this crazy shit. I’ve seen her more than you have recently and I’ve noticed it, too. I know you probably think we’re wrong, but even a bat can see it.”
“Oh, come on, dude. There’s no way that you actually believe that bullshit. None of that is even proof, you’re just talking out of your ass.”
There’s no fucking way that they’re right. She just roped him in with nothing to prove it but some speculations and he went with it. If she really felt that way I would’ve known it by now. And it wouldn’t just be Matt and Taryn suspecting it.
“She was watching your games, man,” he said, nodding his head. “She saw it with her own eyes. She went to her house to grab something and she could literally see the game on her TV in the back.”
“I don’t buy it. Just stop trying.”
“Whatever, man,” he sighed. “I just wanted to tell you in case you wanted to do something about it.”
“I’m not going to,” I told him, walking toward the door. “Nice talk.” I walked out of the room and back into the living room, then sat down.
I kept thinking about what Matt told me, though. She always hated me, I always hated her—that’s how it was supposed to be. That’s what it was. It was never anything more than that, and it wasn’t going to be. I continued to tell myself that he was wrong, even as the thought of him being right began to plague my thoughts.
He was wrong, even though she was caught watching games. He was wrong, even though she apparently would always talk about me. He was wrong, even when I would look over and catch a glimpse of her looking my way, then turn back around as if she was never looking at all. He was wrong. That’s what I had to keep telling myself. Keep convincing myself.
But even I didn’t buy it anymore.
- - -
The rest of the night sort of happened in a blur. Matt’s words hadn’t stopped echoing inside of my head, toying with my thoughts since he said them. They only hit me more and more as time progressed, until I was convinced that he really was right the whole time.
So I started to watch her.
It wasn’t often that I would pay attention to her body language—or anything about her, really—but tonight was different. She seemed to tense up when I was around, which would happen years ago, but it makes a little bit more sense if any indication of attraction comes into play. The looks I found her catching, more than once. The way it seemed as though she was trying to avoid me, trying to avoid even making eye contact with me. The simple shit like that just wouldn’t leave my mind, no matter how fucking hard I tried to make it.
And with paying attention to her came intruding thoughts of my own.
Like the way that the black dress she was wearing molded tightly to her body. Or the way that her hair fell down to her collarbones, framing her chest. Or how her legs were completely exposed, leaving me to wonder what they’d feel like wrapped around me.
“Are you listening?”
The sound of Matt’s voice took me out of my thoughts, prompting me to look away from Al and back at him. “Huh?”
“I said,” he leaned in closer, “why don’t you walk Allison home?”
“Absolutely fucking not,” she protested, folding her arms. She shook her head, “I would rather walk home with a gorilla.”
I pouted and brought my hand to my chest. “Aww. That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Al.”
She rolled her eyes and turned back to Matt. “No chance in hell.”
“Oh, come on,” Taryn chimed in. “It’s cold out! Then you don’t have to walk home alone! And it’s nightime. That would be awfully inconsiderate to make her walk alone, Trent.”
“Yeah, I’m with Al on this one. I’m all set.” I turned to her. “You’ll be fine, right?”
“Yup,” she confirmed, nodding her head. “I’ll be fine.”
“Mmm…I don’t know,” Taryn shrugged. “Sounds pretty unsure to me, doesn’t she?”
“You cannot be serious,” Allison exclaimed, then frantically looked around, stopping once she was facing the remaining group of people on the couch. “Brady!”
“Huh?” He whipped his head around. “What?”
“Can you please tell them to stop pestering me about this?”
“About wh—huh?”
Matthew sighed and rolled his eyes. “Y’know, that thing we were talking about earlier?”
“Ohhh,” he nodded slowly. “Just let him walk you, Allison. They aren’t gonna give up.” He turned back around and kept talking to the other guys near him.
“You know what? Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll do it.” I walked over to the corner of the room and grabbed my coat from the rack on the wall, then slipped my arms into the sleeves. “Come on, Al. Let’s just get this over with.”
She sighed as well and grabbed her jacket, then put it on and put her hands in her pockets. “Alright.”
“Thanks for having me,” she spoke as she hugged Matthew, then Taryn. She walked over to Brady and did the same with him. “It was really nice to have everyone here again.”
“Anytime,” Matt replied with a smile. “I’m sure it won’t be the last.” He looked over at me, a cheeky grin plastered on his face, then winked.
“Mhm,” I nodded sharply. “I’m sure. But it was nice, I agree. Thanks, guys.”
“We’ll see you again soon, yeah?” he asked as I walked to the door and opened it.
“Yeah.” I held the door open with my back and watched as she brushed past me, waving as she walked out. “See you guys.”
I shut the door behind me and caught up with Al, who was now waiting by the sidewalk. “You know you don’t have to come with me, right?”
“I do. They’re gonna watch through the window, I swear,” I said, walking beside her. “Better off just going with you and saving a useless argument.”
“I guess,” she shrugged. Her arms were folded as she slowly walked down the sidewalk.
“How have you been?”
She rolled her eyes. “If you actually cared how I’ve been you would’ve come up and talked to me tonight. You’ve had the whole night to do it.”
“Would you just answer the question?”
With a sigh, she replied, “I’ve been fine. There. Happy?”
“Yes.”
The rest of the walk was mostly silent. She didn’t want to talk to me—which was nothing out of the ordinary—so I just kept quiet. But the thoughts from earlier were still swirling through my mind. This could be the last time I see her for a while…So I decided to throw it out there.
“Hey, Al?”
She rummaged through her bag for her keys. “What?”
“So…Matt was talking to me before.”
“Oh, was he now?” she breathed. “I know. I saw.”
“He told me you have the hots for me.”
She stopped dead before the key could even reach the hole, then turned to face me. “What?”
“I didn’t believe him at first. I told him that you hated me.”
“Yeah. I do,” she angrily replied. “Wait—at first?”
“Yeah, well…He started getting to me,” I told her, folding my arms. “He told me things that got me thinking, you know? Even Taryn believes it.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“You were watching my games.”
“You’re fucking insane. I don’t have feelings for you, Trent. So don’t flatter yourself.” She stuck the key in and turned it. “He’s lying.”
“I don’t really think he is,” I argued. “He seemed pretty sure about it. I can tell when he’s lying or when he’s unsure. He wasn’t.”
“Fuck’s sake, Trent, that doesn’t mean he’s right!”
She walked inside to hang up her jacket and I stepped in, propping the door open with my hand. “If he’s so wrong then what’s with you getting all fucking defensive?”
She slammed her purse down on the kitchen counter. “God, do you ever shut up?! I can’t catch a goddamn break with you no matter what, can I?”
“Well, excuse me, princess. Apparently, I’m not allowed to ask you a question.”
“You’re such an asshole,” she shook her head. “I don’t know why I ever—” She fell silent.
“Ever what?”
“Never mind.”
I scoffed. “Seriously? You’re just gonna pretend like you didn’t say anything?”
She chose to ignore me instead of speaking. Silently, she grabbed her bag and put it down on the floor.
“Of course. Now you’re just gonna ignore me.”
She quickly whipped back around to face me and raised her voice. “Fine! You know what, Trent? Fine,” she yelled. “You were right. I have ‘the hots’ for you. I want you. You fucking happy?”
I took a breath as the words angrily came from her mouth. She finally admitted to the one thing I couldn’t stop thinking about the whole night, and yet I was still dissatisfied.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Why do you care, Trent? You hate me, remember? And I hate you,” she rebutted. “That’s what this is. That’s what it always was. We’re not close, and we never have been.”
I ran a hand through my hair and scoffed. “So after I left you just kept hating me anyway?”
“Oh, my God,” she raised her voice again. “No, Trent! I didn’t keep fucking hating you!”
“So what, you were pretending?”
God, she was infuriating. So fucking infuriating. But even as I stood there impatiently waiting for an answer I couldn’t stop myself from thinking the same thoughts from earlier.
She was hot when she was angry.
But she didn’t give an answer. She didn’t have to. Because I already knew it.
“Why? What kind of sense does that even make?!”
“Because it was much easier for me to keep hating you than for me to let myself fucking miss you, Trent!”
- - -
ALLISON
Before I could say anything else, he walked toward me and pushed his lips to mine.
I didn’t hesitate. I couldn’t. It was nearly impossible when his hand was on my face the way that it was, forcefully pulling me toward him. His other hand was on my waist, gripping it tightly as he kissed me.
I hated how quickly I gave in to him, how my body just seemed to fold without as much as an attempt to resist. My hand reached up and tangled in his hair as the other wrapped around his midsection and kept him close.
A low groan fell from his lips and hummed against mine as I took a handful of his hair and tugged on it. God, it was hot. He was hot. And I wish he didn’t taste so fucking good.
He tore his mouth from mine and moved it to my jaw, trailing kisses up to my ear and down my neck. Heavy breaths escaped my parted lips as the hand he had on my waist tightened its grip.
I felt his hand slide up my back, fingertips grazing the skin that was left exposed between the thin straps of my dress. The feeling of his fingers on my back, paired with his lips as they once again pressed against mine, elicited another moan from me.
Fuck him for listening to Matt. Fuck him for telling me about it. Fuck him for forcing me to admit how I felt.
And fuck him for making me want to do just that.
My hands moved to the zipper on his jacket and quickly pulled it down. He responded to the action and shrugged the sleeves down his arms, then shook it off and tossed it to the floor. A gasp left my lips as he grabbed my waist and walked me backwards, his eyes already having spotted the bed in the room down the hall.
The door slammed behind him and I soon found myself pinned to the wall with Trent’s hand firmly gripping my throat. He leaned down to kiss me again and his tongue brushed against my lips. I allowed it through without a second thought and the muscles in his hand tightened around my neck.
“Trent,” I breathed shakily. “Fuck.”
I felt him grin slightly against me and soon his free hand was on my shoulder, pushing the strap on my dress down my arm. I managed to shrug the other one off without his help and it wasn’t long before I felt him violently tugging the fabric down my body, enough for it to slip off and pool at my feet on the floor. It was almost ironic that I hadn’t worn a bra.
He hungrily eyed my figure and swallowed thickly. The warm skin of his hands grazed the exposed skin of my thigh as it trailed upward and I moaned again softly at the touch.
“Thought you hated me, hm?”
He slowly removed his hand from my neck and moved it under my chin, using a finger to tilt it up. The way that his eyes slightly narrowed and his lips faintly curved into a smirk as he looked down at me rendered me nearly speechless.
“I do,” I breathed heavily as his eyes bored into mine. “God, I hate you.”
“I’m not too fond of you either.” He pressed another soft kiss to my lips. “But you already knew that.”
My fingers curled around the lapels of his blazer and peeled it from his arms, revealing the tightness of the collared shirt under it. The fabric looked as if it was begging to be loosened, to be removed from his body. Or maybe it was just my own head that wanted that to happen.
His eyes never broke contact with mine as he reached up and loosened his tie, then pulled the red fabric from his neck and threw it down with his suit jacket.
When he kissed me again my hand reached for his shirt and untucked it from his trousers, then slipped under it and slid up, stopping at his chest and staying firm in its spot. No matter how much I hated him—or at least claimed to—there was no denying the fact that I couldn’t resist him. He was so fucking hot. And God, it felt so good being pushed against the wall by him and his goddamned frame.
His head craned to the side and aligned with my neck once more as he kissed it, leaving marks in his path. My hand maintained its place on his chest, rubbing it up and down while he coaxed more groans from my lips.
I slipped my arm out of his shirt and brought my free hand up to the collar. It didn’t take long for him to notice what I was trying to do, and he pulled back to allow me to unbutton it. Slowly, I worked my way down, and I was able to feel his burning stare as I looked down at my hands. I gulped as I reached the last button; the shirt finally fell open, revealing the toned stomach underneath.
A chain hung from his neck, which was once covered by the suit. The tag on the chain sat in the valley of his chest, highlighting its definition and heightening my desire even more.
“Holy shit,” I muttered under my breath. It wasn’t the first time I’d ever seen him shirtless—that came with being around him so damn much. But it was the first time I had in years, and that meant that it wasn’t the same as it used to be. And boy, was it fucking different.
I pushed the sleeves down his arms, my eyes staying focused on his upper half and barely noticing the fabric as it hit the ground. My fingers wrapped around his biceps and my hands moved up and down slowly, feeling the warmth of his skin under my palms. “God, you’re big.”
“Yeah?” he asked and I nodded in response. “I know.”
“You haven’t changed at all, have you?” I shook my head. “Still the same asshole. And still so damn full of yourself.”
He didn’t come up with a witty reply. Instead, he just kept looking down at me with that filthy grin plastered on his face and I shook my head. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
He rolled his eyes and sighed. “God, do you ever shut up?”
He reached up and grabbed the back of my head, then pulled me in, forcefully shoving his lips to mine again. By now, it was too late to back out—I already knew what I’d gotten into. No matter how irritating, how rude, how self-centered and dickless he acted, I wanted him. I wanted to keep feeling his hands all over me. To keep feeling his mouth on mine.
To fuck him.
And besides, how could I possibly have backed out when I was standing half-naked between him and the wall?
He moaned into my mouth as my hands roamed his bare back, feeling the hardness of his muscles for myself. The sound was admittedly gorgeous, and I knew it wasn’t hard for him to tell that I thought so when I felt that shit-eating grin spread across his lips against my own. So fucking cocky.
His hand moved downward and I felt his thumb pressing into the soft skin of my inner thigh as he grabbed it. He lifted my leg up in a silent demand to wrap my leg around his waist and I obliged, doing just that almost immediately.
I reached down between us and began to unbuckle his belt. It wasn’t exactly easy to get a firm hold on it while his hand slid up my thigh and rubbed it up and down, effectively distracting me and diverting my attention elsewhere. I finally was able to loosen it and pull it from his waist, but before I knew it his hands were under my legs, lifting me off of the floor.
The leather belt fell to the ground as I wrapped my arms around his neck, still kissing him fervently as ever. He laid me on my back, allowing me to slide up to the pillow and lie flat as he hovered over me. His eyes looked me up and down and he finally spoke, his voice in a rasp.
“God, Allison, you’re so hot.”
My eyes widened at the use of my full name. In all the time I’d known him he’d never done that. Not even in the times that we would get along. Fuck, I wanted him to do it again.
As he lowered himself down, his hand slipped between my legs, his fingers finally making contact with the damp surface of my underwear. He pushed the fabric aside with his fingers and slowly teased the now exposed area with them, dragging them up and down slowly.
“For someone that hates me so much,” he spoke with a low voice, “you’re pretty damn wet.”
Before I could reply, his finger was inside of me, moving at a torturously slow pace, as if he was barely moving it at all. And it was then that I remembered he had that godforsaken ring on; the cold touch of the metal hitting my skin was the reminder.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you wanted to fuck me.” A second finger joined the first as he kept up the crawling pace. “Don’t you think so, Allison?”
A faint moan fell from my lips and I nodded my head, unable to form the words to answer his clearly rhetorical question.
“Mm. That’s what I thought.”
He sped up the pace slightly, but was still denying me the gratification that I desperately needed. I reached for his arms and tightly grasped them as he continued to move his fingers. And I thought that ring was hot before…
“Trent,” I breathed, swallowing hard afterward. “Shit.”
He leaned down and kissed me again, muffling my noises with his mouth as his tongue slipped past my lips and tangled with mine. With each movement of his fingers his pace quickened ever so slightly. And with those movements came moans that spilled from my mouth, mixed with his name, their only purpose being to fuel his ever-growing ego.
He knew I was close. He knew he brought me there himself. And because I knew Trent, I knew that there wasn’t a chance in hell that it would be that easy.
Slowly, he pulled his fingers back and eventually out of me. He flipped his hand over and gently grazed my skin with his knuckles, the ringed finger slightly sticking out from the rest. A quiet whimper left my mouth.
“You like that?”
Of course, I fucking liked it—it was obvious. He just wanted to hear me say it. Under any other circumstance, I wouldn’t have dared to give him that satisfaction, but I knew there would be no benefits to it at that moment. Slowly, I nodded, squirming in his grasp. “Yes.”
Then he took his hand away.
I groaned at the loss of contact. “What…what the hell?”
He let out a laugh and brought his hand up, then used the same motion of grazing my skin with his knuckles, this time on my cheek. “Problem?”
“You know my problem,” I replied through gritted teeth, still holding onto him.
“I’m not sure I do.” He moved his hand to my chest, then slowly slid it down to my stomach, but stopped just before he reached my waist, leaving me on edge again. “What is it that you want, hm? Use your words.”
“God, you’re such a prick.”
A grin spread across his face and he hooked his fingers in my underwear. He tutted and shook his head. “Is that how you ask?”
That did me in.
That filthy fucking attitude of his. As much as I hated to admit it, I was weak. It turned me on. I couldn’t take anymore of the incessant teasing, the way he was doing just about anything to delay my pleasure. To make me squirm. So I gave into him, because I had nothing else to lose.
“Finish what you started, Trent,” I breathed, then reached behind his head and pulled him down to me.
I felt his lips on my neck again, but his fingers remained hooked in the fabric, still brushing against my skin. “You’re missing something.”
A soft moan left my lips again as I felt him flatten his hand under the fabric. It wasn’t hard to figure out what he wanted me to do, but now I was willing to.
“Please.”
The familiar sensation of his fingers—including the ringed one—filling me returned and I groaned as he pushed them in, grinning down at me like a bitch.
He knew exactly how to move them, how to get me right where he wanted me without allowing me to protest. How to bring me to the edge and make me want
to beg for more. The mere thought of letting him control me like that normally wouldn’t dare to cross my mind, yet here he was, fingers deep inside of me, draining every last drop of strength from my body.
Finally my body gave in and let go, his name spilling breathlessly from my mouth as I fell from my high. He kept the movement of his fingers up, his lips trailing kisses down my jaw. My hand wrapped around his neck and my nails dug into his skin, causing him to suck air in through his teeth.
Once my body stilled, he slid his fingers out, then brought his hand up to his face. He parted his lips, and one by one he licked each finger clean, starting with his index. His eyes never left mine as he did so, and the sight of it was enough to bring me back to where I was before. He hummed as he reached the last finger and leaned in closer to me.
“Shit,” I groaned. God, he was hot.
He chuckled to himself and brought his lips to my ear. “Mmm.”
I squirmed in his grasp as he pressed a feather-light kiss to the skin of my ear, then moved to my chest and began kissing a path down to my stomach. He hovered for a moment before continuing down again. He pressed another soft kiss to the waistband of my underwear and he continued to leave more atop the fabric as he moved down.
“Anyone ever done this to you before?”
I nodded my head sharply, looking down at his head between my thighs. Of course, I’d been gone down on. I wasn’t as innocent as I might’ve led on.
“Was it good?”
“No,” I quickly answered, shaking my head.
It was always the guys who claimed to be good that weren’t. And it wasn’t hard to distinguish the difference between good and bad when it came to that. It was just never great. But for some reason, I knew that he’d be the difference.
He nodded and used his fingers to slip the fabric down my legs, then moved back up and used his hands to pry my legs open. I felt his warm breath hitting my skin as he drew in closer, then his lips lightly touched the now exposed area.
God, was I right.
I’d never met a guy who could use his tongue like that. I didn’t even know where he learned to.
All I did know was that the same infuriating person I was practically forced to grow up with now had his face buried between my thighs. And it felt so fucking good.
“Fuck, Trent,” I moaned as my hand snaked into his hair, grabbing a fistful and tugging slightly on it.
A faint moan of appreciation left his mouth and his hands gently rubbed my thighs as his tongue flattened and put pressure down. He placed more feather-light kisses on my skin, sending chills through my body. His tongue parted my folds, sliding up and down slowly. As he moved, his nose grazed the surrounding skin and I moaned breathlessly at the feeling.
My hand pushed his head closer as my body desperately begged for more. My hips writhed against his face and he responded to my movements, squeezing my thighs and grinning against my skin. His lips closed in on my clit, his tongue circling around the flesh as he sucked gently. When he opened his mouth once more, his warm breath hit the wet skin and I groaned in anticipation.
If anyone ever asked me to name one thing Trent Frederic was good at, I never would’ve said giving head.
Until now.
My grip on his hair tightened and his hands slid up and around to my hips, then held them down firmly. My thighs closed, wrapping around his head from the removal of his hands. “Oh, God.”
No guy that I’d ever been with could make me as desperate as I was with him. I felt weaker than ever after giving into him so damn fast. I wanted to stop it—to push him the fuck away from me—but every nerve, every muscle, every bone in my body wanted to keep feeling him. I craved his touch, and there was no denying that fact.
He kissed another path up toward my waist, stopping at my hips and breathing softly.
“No, please,” I breathed, brushing his hair back with my hand.
But he already decided that he was going to stop. His lips disconnected from my skin and he sat up on his knees, looking directly down at me. His fingers reached for the zipper on his pants, pulling it down promptly and starting to slip them down his legs. I watched silently as he pulled them off, his underwear with them, and let them fall to the floor.
I gulped, my jaw clenched as my eyes caught sight of him. There was nothing left to separate us anymore. And I knew that we wouldn’t stay apart for much longer.
He pushed my legs apart and settled between them, breathing heavily as he looked down at me. Soon I felt the familiar pressure as he slowly slid the tip of his cock up and down my folds, the action prying a long, weak moan from my throat. I watched as his eyes began to close and he hissed, sucking air in through his teeth.
“T…Trent,” I sighed, sliding my hands up to his shoulders. “Please.”
He kept moving it against me, depriving me of the gratification I desperately needed. I was already tense—close—and he was making it infinitely worse. The fingers of one hand extended slightly upward and held the back of his head as I took a shaky breath.
“Trent, please, I can’t,” I stuttered, swallowing thickly, “—can’t wait anymore.”
Finally, my pleads were answered as I felt the pressure of him pushing into me. Fuck, he felt incredible. He leaned forward, putting his arms on either side of my head to hold himself up enough to hover over me. I kept my hands where they were, gripping tightly as he found the right position.
He began to move, slowly at first, allowing me to adjust to him. Gradually he picked up speed, his breaths growing heavier as he thrust his hips into mine. Long, soft moans fell from my lips as he moved.
The tag on his chain hung in front of my face, dangling back and forth, taunting me. He noticed my eyes following its path and took it between his teeth, closing his eyes and taking a long breath afterward. He sucked in air, a low groan sounding from his throat after and I tightened my grip on him in response.
“Oh, fuck,” I muttered, whimpering quietly as he lowered himself down toward me.
He opened his mouth and the tag fell. I felt the cold, condensated metal hit the skin of my collarbone as it landed. He moved his head to the side of mine, bringing his ringed hand up to my face and lowering his voice.
“Tell me, Allison,” he spoke quietly, his voice almost a rasp in my ear. His fingers rested below it, pulling my head toward him as his thumb pressed firmly into my cheek.
“Has anyone ever fucked you right?”
“Yes, but,” I slid my hands up and around to his back, my nails pressing into the skin. “Not like this…not in a long time.”
Almost every guy was the same—devoid of any passion whatsoever, just wanting a quick fuck; so why bother caring about how I feel? Selfish. All they did was take and had nothing to give.
But none of that was true with Trent.
He responded to me with a low chuckle and nodded his head teasingly. He continued to move against me, his breath warm on my neck. The distance between our bodies finally closed as he lowered his full weight down onto me, and a single arm wrapped around me, pulling me up to him by his flattened hand on my lower back.
I leaned up and kissed him again, allowing his tongue to slip past my lips again and he groaned softly. What I would give to hear that sound over and over again. Shit, every time he does it I fold.
“Fuck, Trent, I’m close.”
“I know,” he mumbled against my lips, taking a staggered breath. “I can feel it.”
His movements grew faster, driving me up the bed as I gripped him tightly, and it wasn’t long before I felt myself giving in and tightening around him. He hissed, sucking in a breath as I let out one of my own, the noise sounding as a moan of pleasure. His name spilled from my lips—more times than I’d like to admit—and I could feel him twitching inside, on the brink as well.
I reached up and scooped a handful of his hair into my hand, gripping it tight with my fingers. “Trent,” I swallowed, “please.”
Soon, he let out a heavy breath and warmth began to spread in my stomach, eliciting a deep sigh from my throat. The feeling of his release—the sensation of it coating my insides—was nothing short of incredible. I gripped him tighter, my body tense as his thrusts slowed.
“Fuck, Allison.”
The sound of my name flicked a switch in my brain, causing the relentless thoughts from before to resurface and whirl in my head.
He fucked you, the voice inside screamed. You’re supposed to hate him, and you let him fuck you.
But I didn’t care anymore; I was too busy relishing in the feeling of it all—the feeling of him. The way he was prying unstable breaths from my mouth and leaving my body feeling oh, so pleased.
And if that wasn’t enough to make me stop caring, maybe it was the burning feeling of him slowly dripping down my inner thigh.
After pulling himself out, his spent body remained atop mine, his chest visibly heaving above me as his head laid next to my own and his face found itself buried in my neck. He pressed a light kiss to the skin, then another, then a few more in the surrounding area.
“I don’t hate you, Trent.”
The words came out soft—he needed to know I was being sincere. It was the first time I’d ever said it out loud, but I knew that I meant it. It wasn’t until he left St. Louis that I realized the truth.
It’s been a long time since I’ve hated him.
His head lifted and he kissed me gently as his hand rose up to cup my cheek. “I know.”
My hand was still in his hair as I rolled my eyes and shook my head, gently scratching his with my nails. I let out a chuckle and sighed.
“Asshole.”
“I’m not that bad and you know it,” he rebutted teasingly.
A smile tugged at my lips. “Fine,” I gave in, “you’re right.”
There was a brief moment of silence after that. I took the time to look at him. To admire him. His eyes, his nose, his faint little smile—all of the things I refused to get to know before, yet they already had familiarity to me.
Before I could stop myself from saying another word, my mouth opened to speak.
“Stay with me.”
Without missing a beat, he nodded, then rolled off of me and faced me as he laid on his side. His arm snaked around my waist and pulled me in gently. By then, I’d already shifted onto my side as well, so my back pressed up against his chest once he pulled me in far enough.
“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere,” he finally spoke softly into my ear.
Another sense of warmth—this time from emotion—flooded my stomach. I giggled softly and smiled gently at the words.
It was then that I decided that I was going to stop worrying about what happened and just let myself enjoy it. Enjoy him. I left my distress to be dealt with in the morning. I was satisfied as long as I got to spend this moment with him, free of regret. So I relaxed into him and let my eyes flutter shut as he pressed a kiss to the side of my head.
“Night, Allison,” he practically whispered into my ear.
But even through all of tonight, something still felt off to me. And it didn’t take much longer for me to figure out what.
“Call me Al.”
#fanfic#boston bruins#trent frederic#trent frederic fic#trent frederic smut#bruinshockey#hockey#hockey fanfic#hockey fanfiction
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Married
re:preview no. 1 and no. 2
minors + bots do not interact; fic rec blogs without comments do not reblog
A/N: from a joke idea to a poor fic preview to a final fic ... here it is! and it took me a little less than 2 weeks to write this, so please take it with a grain of salt. also, ik that i said i hate childhood friends to lovers (for psych reasons), but jeno is just so friend shaped.
summary: you take jeno to be your lawful wedding date, in busan.
includes ... girl/afab reader, porn with feelings, mutual pining, strong!jeno, they’re both government officials with the city planning department, jaehyun (127) marries mingyu (svt) btw ... smut warnings ... sex dreams, lingerie, oral sex (f + m receiving), masturbation (f + m), fingering, spanking, 69ing/ish, big dick!jeno, choking/breath play, edging (kind of but not really), praise during sex but not like a kink, unprotected sex, and so, so much consent ♡
wc: 25,9k (again, i am so sorry)
again, minors + bots do not interact
“Hey … hey, wake up. The conductor hasn’t come by to punch our tickets yet, and you’re sitting on them.”
You gently pat Jeno’s face where the 5:30 sunrise glows, barely seeping down the half-shielded window; he immediately closed it, about five minutes ago, once the night ended, more irritated by the sun waking him up than moving beds from his apartment to train, but he still kept a small part cracked, as if wanting to relive the road trips home during Seollal, when you two, excided by leaving college at the earliest moment, would book the cheapest rides and get picked up before rush hour. Your long sleeves scratch along his freshly shaven jaw, like scrubbing pillowy softness into his cheeks, and he tries to ignore it – tries to ignore you, except you become extra annoying, squeezing his face harder until he has to slap your hands away to avoid sleeping on the empty hard seat beside him, the last one in this connected row, where his blazer, a less comfy pillow than your narrow shoulder, takes residence. Jeno slides his palm across yours, enveloping your wrists like handcuffs, fixing them on your thighs. You have to take a moment, tongue weighing heavy and dry. He never really lets you forget how strong he is, oblivious to it all.
Even last night, when you helped him last-minute stress pack (a.k.a. the real reason you stayed at the 00-Line apartment), you hopped on his overflowing luggage, complaining that one clap from him would snap it shut (or completely break it, but you felt optimistic!). Granted, your shoes sat on top of all his clothes, preventing it from zipping up without something weighing it down – which is why his blazer sits on the bench, not in his bag, or yours. You told him that he could put it in one of your bags, but you both knew there was no room, what with all your different wedding outfits. He deadpanned at you, hearing that revelation – the multiple wardrobe changes –, throwing his facial cleanser at your loose makeup bag (the one you ended up shoving in his backpack too).
But not everyone can just wear one suit like him! You have the pre-wedding outfit, before you change into your attendance dress at city hall while you help Jaehyun set up; then, there’s the dinner dress, which you plan on also using at the rehearsal dinner, and a dress for the real reception, and of course you need a backup in case something happens to one of those, in addition to the matching shoes, because shoes (and accessories) elevate the appearance, as you reasoned, which made him visibly nervous for some reason, as if you would leave him looking like an outsider with your family, the same family he has known since middle school. You reassured him that he will always match with you, and if not, Busan has a thousand stores to buy a tie … which would have the potential to also not fit in his bag, like the blazer, but you two – he – can make it work! He makes everything work, like a superpower.
Jeno end up wearing the blazer over his hoodie, to the station, giving him a needed second layer against the dark 16-degree weather. He looked more put together with it on, than he probably actually felt, especially considering that he only had 10 minutes to get ready before Mark drove you to the KTX station. Although, the façade breaks now that it’s just the two of you in the booth – no strangers, no coverups, no friends, no expectations; so when he picks his head up and his hoodie falls, navy fluffy hair sticking out at random angles, you stop staring at your hands below his and catch his bangs, tucking them back gently into place. You want to move him into your lap (it might be more comfortable), but not yet; the conductor still has to punch your tickets, and you don’t want to repeat Chuseok 2020 when the conductor scolded you for laying across the bench. Plus, you never really get the chance to do this with him, be this close to him, not that you don’t want to, or that it’s too hard.
You just … never get the chance.
“How are you this awake,” he groans, raising his analog watch into squinted view, nearly crying laughter as his eyes close again, cheek pressing into your shoulder, “at 5:37 AM?”
You roll your head dramatically, provoking more grumbles out of him that make you giggle as he jostles. “Some of us actually go to sleep earlier when we know that we have a schedule at dawn.” You graze your recently manicured nails into his scalp, mumbling through a smile, “You knew we were going to leave for Jaehyun’s wedding a few days in advance; you were there when I booked our tickets; he invited us to lunch because of you.” Jeno makes an objecting noise. “Ah, maybe I should’ve invited Haechan instead.”
“Hey.” Jeno smacks your thigh, his long fingers curling behind your knee to pull you closer. You gulp, praying that he cannot hear the knot in your throat. Apparently, his displays of strength are inversely related to his energy levels; the less energy he has, the more he uses his strength with you. But thankfully, he remains oblivious, poking your stomach with his furthest hand. He slinks up your shoulder, massaging down your tension to get selfishly comfortable, warm breath exhaling into your neck. “You fell asleep maybe 20 minutes before I did,” he objects, arguing the root of the problem, as if knowing that he will always be your first choice, “and that was, like, four hours ago.”
“Ha,” you laugh sarcastically, masking the new sweat on your palms under your sweater paws. You rub your hands together for a second, bouncing the heels together, before pushing him up, with all your strength, holding him there long enough – despite a series of complaints – to take the tickets from under his ass. “I wasn’t the one who said, ‘No,’ to coffee when Jaemin offered.”
“He went to sleep when I woke up!”
“Eh,” you wave off and lay him on your shoulder again, “Excuses.”
“You’re so mean to me,” he whines, pouting, cuddling you so tightly that your revolve falters, “I’m doing you a favor, and you’re being mean to me.”
You comb his hair again, soothing all the wrinkles in his forehead, not denying it. He is partially correct. You do take advantage of his kindness – merely because he offers it so nicely, on a silver platter; it is a reason why you lo… why you … why you return it so easily, albeit quietly, like now. He will attend your cousin’s wedding this weekend; he lets you overpack his luggage; he opens his apartment to you with wide arms. And in return, you paid for the KTX tickets and hotel; you reserved a slot at a shooting range in Jeonju where your layover stops; you let him fall asleep on your shoulder right now, even though you are tired as hell, too.
Besides, your cousin, Jaehyun, probably would have invited Jeno to the reception anyways. He invited everyone, on a limited occupancy, from Eunwoo to Jihyo. And Jeno , who once wished Jaehyun to be his older brother, is pretty close with your family. There is no way he would not end up in the family photos.
“Ugh.” Jeno sits up, rubbing his eyes single handedly with the arm detached from you. “Why did we agree to lunch? We could be sleeping right now.”
You laugh at him, tugging him back down easily, and ghost your fingers in his hair. “Mingyu has to finish up some work project before they can go on their honeymoon, so Jaehyun suggested lunch to give his fiancée some uninterrupted time.”
“Boo, they’re just going to fuck,” Jeno yawns, starting to fall asleep again. “You stay over at my apartment all the time, it’s like you practically moved into my room, and there’s no way you get any work done.”
“Ha … ha .. a .. yeah …” Totally not distracted by him, or how much freer he is in his bedroom, always wearing basketball shorts without underwear as it seems, always manspreading enough for you to see. It is definitely not the same thing. You lift your head to look over the seats. “Where is that conductor? We need to get moving.”
Jeno slides you back down. “But really, you got this?”
“Ye-yeah.”
“Alright.” He nuzzles into your neck, almost kissing your skin when he tilts his chin up. Your entire body freezes for a second, anticipating, hoping, that he kisses you, any part of you. But he doesn’t. And you press your lips together, eyes closing too, just briefly, as not to fall asleep. “I’m going to take a quick nap. Wake me when we get there?”
“Yeah, okay.”
As he settles into sleep, Jeno’s head slowly nods forward, and you cup outside his cheek, catching him before he falls, lingering your nails behind his jaw for a moment, for this moment, until you spot the conductor. Amazing timing. You sigh. Jeno’s fingers twitch closed, briefly, like a reassuring hug that you misinterpret – willingly misinterpret – as something more, like this is okay, it is okay to have feelings during arbitrary moments. You inch apart from Jeno again, shifting on your hip, into the aisle, and pick up the tickets again, holding them so tightly that little veins fold onto the papers.
The conductor comes by, moving ever so slowly, like he wants to help you preserve this moment, with your best friend unconscious on your shoulder, and as though he could read your heart, he says, “You’re a cute couple."
"Ha ... thanks," you smile politely, biting your lip, grounding yourself with a look a Jeno. He spasms in his sleep, hand squeezing your thigh again. “Oh, right.” You hand the tickets over, reality resuming. You try to cease your shaking hands between your thighs, shoulders raised as awkwardly as the smile on your face, but Jeno’s hand, his strong hand, splits your legs, so you give up.
“We still have some chocolates left from White Day,” the conductor informs softly. The entire world seems to calm down, or stay asleep, for Jeno’s sake, and you don’t blame them, lowering your own tension too. “I can bring some for you and your boyfriend if you like.”
You swallow thickly, licking the corner of your mouth, considering it selfishly because why would anyone reject free candy?, but you shake your head. “No, I’ll – I’ll, ah … wait for my b-boyfriend to wake up first. H-he really likes chocolate.” Oh, my God; be cool, you scold yourself, but the nerves make you feel bad, like you are too close to Jeno or you make him uncomfortable with other people’s assumptions.
“Alright,” the conductor nods, smiling at the two you, practically repeating cute couple, “Let me know. I’ll save some for you.”
After he punches your tickets and hands them back – an archaic practice, and vain, since you checked in electronically around 5 AM – you grab Jeno’s hand.
And, in his sleep, he weaves your fingers together.
Attention, passengers: we are approaching Jeonju Station in five minutes. Please collect your items; we will be stopping shortly.
Jeno yawns awake, lulling his neck tall along the line on the backrest, kneading the kink in his spinal cord that keeps forming after he sleeps on your shoulder (he should really move onto your chest). Speaking of you, Jeno reaches at his sides, left and right, fingers dancing into the empty seats, not even finding his blazer. He peaks an eye open, wincing as the full morning light assaults his vision, then he actively looks for you, and finds you easily, already standing, pulling down your bags from the overhead hanger. A wheel jams on the railing, making you lean on your toes, shakily, to get it down, but you look unstable, so he immediately gets up, the second he sees your ankles wobble, and steadies you by your lower back, using one strong hand to bring down the luggage by its handle, his palm lingering too long.
The timing hasn’t been that great lately, these last few days – months, if he’s being honest. Like, yeah, you practically spend every waking moment together, a side effect of knowing each other since middle school and now working together on a project for urban revitalization in the lower Seoul district, but there are little things that still separate you from him. Not enough to make him feel as if you are drifting apart as best friends, as childhood friends; only enough for him to notice that he relies on you to be his personal comfort, his home away from home. And maybe, he thinks, this trip can recenter your relationship.
So, he starts by closing the distance.
Except, as strong as he might be, Jeno knows he is unaware of how much he uses at any given moment, and you tense in front of his hand, instinctively jolting up and hitting him square under the chin with the back of your head.
“Ow!”
“Sorry!” you scream, equally cringing and grabbing your hair, before finishing lamely, not knowing how to help, “sorry. You scared me.” You step into his personal bubble, practically into his chest, and grab his chin before he can cover up the temporary pain, holding him almost as long as he touched your back, except he didn’t have a valid excuse to you that long. He holds his breath, as if a doctor started the inhale-exhale stethoscope check, but you stop talking.
“You could’ve woken me up,” he tells you, moving your hand with his jaw, staring at your lips, willing you to talk or break the beat. “I know the bags are heavy,” he says, which translates to I would’ve helped you.
“Yeah, but you looked so cu … so peaceful. I didn’t want to wake you until I absolutely had to.”
Jeno nods, fair; he’s done the same in the past when you were in college, especially after exam season, after you pull multiple all-nighters in a row but still make plans with your friends. Like, there was this one time, you stayed over at his apartment, a different one than he lives in now, one closer to Uni, for Haechan’s birthday party later, and you fell asleep on his bed while he played League with Jaemin and Jisung. He ended up waking you up about ten minutes after the party started, to give you a bit more than an hour of sleep. Needless to say, neither of you were the first to wish Haechan happy birthday, for which he only accepted monetary penance, but Jeno thought it was worth it, no amount of money enough, to see your smile refreshed and echoed in your posture.
“Hey, is that my blazer?”
You glance at the lapels, slightly raising your arm as well, as if you forgot that you were wearing it. “Yeah, sorry, I – I got cold.” You slowly take it off, shaking the sleeves off your shoulders. “Do you – Do you want– ?” Do you want it back?
“No,” Jeno interrupts, fixing his jacket by the lapels over your shoulders again. “It’s alright. Wouldn’t want you to get hypothermia”
Once it situates correctly on your body, Jeno trails his hand up your arm, rubbing your bicep, sensing that the cold probably got to you, given that the loud air conditioner in the back contradicts the clear sunny sky. Then, the train stops, violently, and you both reach your arms out to steady one another, ultimately falling against the chairs, his waist pressed tightly against yours. You inhale sharply, first, and he copies you, hands brace above and below each other’s elbows. Neither of you really stand this close to each other, having too much respect for your friendship. He can name less than a handful of moments: 7 Minutes in Heaven at the beginning of 9th grade; an awkward dance at your first high school dance in 10th grade; truth or dare during sophomore year of college; accidentally pressing against you in the copy room at work after the shelves in the supply closet broke and the handyman shoved a thousand boxes next to the printer. Jeno doesn’t know what is different now; this, too, is probably another rare occurrence. He has loved you forever, never making a move, but …
“Th-thanks,” you whisper, quickly pulling away your hands.
There it is.
“No, um, no problem.”
Wordlessly, you go through the unloading motions: you stacking his backpack on the roller luggage, him taking the duffel bag that you claimed was heavy. Jeno closes the distance again, putting his hand behind the small of your back, walking you preemptively down the aisle. You slump against his palm, resting your cheek occasionally on his bicep as more people file out in the front, and he lets you, slinging an arm around your shoulders, because the fatigue is probably hitting you now that you have to force your body to move.
Once you get to the front of the train, an exit almost like a plane since you sat in the middle of the cart (not the most coveted place, since you can’t recline or get out quickly, but the easiest to snake), the conductor greets him:
“Hey, you’re awake!”
Jeno points at himself, lines forming between his eyebrows.
“Yeah,” the conductor confirms, handing over a small bag of chocolate hearts. “I saved these for you.”
“Thanks?” He tilts his head to the side as he unwinds himself from you, accidentally bumping his elbow on your head, and accepts the candies with two hands – a clear bag of shiny pink and yellow Hershey’s mini-chocolate bars. “Why us– ?”
“Okay, thanks, have a good day!” you shout, pushing him into the station, barely stopping to bow before exiting the train.
Jeno manages to catch the conductor’s last words, something about good-bye and being cute. “Do you know what that’s about?”
“Nope,” you lie badly, and he gives you a skeptical look, which you ignore. “But fr-free chocolate.”
So he lets you ignore it, eating one. It tastes good, but he swears he hears you exhale in relief.
The layover in Jeonju lasts two hours, until a little after 10:30 AM, but it feels like two minutes.
You spent the entire time latched onto Jeno, supporting your caffeinated body through all the laughter and smiles – yours and his, as you surprised him with activity after activity, a thank you for coming, for willingly enduring gossipy aunties practically cross-examining him on the reception floor and drunk uncles at the karaoke machine who would otherwise be tone-deaf without the drinks in their hands. After the first activity – a short 30-minute session at a shooting range – Jeno picked you up with his knees, spinning you around outside the building, repeatedly crushing your torso between his beefy arms. And when he thought that was it, you Uber’ed to the Jeonjuchun River and rented a couple bikes next to one of the pretty pavilions (big mistake; you had to go back to the start and wait for him there because you couldn’t keep up without your ass catching on fire!). His dumb, wide smile made you want to keep going, plus you had a last planned surprise to grab coffee and pastries at the Mural Village, having called ahead two days prior to reserve a couple of their signature glazed donuts, his favorite.
So, it makes sense that when you get on the last train to Busan, exhaustion hits your entire body full force.
As Jeno packs the bags on the overhead hanger, you sit sideways on the chair, watching him, noting how his hoodie slightly rises, right under his belly button, confined neatly by the prominent outlines in his abs. To really sell whole ‘not-checking-out-your-best-friend’ bit, lean into the spine of the booth, lazily leaning your head against the leather cushion, half-closing your eyes, lazily leaning on your own shoulder, arms folded comfortably across your stomach. You don’t know where the lie and truth meet, but you still wear his blazer, and the earthy cologne keeps you awake, as a (poor) substitute for his proximity, until he kneels down next to you.
“Tired?”
You can hear the smile in his cheery voice.
“Mmhm.”
If he were Jaemin, you might’ve cancelled every surprise (or just not planned them) and accepted his offer to take a nap in the station while the next train arrives. If he were Renjun, you might’ve left later in the day, or the previous day, or maybe not even planned lunch with your cousin, since the two don’t really know each other that well. If he were Haechan, you might’ve gotten teased after the second you stared wobbling on your toes, needing his support to get you on the train, or he would have driven all the way to Busan in that newly painted car, taking turns at rest stops. But no, this is Lee Jeno, your best friend since middle school. You used to joke that you had a platonic crush on him, that you manifested being his best friend from the moment you saw him; you just didn’t know that it meant this.
“Short on words?” he jokes. Earlier, you were more talkative than him, a side effect of being as awake as he is now, before you ate a peanut butter jaffle, nearly falling asleep as you finished breakfast, like a child after Seollal dinner with the grandparents. “You had so much to say when you were willing to let me, your best friend, starve.”
You roll your eyes, leaving them closed when he takes his seat, offering his arm as a plushie for you to cuddle; you also shift your hips, invading his personal space to lean even deeper on him. “As if you would starve. How many donuts did you eat? Six? A dozen? How many sandwiches?”
“Are you calling me fat?”
You slide your arm across his abdomen, letting your hand dangle on the other side. “I’m saying you’re just giving me more surface area to hug.”
Jeno rolls his eyes, his entire head, mocking your actions from the first train ride, “Excuses.” You slap his chest, accidentally groping his pec (you were aiming for his arm), and leave your hand there, slowly dragging your wrist down his abs (again, not intentional – and hopefully he feels that way too) to hug his waist. He brushes your hair behind your head, equally running his thumbpad along the curve of your ear. “I got this one; take a nap.”
“You got the tickets?”
“Eung.” He pulls them out of his front pocket. “Freshly printed from the KTX terminal –“ He grabs your fingers, gently rubbing them between his like helping you wash your hands. “- ink smudged under your nails.” You groan when he drops your hand.
“Bags put away?”
“Yeah, all four of ‘em.”
“Make sure the pastries–”
“Shhh.” Jeno curls his hand over your mouth. And you are tempted to lick his palm, except your mouth is too dry, so you resign to breathing through your nose above his long fingers. “Sleep; I got this.”
“You know, these seats recline …”
“Shh,” he repeats, laying you back down on his shoulder.
Unfortunately, you wake up the next hour after a train attendant bumps your booth with her snack cart. Ironic, since you had a weird dream involving Haechan as a Domino’s delivery boy (even though he hates American fast food!), dropping off a pizza with all the pepperoni replaced by Jeno’s eye smile, and you paid using a ₩100,000 bill with Renjun’s college CSA (Chinese Student Association) presidential portrait in the middle. Eh, you’ve had weirder. Like that dream – after Jeno started working out more … diligently, in college – where you basically pounced his bones at the end of multivariate calculus in the middle of the lecture hall. That, and the one with a young Bill Nye.
You inhale deeply and push your palms on either side of your legs, inadvertently groping Jeno’s thigh in the process, making him jolt too, when you get yourself upright, leaning a little more on him than the chair.
“Everything good?”
“Hmm?” you yawn, stretching your limbs under his arm, which somehow blanketed you during the ride. You spare it a glance before looking up at him again and answering his question, “No, yeah, all good, just –” Another yawn escapes you. “– tired’s’all.”
Jeno squeezes your torso into his chest. “You can go back to sleep. We have a little more than an hour until Busan.”
You nod into his hoodie, almost accepting it.
Then an egg sandwich with your name scribble on it appears in front of your nose. And you reluctantly wake up, shaking Jeno off your shoulders as the train attendant hands you a small paper food-box, the lunch that you reserved with an extra ₩10,000, in case the jaffle place was closed on Thursday mornings. With the professional photos and multilingual descriptions, you practically could not say no to the gilgeori toast.
Except, you can and you do. One bite into the brioche, after the attendant leaves, you barf the mashed pellet onto a napkin, quickly washing away the taste with some water.
“Don’t like it?” Jeno teases, giggling loudly. Then he takes a bite of his caprese katsu sando and immediately regurgitates it into an empty paper cup on the table. “Oh, ew.”
The two of you exchange raised eyebrows and nod at each other, verbally confirming, “Switch.”
As you finish your second sando, of three, occasionally nibbling Jeno’s food, just to make sure that you really don’t like it, the train unexpectedly shuffles forward, making a fast stop as if it almost missed the station – not the Busan Station, which you aren’t sure whether to be happy about. On one hand, it would mean that the conductor almost missed your stop in Busan (literally impossible, since it is a major station), if you were in Busan; on the other hand, reality, it just jerks the entire cart, your bags and everything loudly jangling above. You hear the rumpled plastic tote bag, full of pastries from a local shop near the Mural Village, squish between the luggage bags, and you immediately get up to save them.
Jeno’s hands stabilize you as equally quick, when you crossover his legs to enter the aisle. His strong fingers dip into your skin that exposes after you grab the pastries, your hoodie lifting right below your belly button. You exhale shakily and look down at him. He concentrates on reading the stats on the game he lost when you got up. You come back on your heels. Then the train jolts again, stopping for real. And Jeno grabs you harder, probably more surprised than you, given the way his wide eyes ask if you’re okay. You nod, then dig through his backpack, pulling out a Tupperware in addition to the pastry bag, and take your seat again – all while aided by Jeno’s massive hand.
He takes the bag from you, holding it in front of him on the table, as you open the Tupperware, to check if everything was all good – no broken cookies.
“Oh, thank Go– Hey!”
Jeno takes one of the cookies with bigger chocolate chips, although the edges are distorted, curved out of shape. “Yum, I love your mom’s recipe.”
You frown, whining, “I made those for Jaehyun and Minghyu.” You pinch his arm, closing the box and taking the bag before he eats everything there, too. “Plus, you ate an entire bakery in Jeonju. How are you so hungry?”
“Nothing compares to a mother’s recipe.” Jeno bites into the cookie again. You cross your arms under your chest, trying to emulate your best mom-caught-him-with-his-hand-in-a-cookie-jar state. He doesn’t crumble, but he coaxes the last bite into your mouth, smiling after you comply.
You roll your eyes, sighing, “God, these are good.”
Jeno rolls his eyes too, munching on his last sando again. “I love that you’re so humble about your baking skills,” he laughs
But all you catch are the I love you and his crinkly eye smile.
Attention, passengers: we have arrived at the Busan station. Please gather your belongings and departure the train at your nearest exit.
The actual stop is even worse, if that’s possible, than the other 500 it took to get here. And Jeno finds that he doesn’t like this train very much – the stop is too abrupt, and there was no warning like the previous ride. He might even file give a comment or two on the feedback card, assuming there is a box somewhere for it. Once, he gave a thumbs-down on a YouTube video for not effectively helping him tie his boxer hand wrappings. Or, maybe, the driver sucks.
He just hates that you wobble so much every time you stand up in the cart, even though the ride is over now. Not that he hates helping you. He doesn’t mind, almost enjoys it, if he were being honest – holding your waist between his long fingers, under the guise of steadying you or warming you up, given that he never really gets to be this close to you. And he takes advantage of the moment, of your exhaustion, inhaling the remnants of your shampoo as you nestle into his chest, face first.
You mumble something incoherent against his shirt, then groan when he laughs.
Jeno pushes you back up, for less than a second because you fight him, trapping his waist in your arms. He laughs a little bit louder, and his shoulders rise to his ears, allowing him to hug you around your neck, practically suffocating you between his beefy biceps. “I didn’t quite catch that.”
“I said –” You lift your chin, pouting at him through your eyelashes. “– the Uber will be here in five.”
“Oh, then should, um, should we …?” He gestures to the exit.
“Yeah,” you doze, shaking yourself off him, shoving your hands in his blazer pockets. Jeno frowns. He hopes you can get more sleep tonight, especially since the hotel is, like, 20 minutes away from the train station. “Let’s go wait over there.”
Jeno throws his arm over your shoulder, guiding the two of you through the automatic double doors, his hand hanging in the air above your chest. Outside, you slant onto him more, wrapping your arms around his waist again, turning your cheek on his pec, eyes half-closed too. He can smell his own cologne on your skin. But, scared that you might hear his heart skip a beat, Jeno rotates you into his neck, resting his face on your hair. He only gets half-a-second though, until your phone beep beeps, altering the Uber’s presence two meters away, which is even closer than he thought. Seems like everyone wants time with you, at his expense. But as the car pulls up, honking, confirming your ride, you yawn one more time and fix his hoodie, with your arms circling behind his head, before packing the luggage in the trunk. It takes Jeno another moment for his body to move. He waits until you have to pat the car seat to grab his attention – because no matter what, he’ll always leave an eye out for you, an ear open for you, an arm free for you. And he follows.
Everything goes fuzzy during the 15-minute drive (the driver took the freeway, rather than the streets), without an object to distract him. He basically ordered you to sleep, as if the car vibrations weren’t a strong enough lullaby, shushing you into the crook of his neck, like he leaves that place specifically for you.
“– cute couple.”
Jeno snaps his neck up. The driver’s – an older man – eyes reflect a smile through the rearview mirror, and he repeats it:
“You two,” he clarifies, “You look like a cute couple.”
The sentiment echoes later, again stealing the air from Jeno’s lungs, once you arrive to the hotel, accurately predicted by the app on your phone, not that he was counting down the meters until you arrived …
Jeno barely lets you thank the driver, shoving you through another automatic double doors set with renewed vigor. You give him a weird look that he cannot quite narrow down, so he ignores it, pointing to the front desk, unaware of how much time has passed, not wanting to block the entrance. You turn slower than him, and he thinks his cover has blown, that you will know that the Uber driver said something weird, something he has pondered since, basically, middle school. But instead of asking question, you answer the concierge’s questions: Name and ID? Credit card? Reservation for … two? Jeno taps his toes into the ceramic tile, tempted to pull out his phone, but he doesn’t, in case you need him.
Then, she makes the point that snaps his neck up again: “You two make a cute couple – oh,” she frowns, typing into the computer. “A room with two beds?”
“Yes,” you confirm, sounding like gritting through your teeth. Jeno cranes his neck forward to confirm, but as he does, the concierge grants you the room tickets and you move on, pulling him by the hand – interlaced fingers – toward the elevator, avoiding the topic.
Silently, again, Jeno follows you through Floor F to Room 23, only stopping when you roll his luggage in front of the TV and dresser. He copies you, unsure what to do or say without knowing exactly when Jaehyun, or Mingyu, will stop by for lunch; although he expects it to be soon. You put your hands on your waist, staring at the floor. He almost asks you what you’re thinking about, but you cross your arms under your chest, sheathing your hands under his blazer.
“S-sorry about that,” you whisper, so quietly that he has to step closer. “Be-because she thought that we, um, th-at we are –” You wince. Jeno reaches out, squeezing your shoulder, thumb rubbing harder to reassure you further. “– were a couple.”
“It’s o– ”
“The same thing happened with that train conductor.”
“What?”
Maybe he sounds too surprised, because you look mildly offended, mouth agape. And he pauses, for what feels like eternity, until you laugh. Then, he laughs. You sway forward a little bit, both hands landing on his chest. He catches you, steadies you, again, laughter fading into a smile.
“Sorry, about that,” Jeno apologizes honestly, by the tone of his voice: soft and comforting. He rubs the back of his neck, feeling like he owes you some sort of explanation. “I guess I was too close to you.”
But you disagree.
“No, it’s fine!” you reassure him right away, as if all his worries are ridiculous – which they might as well be, since you are his best friend (don’t tell Jaemin; although, Jaemin tends to be more affectionate than you in social settings, and they have been mistaken for a couple on quite a few occasions, even with you present). Then, you glance at your hands, darting between your fingers on his shoulders and his eyes. “I w-was probably too close to you to-too.”
And with that, you retract your hands.
But he catches them, puts them back.
“It’s okay,” Jeno promises, his palms stroking small circles into your waist. “The Uber driver also thought we were a couple.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
A beat passes.
And in that beat, Jeno realizes that neither of you are like this with your friends – you don’t hang off his arm; he doesn’t spend an entire night staring at you from the corner of his eye – and neither of you were like this as kids – you weren’t each other’s first kiss; never have you been called out for cuddling, justifying it as “we’ve been doing this since we were young!”. But this could be the residual pent-up energy from forcing his body not to immediately find you in every setting. Like, his judgement can lax while the real world pauses outside the Busan border. You know, he has let you borrow his clothes from middle school through college, to now; he has held your hand across the sidewalk, making sure that you stay on the side furthest from the cars on the street; he has hugged and kissed (your forehead) and cuddled you in the past. And each time, he shoved any inkling of feelings back down.
“I –” Jeno starts, but you are too close to his face and words fail him. He needlessly brushes hair away from your face, as if the action would bring him clarity. It doesn’t; it gives him more questions than answers, especially in the way that you slowly crawl toward his face, eyes trained on his lips. Jeno returns it, mouth parted on the last syllable he said, shoulders falling down, down, down. He slides your hips over his, stuttering his hand onto your cheek, letting you rest in his palm, your head turned, ready if he closes the distance.
You lean forward on your toes, standing tallest on his shoulders. He mimics you, getting smaller, as a way of asking for your consent, and this time, you copy him – copy what he usually does – flickering your gaze to him until enough time has passed. You get closer … closer … closer …
Ping!
“S-s-sorry,” you mumble, pulling out your phone from your back pocket but not pulling away from him. Jeno bites the inside of his mouth, unsure whether to move, since you don’t. One breath escapes his lips, mutually breaking the moment. “It’s – It’s Jaehyun – Oh,” you exclaim, as if realizing the proximity for the first time. You step back, escaping his grasp, pointing toward the bathroom at the front of the room. “I-I sh-should get ready. He – He – Jaehyun, my-my cousin, um,” you stutter, shaking your head at the ground, “I don-I don’t know why I’m telling you that; you know him.” You grab your duffel bag, but it pounds the floor. Jeno thinks you weren’t aware of how heavy it is, and he raises his eyebrows. “Anyways, -” You smile at him, hands pressing into your hips. “- he – Jaehyun – will be here in 30 minutes. I-I’m gonna go change an-and get ready in the bathroom. Yeah, uh, bye.”
You slam the door.
Another five minutes later, after he collapses on a bed, it hits him: Jeno almost kissed you.
Lunch goes off without a hitch. Mingyu picked an Italian place called La Bella Citta, which was originally meant to cater their wedding, until Jaehyun decided that he wanted traditional food at the reception. It is a pretty expensive place, hence why they paid (partially because you and Jeno are the siblings he never got). And the lunch followed a simple formula: Jeno makes a (bad) joke; Jaehyun brings up an unrelated anecdote, chuckling prematurely at just the thought; Mingyu laughs too hard, accidentally spilling champagne; and you get a bunch of memories, smiling fondly as Jaehyun cleans Mingyu’s shirt with a Tide pen.
Well, there was this one thing.
Your risotto didn’t taste very good – the rice was overcooked; butter had been added over oil; the dish lacked its creamy texture, more soupy in consistency. Thankfully, Jeno exchanged half his steak with you (not the tenderloin part, of course). No one would have noticed; had you not been so obviously gawking at him for the gesture, because it sparked Mingyu’s clumsy ass to comment something about doing the same for Jaehyun in the past. And then Jeno turned it into a competition for which of them has exchanged more meals with the Jung family (although you don’t share the same last name; you are part of the family by extension).
While they battled it out, with Jeno winning since he did take your egg sandwich on the train earlier, Jaehyun poked you in the arm. “So you brought him?”
You narrowed your eyes. “Is that a problem?”
“No, no,” he shook his head, “I just thought you might bring Jaemin or Renjun – I never see Renjun, and he buys really good gifts.”
You snorted. Yeah, right. Renjun bought a choco pie for Jaemin’s birthday, like, at midnight, from a convenience store; he bought Jeno PJs, even though Jeno doesn’t wear pyjamas (you can attest); and he bought you a thrifted candle holder which broke after you put an electric candle in it. If Jaehyun wanted a good wedding gift, he should have told you to bring Jaemin. Still, you would’ve brought Jeno; like, no matter what, you would have asked Jeno first, and he would always say yes. Even during that awkward orientation week in college when his physics professor caught him shotgunning two beers at the same time right before class (it happened twice); you begged him to go to office hours with you, needing constant reassurance that you did not, in fact, sound like an idiot.
“And I thought you liked Jeno,” you frowned.
“No, I do; probably not as much as you, but of course I do. If you didn’t tell me before the wedding invites went out, I would’ve sent one to him myself.”
After that, everything everywhere happened all at once; you didn’t have time to contradict him, or self-reflect – Mingyu spilled more champagne; Jeno leaned his arm behind your chair, using his other hand to pull you closer, to help you avoid touching the entering wedding party; Jaehyun tilted his big ass forehead at you knowingly. You were almost relieved to head back to the hotel, instantly collapsing on your bed without changing out of your Sunday finest clothes instead of responding to Jaehyun’s cryptic observation.
“I’m dead; I’m dead,” you complain, throwing your arm over your eyes to block out the golden hour seeping into your room. Dramatically, you fall backwards onto your bed, relaxing your entire body into the comforter. You peak under your arm to find Jeno when he doesn’t respond, and he smiles back at you, hanging up his blazer before taking a running start.
“Oof!” Jeno flops like a fish beside you, covering his eyes too. “All of us are dead,” he jokes, referencing the drama he started last week. You started it first, binging it a couple days after it aired, but when he told you about it, you didn’t have the heart to tell him that you’d already seen it and watched half the season with him. It became part of your daily lunch routine, not that you know how long it will last. Your urban revitalization project is temporary, a bit long term temporary, spanning until maybe October, but still temporary.
You shift onto your side, hands folded in prayer under your head as a pillow, scanning his peaceful face. “Hey,” you whisper tentatively. You wait another few seconds (maybe even a minute) before opening your mouth, hand reaching out to touch him. “Jen, I –”
“Yeah?” his voice rasps.
“I j-just wanted to thank you for coming with me today,” you change your mind, recoiling before he opens his eyes, which he does, peering at you with the same wide curiosity as the day you met him, “And switching meals with me all day. I – I –” You inhale. “– I really appreciate it, really … appreciate you.” You whisper the last bit, hoping that he doesn’t catch it.
But he does.
“Of course,” he tells you, like he could never say no. And suddenly, you cannot recall an instance when he has ever denied you the thing – he shares his food with you; he helped you spontaneously paint your apartment at 3 AM; he gives you his clothes at the crack of dawn. “You’re my best friend.” Now you can remember the moments – he wouldn’t do the laser tag tournament with you (and Jaemin); he turned down your invite to The Griffin Bar; and worst of all, he outright refused to go to Renjun’s Single’s Appreciate Day party with you. “I’d do anything you ask.”
You roll onto your back, facing the ceiling, and close your eyes.
“Jen-Jen-Jen-Jen-Jeno, Oh!” your rapid legato whimpers wake Jeno up.
First, his body reacts, an involuntary twitch from his feet to head. Next, everything above his torso moves, his arm covering his eyes. He turns into his elbow, away from the window that isn’t as bright as he thought it would be. He, then, remembers that he, somehow, fell asleep on your bed, or you two fell asleep on the same bed; neither of you really got the chance to figure out the sleeping arrangements, since yesterday had so many activities. Not that it mattered, or was a bad thing; you did spend the previous night in his apartment, in his bed. Granted, you slept feet to head, him on top of the duvet with another blanket.
Jeno drops his arm down his cheek, cautiously opening an eye to the other half of the bed.
His hand and jaw fall.
You moan his name again, mouth gaping at the ceiling, eyes twisted shut while your back arches off the mattress. At some point in the night, you must’ve changed, or you wore that lingerie set under your dress the entire time at lunch. Jeno cannot help it; his eyes find your tits spilling out of your teeny-tiny mesh cups that don’t look like they would cover up very much skin anyways. He tries to move to your face, but his willpower fails, and he looks for the source of your moans: your hand between your legs. Unfortunately, you still wear the matching, lacy panties, and your palm hides just how wet you are, the other fisted into the sheets by his thigh.
Jeno bites his lip. Why would you wake him up like this? Do that next to him? … Unless …?
Experimentally, Jeno leans onto you, pressing his still-clothed chest over you bare arm, the one attached to the blanket, clawing it roughly. He kisses your shoulder, ghosting his index finger down your naked stomach. Your moans get louder, more encouraging, so he doesn’t stop. God, Jeno wonders how you have this pornographic glow at golden hour, before the day even starts, that he cannot get enough of. You arch further off the bed, into his touch, making his fingers pad deeper into your skin, increasing their pressure until he gets to your pussy. He cups around your hand, guiding the way you grind into your own hand. But desperate for more movement, maybe more of him, you scissor yourself. And he can feel it, feel your knuckles flex, forcing your thighs separate for the deepest stroke.
“Fuck, you’re so wet.”
“To-touch me, please, Jeno, touch me.”
Jeno inserts his fingers with yours, simultaneously rutting his fully erect penis on your leg, which makes him realize that he is too clothed, but he doesn’t want to pull away from you. Instead, he straddles one of your legs, grabbing the opposite side of your neck. Blindly, using his tongue to find your most prominent vein, he sucks at your throat. He kisses you, kisses your neck, sloppily, repeatedly, until you whine even louder. Jeno has to break away, moaning into the air, his chest sweating through the white whore shirt. The two of you might get a noise complaint; is it bad that the potential turns him on? He barely gets to return to your neck, barely gets to make that wet mark even more tender, when you reverse the positions.
You push him back down, temporarily, just long enough to flip your hair over your shoulder and climb his waist. And apparently, he makes a strangled sound, because you release his shirt, smoothening out the wrinkles, mumbling something about buying him a new one later, but the entire action makes more of your hair fall down, so Jeno sits up quickly. You slide down his lap, only stopped by his long, thick cock standing under his pants. His dick outlines your ass curve, pushing your cheeks further apart. With the new position – the better position – he shoves your hair back, fisting it into a ponytail the same way you fisted the sheets, exposing your neck again. He starts a new hickey, too impatient to find the last one (it is on the other side), sucking his way down. Your bra straps fall down your biceps at this point. The plastic little adjuster springing free with your tits as Jeno bounces you in front of his cock, too much acceleration rolling your body on top of his chest that he has to force his body to slow down before he cums prematurely. He wants to cum inside you.
The decision to end the foreplay, the juvenile grinding, occurs when you rip his shirt open, mumbling something about buying him another later. Your nipples rub on his pecs, almost purposefully missing his, circling around the areola. He grunts throatily, catching your ass and pulling your cheeks apart, slapping them twice, fast, as a punishment for your sopping pussy teasing him, ghosting his cock.
“I want you,” he breathes, “I want you so bad.”
“Then, fuck me.”
Jeno hooks a finger around your panties, moving his knuckle slowly over your clit until your legs shake as much as his do. He gives you a quick look, a quick kiss, before lifting you on your knees, positioning his cock between your legs. You brace your hands on his shoulders, lowering yourself with his hand on your hip. He gets halfway in your pussy, the both of you throwing your heads back, moaning to the ceiling. After a brief recovery, he trusts in all the way.
Jeno stutters his hips down, preparing the next thrust, his eyes shut tighter than your pussy walls around his dick.
Then, he wakes up. For real.
He jumps, in a cold sweat, the birds chirping outside. And maybe, Jeno should be concerned now. Initially, he just looked for you, as the first thought crossing his mind while he opened his eyes – eg, when you slept over at his apartment, feet to head, him too scared to sleep next to you in case he accidentally confesses murder, or close to, during his sleep; when he slept on your shoulder in the train; this current moment.
Yeah, technically, he is in your bed – hotel bed, but still. Jeno fumbles around the mattress, untangling himself from the blanket that you probably put on him last night. When he stands up, in the small aisle between the beds, unbuttoned pants slipping off his waist, the hem covering half his feet, he recognizes that these are yesterday’s clothes, from the lunch with Jaehyun and Mingyu. He stumbles toward the night, every part of his body warm, his cock burned by the teasing memory of almost pounding you in the very bed he just woke up in. Of course it was a dream; it was too good to be real. Jeno grumbles, palming the small table for his glasses. As he puts them on, he finds the hotel stationery branded with your messy handwriting:
Left for coffee xx be back in 30 ♡
Jeno nods his head. Half an hour. The other half of the bed was vaguely warm, he remembers. He looks to the other bed – still made, pressed enough to bounce a ₩500 coin off. Evidently, you fell asleep next to him, too, and even though he cannot recall who fell first, he can recall who woke up first and how he woke up. His cock writhes, twitches under the waistband of his Calvin Kleins, no longer swinging between his legs; it wants to know how deep your vaginal canal is, and Jeno steadies it, groaning because he spent half the day steadying your pretty waist. The thought makes him involuntarily squeeze tighter, makes him realize that his underwear constricts the blood flow that rushes to his cock head, stopping at the base like a spiteful cock ring. So, he frees his entire length, shimmying his bottoms below his ass, and hops onto the empty bed, with what he assumes is enough time to finish what his dream started.
Focusing on the upper half, Jeno dry rubs his tip, roughly massaging his finger around the head, expediting his orgasm like a college freshman testing out the sock-on-the-door myth with a solo session. His fingers curl tightly around the circumference, slowing down his thrusting. Pre-cum quickly dribbles above his navel, leaking into little pools in the crevices of his defined abs. He slathers it along his entire cock, twisting his palm up and down, moans loudly bouncing off the walls. The wetness creates the foundation for his fantasy, conjuring the image of an equally moist mouth choking down his fully length, your mouth choking down his full length. Jeno knocks his head on the wall, whole body panting into the air. His hips float, too, and he chases his hand, a poor replacement for pussy or a sex toy; ass coming off the blanket as sweat builds up on his body. He unbuttons half his shirt, sliding his fingers to his nipple. That familiar tension in his stomach creeps into his chest, and his moans get more desperate, louder.
Then, as if his dream were a premonition, you come out of the bathroom, wearing a low-cut sports bra and matching tight, black leggings.
“Ah!!” you both scream.
A beat passes, maybe an hour, Jeno cannot discern between his exhibition rising and your gaping mouth.
You react first, running into the bathroom.
“I thought you were out getting coffee?!” he shouts, covering his dick with the blankets. It twitches underneath.
“Why would you think that?!” you scream back, before calming down and cracking the door open a little bit, “I got back five minutes ago. I was putting stuff in the bathroom for my shower.” God, his dick really twitches. He might even cum untouched. You sound like the beginning of a bad porno, and maybe his fantasy was an actual bad porno, but the thought of you, with so much exposed skin, willing to expose more skin under hot water. “Why are you –”
“I thought I had time!” he interrupts. He stands up and pulls his pants on, silently screaming at his boner to go away. It doesn’t. And he resigns, praying that you won’t see it. “I thought I would hear you bring me a coffee too and have time t-to-to cover it up.” You usually buy him a coffee too; you did it all four years through college – barged through his heavy apartment door, or announced it, pressing the iced coffee on any bare skin available.
“It’s in the fridge! I didn’t want to wake you after yesterday.” You slowly come out of the bathroom, and he turns around, wincing when his still-hard penis bounces against his hip. “It’s an iced coffee,” you tell him, biting your lip and avoiding eye contact. You cross the room toward the mini fridge. Jeno sucks in a breath. The coffee is inside. Of course it is.
When Jeno coughs, you immediately turn around then look away as equally fast, having accidentally made eye contact with his penis (and him with your tits, again, just like in his dream). “Do you, um, do you still want to take a shower first, o-or can I, um, get in there?” He scrunches his nose at the poor choice of words.
“N-n-y-you can go first,” you stutter through a mirrored cough.
His shower lasts the half hour he thought he had.
Overcoming awkwardness has, surprisingly, never come up in your relationship with Jeno, not even through the ungainly middle school phase, during when you confidently kept your fleeting crush on him a secret. Well, you hoped it was a fleeting crush. Those feelings bubbled up on and off for years, and currently, they were on. Last time they turned off (aka when you suppressed them), Jeno had a girlfriend, a long-term girlfriend, for two years. You thought you were in the clear, thought you were over it, permanently, especially after they got stupidly expensive promise rings, but habits are hard to break. And you crawled right back to him.
You step out of the bathroom, towel shaking out the water droplets from your hair, casually dressed like you arrived from Hongdae. The oversized shirt doesn’t stick to your skin as much as your sports bra earlier after your quick run in the streets, or the blouse that you nearly sweated through at lunch yesterday as the afternoon temperature increased to accommodate for spring. You jump on your bed. Well, you guess this is your bed, the one closest to the entrance and bathroom, because Jeno … occupied the other one. You glance at it, instinctively hiding your hands under your tousled covers, then shake your head. As you look away, you see your handwriting on the hotel stationery crossed out in perfectly straight lines (a symptom from majoring in architecture, you know) above Jeno’s cursive:
Went down to the lobby for breakfast. It ends at 11.
You flicker at the digital clock beneath a disconnected lamp: 10:05 AM. Still early. You got up some time around 5:30 or 6, your body absorbing too much sleep, having passed out almost right after getting back to the hotel from lunch. Unfortunately, Gwangbok-Dong doesn’t open until mid-morning, about 10:30, so you couldn’t buy a wedding gift yet (you have an envelope of cash for the reception, but Jaehyun added a registry link qr code on the invites). You also hoped to give Jeno more time to sleep, knowing that he must’ve gotten five interrupted hours total in the span of 36 hours. Shopping without him would have knocked out a chore, the only chore really, and then you two could buy him a tie or just wander around the area, which, come to think of it, costs a lot of money. It costs money to breathe, Jeno once joked during an ECON 305 lecture sophomore year, so now, you might as well take advantage of the complimentary bibmbap.
By the time you get downstairs, the chefs have disappeared, and only three plain bibimbap dishes remain amongst the sparse assortment of other breakfast snacks. At least this moment has somewhat perfect timing; you didn’t have very good timing earlier when you caught Jeno with his dick in hand (or did he not have good timing? You have no idea). You snake around the buffet-style tables, picking up a small mango juice and a few side dishes in addition to the main. Once you have a decent portion, you walk toward the half-empty seating area, scanning the chairs for a place to sit. You kinda look like a new high school transfer student searching for a clique – do you sit with the band geeks and their giant brass instruments? Do you sit with the chem nerds and finish the homework that’s due tomorrow? Or do you latch onto the one person you vaguely know so that people don’t stare at you for standing too long?
Yeah, you immediately find Jeno playing some cart rider game on his phone under the table. Nice to know that the sentiment is returned, ha.
“He-hey,” you mumble, clanging your tray on the metal table. “Do you mind if I sit here?”
Jeno looks up at you and puts his phone in his pocket. He gestures to the seat already pulled out, as if it were waiting for you. “Yeah, of course.”
You eat a few bites, hoping that the tension will go down the longer you are in his presence, but he fidgets by your side, rubbing his feet together loudly over the wood flooring. He gives you an apologetic stare, waiting for you to break first. Slowly, you finish chewing part of the egg and wash it down with juice, equally marveling at him, unsure how exactly to say alright, we both know that I caught you masturbating and you probably finished off in that not-so-short shower without (1) scarring the other guests and (2) completely altering your relationship. Like, you didn’t even have sex!
“About this morning,” you start, “I should’ve knocked.”
“No, no.” Jeno shakes his head. “I should’ve … not … done … that. We’re sharing a room for the weekend, an-and it’s your space as much as mine. I’m sor-”
“I mean,” you interrupt, pushing your spoon around the bowl of rice, “it happens. You – Guys get … those,” – morning wood, hard-ons, boners – “an-and it’s not like you were thinking about me. I get it.”
Jeno makes a strangled noise, so you whip your head at him. Suddenly, you notice his proximity, and you push all the way back into your chair, accidentally skidding it across the floor. Your eyes go wide, eyebrows more talkative than your sputtering mouth. You aren’t stupid; he knows that, but Jeno is too honest for his own good, even at the expense of his own thoughts. He bites his lip, evidently saying more than intended, and that is how you have known him for the last decade – overly blunt, blurting out his thoughts easily, every answer written on his face, stuck on the tip of his tongue.
And you cannot help yourself when the memory of his massive cock resurfaces, his pre-cum pooled at the neglected slit as his fingers massage right under the head. Your fight-or-flight response activated before you could make a conscious move to take the leap, to get even closer on him than the train allowed. You wonder, breath hitched, whether you idealize his cock – whether he idealized sex with you. On your end, it has been a while since you last got laid, a couple months, bit of a dry spell hitting you at the start of this new urban revitalization project to fix up the arts district around the SeMA. The initial funding took some convincing, both the government and museum not seeing the necessity, but once your team got the ball rolling and you were able to pull in Jeno, the lead architect, and Renjun, a graphic designer, you figured that time would be more in your favor.
That was not the case.
Your team leader divided the project based on skill-level, meaning that you had to cooperate on the ground level with Jeno and Renjun, planning every move from point A to point B. So, while half your coworkers enjoy hoesik, probably out there hitting on clubgoers and getting laid, you stay at the office past witching hour, hunched over blueprints and maps and expense reports. The only saving grace, really, is working with your best friend. … Your best friend who just inadvertently admitted that he jerked off to the thought of you. … Your best friend whose dick you currently think about, trying to revisualize whether you remember it correctly. Maybe you need a refresher.
“We don’t,” Jeno clears his throat, still avoiding eye contact, hands rubbing on his jeans, “um, we don’t need to talk about it.”
You bite your tongue.
Because you do want to talk about.
Geotechnical engineering, in college, was easy. Jeno received A-level marks all three terms, nearly a 100% in the second term. Designing a new plaza around the SeMA, for your project, was easy. Jeno got his first design approved by the MOLIT and the Cultural Heritage Administration, based on a 4AM napkin sketch. Fuck, even finding your G-spot in his dream was easy (although, credit is due to the movie magic directed by his subconscious). But all of those have something in common: a template. You know, like, engineering follows a basic algorithm, as do project designs. And he’s had years of experience giving people orgasms, even made a few squirt, so he can just manipulate a technique to best suit your pussy.
With this, with you, with the real you, Jeno doesn’t know what to do, or where to start, when you are so close to him, concentrating on straightening out the main knot in the tie you wrap around his neck. I’ll buy you a new one echoes in his mind, the assurance you whispered in his dream, now that you are actually out shopping. He can smell your own body wash this time, compared to the cologne on his blazer in the train station. And you probably don’t even know how hard it was for him, then, to not kiss your neck. Maybe that’s why his subconscious creates a pattern out of it: bring you close (like at on the KTX), taunt him in his dream (give him the kiss he wanted and set up something more), bring you close again.
It took a moment, both times, to actually build up tension. The first time, he scarcely kept his eyes open, couldn’t really appreciate your body, half-tired, half-scared; probably why his subconscious went easy on him last night, as if having mercy for all the dick veins in his heart. And when he caved, you caught him. Jeno spent the better part of this shopping excursion keeping his distance – e.g., even though you browsed home appliance stores together, he walked a few meters behind you, only stopping to make commentary:
“What if we get them an air fryer?” he suggested, to get out of there as soon as possible and relieve the awkwardness.
You refuted, “They already have an air fryer. Mingyu bought one, since Jaehyun can’t cook.” Right. “Makes him feel like Baek Jongwon.”
So, you settled on a nonstick, ceramic, pink Always Pan set (in addition to the cash envelope) that Mingyu might get more use out of and help lessen the dish load. But you let Jeno pick the color.
“There,” you finish, eyebrows unfurrowing. You turn him toward the adjacent mirror, arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t immediately scrutinize your work (not that it was necessary; you have been tying his ties for formal events since MUN championships in high school). Your hands linger, warm, on his shoulders, falling slightly on his pecs. Then, you let go, palms up as if an AED machine alerted you about the next incoming shock. “I’ll either do this same knot –” A cape knot. “– or an Eldridge knot, depending on which dress I choose, but both look good for a solid color tie, like this one.”
“What about a trinity knot?”
Jeno cannot believe that he is making small talk with his best friend about the various types of knots; the same best friend who vomited into a cup 0.2 seconds after entering a bar, resulting in your entire group getting kicked out, and then fell asleep on the sidewalk outside, resulting in a cop arresting all seven of you for the night because you made it seem like you were all blackout drunk. Your relationships survived that whole mess, despite everyone losing the ₩25,000 entrance fee (although, Haechan and Renjun refused to go out with you for, like, a month). Most importantly, your relationship with him survived that; actually your relationship with him didn’t even take a hit. He nursed you back to health the next day, which might have, or not, been a symptom of his excessive drinking – tucking you into bed with a thousand blankets, bringing you 35 water bottles, taking your temperature every 4 minutes.
“Mmm,” you consider, fixing your gaze back at his neck. “Probably not. It’s not really formal enough for a wedding, and I’m already on the fence about an Eldridge knot, in case Jaehyun or Mingyu want to wear one – it’s like if I wore a white dress to their wedding. People would think that we were getting married.” Jeno raises an eyebrow and is met with silence. You drop into your hands, twiddling your thumbs, a forced laugh bubbling through your esophagus. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s, um, it’s fine,” he reassures you. He should be sorry, for making you deal with his emotions. “You could, um, tie it change it at the wedding hall, or, um, at the reception. I don’t think I’ll end up wearing it all night.”
“Or you could learn how to tie something better than a half-Windsor,” you tease, slowly lifting your head.
An identical smile breaks onto his face. “It’s a classic for a reason!”
“Call it what it is: basic.”
“I haven’t had to learn how to do other knots!” Jeno pushes your shoulder, laughing when you do. “Besides, it’s never about my clothes. I’m just the accessory, your arm candy.”
Your giggles fade, then almost as if remembering the distant morning, you separate from him. And he has to close the distance again. He tentatively reaches for your hand, boldly threading your fingers together. You don’t react, instead choosing to focus on the glass display case under the mirror. Your hair moves just a little, the strands loose from your ponytail blowing, slightly, in the wind. His hand could replace it – the hair tie – if you wanted (it’s what his subconscious wants), but you focus on the glass display case under his reflection. You fiddle with the blade of a tie that you both rejected earlier (ha, you seem to be rejecting a lot of things today). The color didn’t suit his skin tone or the garden wedding theme; Jaehyun made sure to include a sample of his bouquet in every invitation. How is he going to be a good wedding date, to you, if you can barely look at each other?
“Did I sa–?”
“Let’s buy this one,” you decide, interrupting him simultaneously. You pull the purple off him, as if un-marking him. Another stark contrast to his dream, which has him wondering whether his fantasies are boring. “Then, we can get dinner at that bistro down the road. I know you’ve been craving steak, and Jaehyun is doing a chicken-or-fish style reception.”
Jeno shakes his analog watch into view: 3:27 PM. You finished breakfast before noon. Should you leave now, you might be able to finish dinner just as quickly (or long), based on your pace eating bibimbap, and grab coffee before the café by the hotel closes.
“Yeah, okay. Sounds good.”
Jeno pays for the tie and an extra two white dress shirts (just in case), as well as a chocolate bar from the tiny stand at the register, stacked near the gift cards. You thank him, but it is the least he can do – (1) he feels really bad for this morning, and (2) you essentially paid for every other part of this trip except the food. He reassures you that you need not apologize; you are his best friend, but then you throw that back in his face when he brings up money. Both of you keep parroting “don’t worry, it’s fine” at each other, only to retreat into awkward silence.
You hold the shop entrance open for him, gesturing him out the door, then walk a pace behind him. The medium-sized, paper shopping bag swings between the two of you; well, it would, if he stood next to you.
Jeno stops.
“What are we doing?”
You pause too, body freezing mid-motion for a second, then you look over your shoulder, eyes looking him up and down. When his head tilts to the side and his eyebrows furrow, you turn around.
“We’re going to the bistro,” you answer, as though it were obvious.
But Jeno already knows that. He made the plans with you half an hour ago. “No, I mean this. Why are we –” He shakes his head again; he knows why, too. His reflection in a department store catches his eye, so he pulls you from the middle of the sidewalk around the corner, somewhat hidden behind another building. “What are we doing?”
“Jeno … are you okay?”
“I’m serious! We practically spend every day together, it feels desolate when you’re gone, and … and –” He steps into your personal bubble. “You’re not here with me right now.”
“Jen,” you drag out his name, looking away from him, “I don’t think you know what you’re saying.”
You are not hearing him.
Jeno cautiously withdraws his hands from his bomber jacket. His nails accidentally scratch the pocket inner lining, giving him a chance to back out, to reconsider his declaration. But he doesn’t need a second chance; he just needs the first chance. So, instead, Jeno grabs your palm, inching his fingers up your elbow, and scans your eyes. Without resistance, you draw him closer at his waist. The shopping bag falls down low on your wrist, drumming against his thigh and yours. He feels your leave his waist and slide up his cheek; he has to close his eyes, not entirely believing the way his body betrays him, leaning into your face.
“I … I …” he pants, head spinning.
“Hey, it’s okay,” you assuage. He can feel your breath on his lip, so he sucks in air, lips parted slightly, scared he might ask for too much. And maybe that is where you get a signal – get the signal – because he feels you rise to the tips of your toes and kiss him. “Let’s just order room service.”
Why did you say that? Let’s just order room service. The suggestion prolonged the time before you could kiss him again, because once you got back to the hotel, heels practically floating off the ground, you had to wait.
Luckily, the hotel was just around the corner. If you ran, you would have been upstairs in 10 minutes, but the two of you took your time, practically strolling through Gwangbok Road. He walked beside you this time, his pinky occasionally grazing behind your hand.
And in the elevator, Jeno became bolder. His entire body, previously trembling, gravitated toward you, latching onto every part that you would allow, and you gave him permission, made it known that you wanted him to touch you. You almost pressed him into the reflective wall, trapping him on the cold metal railing, but you restrained yourself; you already made that initial move: kissing him (well, it was the next move, since you caught him masturbating, earlier, to the thought of you. Then, he was the first person out the elevator, practically dragging you into the bedroom, nearly detaching your arm. Outside your hotel room, Jeno kissed you. Your hips knocked beside the key swipe, making it easy to fumble the key card out of your pocket and through the lock. You didn’t open the door immediately, choosing, instead, to stand on your toes, and wrap your arms behind his neck, essentially climbing him, like a tree, in the empty hallway, the shopping bag floundering on his back. Jeno paused the kiss, trailing his lips away, ghosting his breath on your tongue. His gaze flickered from your parted mouth to your eyes, and you saw his dilated pupils grow bigger. He pointed his eyebrows to the green light, right before it turned red. You scanned his face for another rejection, and seeing none, you opened the door.
But once you got inside, Jeno sat you on the bed, perching you where you fell asleep next to him last night. You dropped the shopping bag and your jacket to the floor, staring up at him the entire time, hopefully inviting. While he towered over you for this second, you admired your work – bruised lips, static hair, flushed skin, even his breath bated. Subconsciously, you touched your bottom lip, dragging it down to see if it were equally swollen (it was). Jeno took a step forward, but changed his mind, ordering room service from the restaurant downstairs through the phone on the nightstand.
Now, you flicker your gaze over his body, checking him out like a man who convinced his foreigner girlfriend not to dress modestly at the clubs. Your eyes flicker slower, up his tiny waist (that makes his flat ass appear a little plump) to his strong biceps, sleeves pushed up to reveal more skin, back to his lips, which mumble a swift thank you before returning to the edge of the bed. You slide to the very tip, spreading your legs wide open enough for him to stand between. Jeno curls his thumb under your jaw, lifting your chin, maybe admiring your features too. You hope that you look equally disheveled.
Jeno gently pins you on the bed, slithering up your torso, brushing his pecs on your tits. He grabs your waist, fingers dipping toward your butt, dragging you to meet his pelvis.
“You have to tell me,” he says, eyes closed, millimeters from kissing you again, “right now, that you want this, want me, before we do anything more.” His thumb comes under your shirt, drumming an indiscernible beat directly on your stomach, just around your belly button, almost unsure which direction to go – toward your pants, toward your bra, outside your shirt. Your breath hitches, and you feel your body sink lower into the mattress. “I need to know that we’re on the same page.”
“Can’t you feel it?” You guide one of his hands down your pants, his long middle phalanges driving cautiously into the seam. He cups your pussy, falling level on your chest. His lungs pant heavily into the back of your neck, tickling the hairs into standing up. “I want you.”
Jeno chases your lips, barely managing, “Not what I meant.” With your consent, he kisses you again, and you, consumed by his undivided heat, ignoring everything that isn’t his touch, like the white sheets rusting under your long hair as his shirt grinds into your abdomen, riding your clothes up. He hooks a hand under your thigh, switching the positions for you to straddle him. His legs stretch forward, feet planting into the ground, which gives him the leeway to sit up and brush your hair back into a makeshift side ponytail. Jeno scans your eyes, darting side-to-side, all the tension melting away after you smooth his shoulders. “I … I …”
You caress his cheek, having mercy on his dick (currently hard under your ass), and lift his chin higher. “I know what you meant.” You press your lips into his, chastely. He responds, puckering his lips each time you peck him, but he also frowns – frowns deeply enough for you to really pull away; his frown looks more intense than you felt. “I …” you whisper, sliding your arms on his shoulder, fiddling with his hair. You teeter on your knees, shifting your weight across his lap. He stops you. “I like you so much. More th-than friends.” Then you kiss him again, to wipe your confession away, because you can live with it. You can live with the repercussions of his mistake; you can be his mistake. This doesn’t have to be a whole thing. You don’t need to finish your confession with his rejection.
Jeno whimpers your name, tugging you away by your hair. “I –”
“It’s okay,” you whisper, “You don’t need to say it. Just me –”
“No, I need to –” He sucks in a breath. “Can I kiss you?”
You shake your head, an actual mistake because he freezes; you only meant it in disbelief. So, you lower down again, sliding your hands under his jaw. You turn your head to the side and mumble, “Don’t stop,” before reconnecting.
Jeno pats his palm on your pussy. His opposite hand, the one above your hip, fingers your waistband, scratching continuous circles, waiting for an affirmation. “I meant kiss you here.” He pouts at you through his eyelashes. “Can I kiss you lower?”
You shimmy off his lap, pushing him into the bed. “Everywhere,” you answer hastily. He helps you glide off your pants, and his veiny hands are all you can concentrate on, everything else blurring until he fondles your clit, above your black panties.
“Do you like this?”
“God, yes,” you pour moans into his mouth, holding his throat straight, like a tall glass for iced tea. When he inserts a single, long digit between your wet pussy lips, he winces, as if being penetrated himself, as if you found his prostate on the first try without any lube other than your spit. He adds a second finger, his longest finger, the middle finger, the ‘fuck you’ finger (literal in this case), prompting you to hump his hand. Your hips roll forward, increasing intensity. You gasp when he scissors his fingers wider and crosses them over one another, like a promise, then you bounce higher, your ass cheeks squeezing together. “Fuck, I didn’t know you could do that.”
Jeno slips in another digit, curling all three forward, his ring finger (the free one) twitching unrestricted. “I guess there’s still a bit you don’t know about me,” he blows into your gaping mouth, your moans following his rhythmically to the beat of some song you cannot think of while riding him.
You sink all the way down his hand, grinding your clit on his palm, and take off your shirt. Before your tits can spring free, Jeno pulls you close, trying to suck marks above your bra. You grate broken ah, ah, ahs, growing louder whenever his fingers sheath completely inside you. As if goading you, he slaps your jiggly ass, twice for every once you shake down. You yank Jeno away by his hair, darting through his swollen lips, his flushed cheeks, his narrowed eyes. Under you, his dick twitches.
“Should I –“ you pant, slowly stopping on his hand. But he seems not to like that response and drives his fingers back up. “Can I,” you correct, “ah, ah – Can I help you with-with that?”
“I want you to cum.” Jeno squeezes your ass cheek, and you fall into his lips again. Your tongue falls out, stiff, virtually asking for something to occupy your mouth. He takes his free hand, shoving it between your lips, pushing your tongue down, saliva pooling under his fingerprint. “Are you close, pretty girl?” His hand moves faster, rougher. Your thighs twitch. “Feels like it.” Your panties threaten to slip back into place, so he rips it. “Sorry,” he mumbles carelessly. You don’t blame him, too focused on your legs tensing up but his thumb on your tongue pushing you back down.
“Don-don’t worry,” you whimper, “I, ah-uh, have a – ah – nother pair. They’re also black, fuck, but lace. Hides better under my-my dress.” You skid lower down his waist, and his cock stands up on your ass.
“Fuck, you’re going to ruin me.”
“Untouched?”
“Maybe.”
However, you don’t like the thought, considering it unfair – unfair to him that he has to settle for a cheap orgasm; unfair to you that you cannot milk him dry between your thighs. So, you descend his legs, prying him open at the knee. You spare it a glance, covered by his jeans, wondering what it would be like to bend over it, ass in the air, spanked harder.
“Hey,” Jeno calls, snapping you back to attention. You relieve your thighs, unclenching, to stare at him. “Is this –” he inhales sharply, possibly trying to come off nonchalant, like it would be okay if you decided to stop, decided that you didn’t want this anymore; you swoon. “Is this still okay?”
“Of course.” You meet his eye. “Always.” You loop the tops of your fingers under his waistband, above his Calvin Kleins, the name brand embroidered as thick as his veins leading under it. “Can I help you with this?”
“God, yes, please,” he finally answers, throwing his head back on the pillows.
You unzip his pants, the sound bouncing off all four walls without any moans to cushion it; you could practically hear a pin drop. Jeno props himself on his elbows, and his abs crunch forward, tightening his impeccably defined six pack. Like, you already knew – since college – that he sculpted his body at the gym like Pygmalion did Galatea, but it adds pressure, not because your hand wraps around his cock (you have yet to touch him), rather because his gaze burns holes through your hands.
“You don’t,” he mumbles, “You don’t have to take it all. If you can’t. You don’t.” Jeno shakes his head, his hair shyly hiding his eyes. “I just want you, so it’s o – Fuck.”
You lick the premature bead of cum, digging your tongue in his slit to clean all of it out. Your thumb and index fingers wrap, tightly, below the glans. You bob your head a little lower, tasting just the tip, flittering your eyes to gauge his reaction. While your inexperienced days are behind you (pun intended), Jeno has this magical first-love quality about him, that makes sucking his dick seem like your first, like when two rom-com leads finally have sex, except it’s in a car on a cliffside for added drama. He appears to agree – how? You don’t know exactly for sure, but people outside your relationships have mentioned that you make a good first girlfriend.
Jeno involuntarily stutters his hips higher, pushing half his cock past your lips, making you gag. Evidently, there are many things about him you still don’t know – namely, how big his dick is. You always suspected him to be above average, especially after his sporadic growth spurts in high school, but you never imagined that this would be your way to measure him! He can barely fit half his shaft through the rim of your lips. And it gets worse (better?) when you hollow your cheeks, scraping your tongue above your teeth, because your mouth squeezes him out. Jeno mumbles a string of curse words, nearly screaming them as you suck harder, his fists twisted in the blankets. You pull off his cock, replacing your mouth with your hands, albeit tighter, and spiral your saliva down to the base, leaning tall on your knees to spit more on his tip, in the slit from where precum bubbles out.
“I told you: I want you.”
“Fuck.” Jeno throws his head back. “Okay, sit on my face.”
You stop moving your hand, subconsciously throbbing your palm to the beat of his (dick) pulse. “What?”
Jeno’s fingers tap on the blanket, his voice increasingly whiny, “Sit. On. My. Face.”
You comply, kneeling around his cheeks, knees brushing his shoulders – which still wear his shirt, nothing but his abs and penis exposed. All the cloth touching your skin makes you feel more vulnerable, most likely more vulnerable than Jeno, and he might regret this in the morning. So, as he anchors his extra-large hands under your thighs, digging into your muscles, you pinch his shoulder, like a safe word, a safety action. And he stops.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, curving his neck to see you better. Maybe you frown too deeply or maybe you are on the verge of tears, because he sits up again, immediately spinning in front of you. “Hey, -” He gingerly reaches for your cheeks, holding your chin above his fingers. “- We don’t have to do this, if you don’t want. It’s okay. I want you to want this.”
“I,” you swallow, cautiously looking into his eyes. You cover your chest, hide your boobs by your bra – the only clothing on your body - and naked arms. “I just,” you mumble before finishing lamely, face warming with his hand, “feel really naked.”
“Oh,” Jeno says simply. He scans your face indiscernibly, so you, not wanting any of this to end, raise your eyebrows suggestively and glance at his shirt. “Oh!” Jeno takes it off, elbows crossing on either side of his ears, showing off his Dorito torso. And you must have been leaning forward, because you fall into his chest, a hand bracing widely on his obliques. You sheepishly raise your face, slightly ducking under his perky nipple; you lower eye-level with it and hesitantly lick it. “Fuck. Is this why you wanted me to strip?”
You flatten your tongue under his areola, then flick upward, tentatively building more pressure until you have his waist in both your hands, holding him steady while you massage his nipples. Your opposite thumb pushes small circles where your mouth neglects, almost kneading him like that time he taught you, in Chem 224, how to use a mortar and pestle properly, holding the ceramic bowl firm against the thick pestle breaking apart various solids into fine powders. Deeming his left pec marked enough (by your nails and lips), you move to the right, leaving a moist path between his boobs, but, rather than fondling the other side, as you did when it was dry, you fist his dick, dragging him forward. You assume Jeno gets the hint, given that he traps you on the sheets, under his flexed biceps. He kicks off the rest of his pants and slithers up your body, pressing his completely naked body into yours, only your bra left as a barrier. Jeno straddles across your hips, his cock spasming, as if asking you to do the last honors while he gropes your entire lower half, massaging your ass with the heels of his palms.
“Do – do you-you still want me to sit on your face?”
“No,” he heaves instantly before doing a partial push up (push down?) to kiss you, aggressive and instant. You can feel his broad deltoids pinch together while you ground yourself on his muscles, using the moment as an excuse to grope him. He swirls his tongue in your mouth, simultaneously smacking his wet lips to you, making you constantly chase him, come up only to be pushed down again. “Fuck, mayb-maybe later.” Later. You’re going to do this again. Jeno holds his torso still, slowly moving his cock between your pussy lips, lubricating himself prepared. “I want, uh, I want to be inside you,” he moans, voice breaking, “Can I fuck you? Please?”
You guide his tip into your cunt. “Please.” And when he stretches your hole, urging his girth past the involuntary tightening, you arch your hips up. “Full, full, fuck.” He shallowly thrusts, pulling out a little bit, only to push in more. Your thighs shake, and you point your feet down, curling your toes, to keep your legs separated enough for him to go faster. But you notice that, while he pistons in and out of your cunt, you cannot feel his balls slapping your ass; you cannot hear the distinct skin-on-skin noises – that’s when you realize: he’s not completely in you, despite the full feeling practically in your cervix. “Jeno,” you whine, “Fuck me.”
“I am,” he answers, breath quivering through gritted teeth.
“Harder,” you beg, fidgeting to give him additional access, little grabby hands wriggling along the outline carved around his muscles. “More.” You claw into his well-defined six pack. “F-fill me up all the way.”
Jeno mattes your hair down with his thumbs, coaxing your eyes open again. You peak through just one, then slowly open the other; you can feel the lines in your forehead melt away. Just for a second though. Because he uses your temporary relief to bottom out. You barely process any of his movements, until he kisses you again, his thrusts stuttering too gently. His breath trembles, controlled, masking the way his hands fight some urge to bruise your hips, so you hook your shin around his strong leg and topple him. When you sink down on his dick, taking every inch, pussy working overtime to accommodate him, the both of you groan. You honk his pecs, matching each squeeze with your breath. The bedsheets rustle, having come undone with all your tossing and turning, and Jeno kicks the blankets off the bed, sitting up. He mouths your perky tits, tilting his head to the side, jaw dropping with his tongue to suck as much skin as possible. You grab the headboard, accidentally slamming it into the wall, once, twice, three, four, five times, when he circles his hips, dick flopping around inside your cervix, ridiculously deep. Jeno grabs your ass, strikes your skin hard to start bouncing you on his lap. He helps you keep his cock inside your pussy, guiding you less than halfway up and banging his skin against yours. The position pushes you forward, allowing his shaft to graze your sopping clit, vulva pinning opened.
“Ahh,” you scream, “Je-Jeno, I’m-I’m –“ You throat tightens, words choking, “Oh, shit, I’m gonna cum.”
Jeno brings his lips to yours, half a millimeter away. He grunts, abs tightening too. “Cum, baby, you can do it. You can do it. Come on, baby.” He grabs you by the throat, holding you in place as he licks into your mouth, eating up every moan, every breath, and fucks you faster. Your pussy gets wetter, more malleable, and you finally cum, toes curling, unwinding in his chokehold, tongue flopping out. He kisses your pink, plump tongue, lips smacking heavily, moaning out his nose and mouth, “Uh, uh, uh, fuck. Can-can I –“
“Cum inside me,” you finish for him, answer for him.
Jeno propels his cock a couple more times, the last one driving both of you into the air. Thick spurts of cum shoot into your pussy, almost adding another inch, the tip of his cock hitting, jerking, on your G-spot. You sit there for a little bit, your bodies slumping down the headrest, possibly addicted to the way your walls continuously milk even more cum out of him.
When he finally finishes, cum forcing its way down your thighs, he kisses you. “So … about sitting on my face?”
Your face lights up, the thought of him eating his own cum out your cunt way too exciting, and you push him on the bed, immediately popping his cock out and straddling his mouth.
An obnoxious ringing interrupts Jeno’s dream, way too early (well, anything that wakes him up is too early), and he whines at it, preferring to sink into his heated mattress pad. But the default iPhone ringtone seems especially heartless, right now, for whatever reason – even though he probably wake up earlier than this during the work week. He buries his head in his pillow, trying to force the alarm into snoozing. His nose brushes into the soft pillowcase, inhaling the aromatherapy. Then, it moves … you move. And Jeno remembers the night before. It wasn’t a dream this time.
You slam your hand on the nightstand, briefly sliding out of his arms. The alarm – your phone – persists though, falling to the floor. You mumble a small fuck under your breath, softer than last night; the memory makes his dick twitch. He feels you crawl over the edge, rustling the bedsheets, your ass brushing his dick away. You dip heavier into the side with a Herculean effort, reaching for your phone, then slide it onto the mattress under your pillow. He tries not to react, tightens his already closed eyes, but his dick twitches. Thankfully, you seem blissfully unaware, nuzzling back into the pillows, a hand crossed over your chest, breathing deeply.
Jeno exhales through his nose, relieved. You must’ve fallen back to sleep – good, honestly, with work and then the whole train ride mess a couple days ago. Maybe he can use the time to finish what he started yesterday morning. Unfortunately, when he grabs his cock, points it up, his pelvis scrunching his abs, your thighs part, just briefly, then close again. The tip catches between your ass cheeks, trailing toward your pussy, sliding with back and forth, aided easily by how wet you are. Jeno internally groans at the thought of you having a sexy dream, hopefully about him. You start swaying, and your arm starts shaking, and your breath labors – you are touching yourself: your neck, your arms, your stomach, your clit. All the shifting spurs Jeno into action. He slowly and shallowly rocks his hips forward, spreading your natural lubricant across the top half of his cock. You lean into him, hands changing to claw his burly naked shoulder, and guide his fingers to your cunt. At the new position, the closer position, he sloppily mouths the part between your neck and shoulder, his breath as hot and heavy as his tongue.
You freeze for a second, stiffening your posture, and he thinks that maybe he misunderstood or that you changed your mind, so he slowly pulls back. His cock springs free from the tight crevice, wet and warm and hard, twitching on your round ass.
“I’m sor – Did you not – I thought – I’m sorr –“
You turn around and kiss him quiet, throwing a leg over his hip. Your heel digs into his lower back, above his flat ass, lodging the tip in your pussy again. Slowly, you lower yourself on his cock, kissing him harder the further you sink down. Once he is completely inside, you pull your face back and wrap your arms around his neck, practically fusing your bodies together. Everything moves too fast for him. Jeno is unable to appreciate your touches. He makes it known with a mewl, chest beating quicker than yours. And as if you sense it – best friend intuition, you might say in any other situation where his dick isn’t in you, like wordlessly handing over a bag of ramyeon that you ‘borrowed’ from Renjun’s room – you brush a few strands of hair away from his eyes, and he opens them this time. You’ve always been good at comforting him: when he had a panic attack over losing his wallet, when he got reprimanded at work for shredding the wrong abstract, etc. He has always known it. Well, not always; he doesn’t know where it began, but he knows the feeling will last forever, like a vow. Jeno hugs you around your waist, tighter, asking you to move for more or to stop for less, because, much like last night, should you give him an inch, he’ll take a meter.
“Don’t be sorry,” you beg, humping his cock again. “I want you.”
Jeno loses balance and falls on his flat ass, his thighs sandwiched densely between yours. He fumbles around the bed, pushing away the thin sheet to see his cock disappear in your pussy. It should be impossible; you should be tight, having nothing to prep you beforehand, but maybe his stroke game last night was enough, you came twice on his cock alone, the stretch evidently lasting through now. The mattress creaks and the headboard hits the wall as you bounce firmly, knees jabbing into the bed. Your breath shakes, abs visibly flexing, and you fall forward, hair splaying over his shoulder. He licks his middle finger, then drags it under your thigh, trapping his cock in a V, using his lubricated finger for added pressure on your clit, his dick abusing its underside. His free arm belts behind your back, index finger teasing outside the rim of your asshole.
“Oh, oh,” you scream, biting your lip, pawing the comforter for some stability while he rams your little cunt. “F-f-ffuck.” He spanks your ass, dragging the meaty flesh up with a glowing hand mark. “Cu-cu-cumming. Mmm, oh my god, I’m so c-close.”
“Already? Shit.”
You tuck your hips forward, and he takes advantage, moving his hands under your torso, massaging your clit with all his fingers and sucking your tits. The repetitive sounds synchronize – your whimpering, his whimpering, your skin slapping into his, the bed springs screeching, your cunt squelching. All of it overwhelms his senses, and had you not been so close to his ear, Jeno would’ve missed your mantra:
“Jeno, Jeno, Jeno,” you squeal, moans getting increasingly louder, “I’m cumming, I’m cumming, cumming.” Your pussy drools cum down his legs, and he gradually decelerates, riding out your orgasm.
A beat passes, full of tense heavy breathing, before he pants in your face, nearly screaming (as if you hadn’t done so a moment ago, in his ear, with his face buried in your neck). “Breakfast,” he says simply, loudly, trying to hear himself through the ringing in his ears that preserves the way your moans sound, as if this could end on Monday morning when you get back to your real lives – which it could. You never said what this is. “Should we, um, should we get breakfast?” He remembers your alarm, trying to suppress the hardness in his cock, as if this were all just a formality, a complimentary wake up call not provided by the hotel, and he looks away, but he doesn’t go far, only dropping to your lips, not wanting to part, even in his view. “You know, that first meal of the day, typically eaten during moan-morning, often in, um, including rice, eggs, milk –”
Jeno flickers his eyes away from your lips, catching you gazing at him. Somehow you make it less creepy than when he does it. There was this one time at the end of high school when he checked on you, in the next cubicle over, in the library, only to find you asleep on your textbook, relying on osmosis rather than flash cards to study for the CSAT; 15 minutes passed and he felt like he regressed into that middle school nerd who just stood there, wheezing. Or that other time in international student building during college when Renjun slapped him on the arm because he was staring at you too long; he lied, saying that he was just making sure you got the right coffee from the vending machine, but Renjun knew. Jeno is convinced that his entire friend group knows how he feels about you – Haechan tried setting him up with you back in high school; Jaemin practically read his diary; Mark … Mark might actually be the only one who doesn’t know, for sure, but he definitely suspects something!
You grab his chin, snapping him out of his thoughts, and search his face before kiss him, your eyes fluttering closed as you grind him through the overstimulation. “Cum in me,” you order, “I’ll milk your cock dry.”
“Fuck,” Jeno breathes, never detaching his lips. He hugs low on your waist again, slapping your ass with both his hands. And when he can’t take it anymore – take the grinding, the clenching, the bouncing – he mumbles your name in your mouth, “Baby, I ne, uh, I need to cum. Let me cum inside you,” he takes you up on your offer, like the more-than-decade-long pining stops at a dam, at your answer.
Wordlessly, you shove you tongue in his mouth, cradling his cheek as he leans deeper between the pillows. You grab whatever length of his cock that is not in your pussy, and he whimpers when you throb your hand around him, teasing the other half inside your cunt. Jeno scoots forward, using the momentum to slap himself all the way in you, making your hips stutter. Fuck, you’re tight. And he knows that it’s a dumb myth for the vagina to be this compact, narrow canal, but your wall muscles barely conform to his girth, and the thought boosts his ego, so he holds you steady against his chest, repeatedly ramming your pussy with long thrusts. Your tits jiggle off your chest, scraping his pecs, almost slapping him in the jaw as he tilts his head up to suck more bruises under your chin, to soothe you from all the choking last night.
“Je-Jen,” you stammer, “I don’t –“ You swallow, shaking your head. “My legs are-are going to giv-give out.”
“It’s okay, baby, just breathe,” he tells you. He punctures your hips at a faster pace, like giving your pussy CPR, ordering your clit to administer a shock, blowing the kiss of life for the both of you. “In, out, in, out, in, out,” he guides, “You can do it.”
Jeno flips you on your back, an oof resounding the room, yelps and giggles following. He gives you a second to gather your composure, regulate your breathing, then pistons his cock repeatedly in your pussy. His tip catches on a particularly hard clench, and your walls refuse to let him go, trapping him in a spot that abuses your G-spot. He pushes the entire length inside you, practically fucking your cervix again, driving your back arched. You writher along the mattress, hair splaying among the sheets. His fists outline your obliques, thumbs erroneously pointed outward, trying to support your back. He accidentally slips on a particularly hard thrust, but before he can save himself, he protects your skull from hitting the headrest or your arm from getting crushed by his chest. Phew. Maybe if he were weaker, he would hold you on the bed, thrusting in a way that lets the both of you fall into the pillows, or maybe if he were stronger – mentally and physically – he would be able to stay up, not tempted or dizzy at the sight of your slightly parted mouth. Jeno readjusts his hands – one pushing your waist into the comforter, for his own support, and the other creeping toward your neck. You lift your chin up, giving him consent, and it takes him a second to move forward; he didn’t think he would get this far, that you would completely let him manhandle you. But, he guesses, he doesn’t know everything about you, and he is so excited to discover more. He pads his fingers on either side of your esophagus, squeezing just enough to make breathing a little harder for you, make it harder for you to follow the breathing pattern he ingrained in your cunt.
“Fuck, baby, breathe just like that.” Jeno peeks an eye wider, glancing at the blanket tosses away. Cautiously, he drifts his gaze to your stomach, and his cock twitches. You moan loader, almost confirming him thoughts – is he really that deep? Your pussy clenches. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” Jeno kisses you. “Cum with me,” he moans your name.
You used to make fun of him for being such a romantic, always cooing when he’d swoon over Knox and Chris, until he decided that he didn’t like their romance anymore. It’s too possessive. Although, he understands the sentiment, because the way you look at him, now, face contorting over your second building orgasm, incomprehensible whines spilling into the air. He should have done this sooner, should have kissed you sooner, and he would have, if he had known it would lead to this, because he can do it; he can bury the depth of his feelings while you sort yours out. If he can have you this close, like this, he would do anything.
Jeno draws his hips back, your name snagging on his moan. He feels your fingers dig in harsher as your legs tense up, tension building in your stomach. His knees chafe against the sheets, rocking an imprint into the mattress that keeps your legs open. Jeno slows his thrusts, instead hammering his entire cock harder. He tries not to cum prematurely, wanting to see your second orgasm of the morning overstimulate, but as he abrades your clit, holding your thighs wide, he feels himself shoot a thick rope of cum deep in your pussy, and it’s not long until he spills everything else, fucking you through his own orgasm, fucking his cum into you, your hole greedily drinking it all. You follow a few hits later, shaking your ass to help yourself along, then Jeno collapses, sweaty hot body enveloping your matching one. He presses sloppy, wide, open-mouthed kisses on your clavicle, steadily trailing up your neck, your cheek, and pecking you on the lips.
“Better than your dream?” you giggle, returning a kiss.
“Way better.”
Getting out of bed takes forever. The first time you tried to leave, you sat on the edge, stretching your arms upward. You bent over, standing on the ground, reaching for your toes, shaking off the jelly sensation, but Jeno, equally awake, rejuvenated from the twenty-minute rest since his cock was in you, leaned over the edge as well and made out with your pussy, licking all the way to your rim and back. Rather than shoving his head away, you pushed your hips back, for more, and eventually returned to bed, kicking up your legs and giggling your way into another blow job. The second time you tied to leve, you had to cross over Jeno’s body to get to the aisle between your beds, since your bed was pushed against the wall). You slithered a leg over his waist, balancing your palms on his shoulders, his cock twitching on your ass. He grabbed you by the waist, holding you there. You raised your eyebrows, pretending to be innocent (even though you really did want to get out of bed) as his cock hardened.
And now, the third time, your legs shake on your way off the mattress, having experienced way too many orgasms in less than thirty-minutes.
“Come back to bed,” Jeno whines, patting the empty warm spot you previously occupied.
“No,” you laugh, holding your arms out for balance before you fall again. You slap his grabby little hand away from your ass, much to his dismay, and pick up one of the new shirts you bought him yesterday that slipped out of the bag after Jeno kicked over a blanket. “I’m hungry,” you pout, facing him and buttoning up the top few buttons. “I need something to eat.”
“You have something I want to eat.”
“Real food, dork.” You walk over to your luggage, hunching over, ass on display but too far away from him. He groans, and you can hear him flop back onto the bed. You slip on a pair of panties, and his groan gets louder, making a smile instinctively spread on your face. “Come onnnn,” you complain, crawling onto the bed with a blouse and bra in hand, inching into his face, “Let’s grab something at that bistro. We won’t have a lot of time tomorrow at the wedding, and it’s already 5.”
Jeno sits straight, back against the headrest, his arms behind his head, showing off his thick muscles and tiny waist. He looks you up and down, a frown settling into his lip as he releases his arms with another groan. “Are we doing this backwards?”
“Doing what?” you ask, focused on exchanging his top for yours, another long-sleeve but black this time. You creep onto his lap, legs folded over the edge. He instantly goes to stabilize your waist, and you replace your arms around his neck, giving him a chaste (albeit sensual) kiss on the cheek, the corner of his mouth. “I just want to get dinner.” You put a hand on his arm, doing your best to give him a set of puppy dog eyes that you hope he cannot refuse. “Please?”
Jeno throws his head back. “Okay, let me put on some pants.”
The wait time at the bistro exceeded the amount of time it took to get ready and Uber over there, so you decided to look for something else. It seemed as though the universe wanted to punish your feet, everything else either closed by noon or surpassing an hour wait. You know that Jeno hates waiting more than 45-minutes. If he even knows that the restaurant is trendy or high-end, he won’t leave the apartment.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble and stop in the middle of the sidewalk, an empty sidewalk around the corner from yet another restaurant. Jeno slows down ahead of you, a hand coming out of his blazer to rub the frown lines in his jaw. “I didn’t think everything would take this long.”
“Hey,” Jeno calls, stepping into your personal bubble, preventing you from looking away by cradling your cheeks, “Hey. It’s okay. We’ll find something.”
“No, it’s not okay,” you shake your head, tearily looking into his eyes. The night sky almost obscures them, but Jeno led you close to a building with motion sensor, external lights. “It’s ridiculous, honestly, and you keep comforting me, but I’m starting to feel like a bur –”
You are cut off by your own gasp when Jeno kisses you, effectively shutting you up, and you melt into his arms. He simply puckers his lips, kissing you as long as he inhales before breathing out, just enough to regulate your heartbeat. The whole world slows down around you, every sound muted except the gentle smacking of his lips. One of your feet pops, kicks up, and you lean into his touch, fully assuaged.
Jeno pulls away first, leading you over to an open hotteok stand without a line. He orders two for each of you and a large soda to share, paying quickly. The vendor compliments the two of you as a couple, but when you go to correct him, Jeno interrupts you again, a hand on your lower back, thanking the guy, and walks you down the street. Once you get to a bridge, streetlamps connected by strung lantern lights, he relaxes against the railing, using the warm pancake to heat up his hands. You look him over again, then glance at your attires; it seems weird – you both wearing nice date clothes but eating ��10,000 snacks, sharing a soda instead of wine.
“What?”
“I just …” You turn the wrapper around in your hands, gaze falling to the chewy dough. “How are you so nonchalant about everything?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are w-we going to pretend that the stuff in the hotel room didn’t happen? Like I didn’t confess that I like you, more than platonically?”
Jeno sighs, casting his gaze to the floor. But, like, why? You are the one vulnerable right now. In the last 24-hours, you confessed, to liking him more than friends. You only ever came close three other times; three times in 12 years: at the beginning of high school, motivated by your friends to take control; at the end of high school, before graduation, when you thought that he would go to KAIST instead of Yonsei with you; in the middle of college, during volunteer work at a soup kitchen. And each time, you chickened out. You thought that maybe, after you entered the workforce, like a real adult, you would face the music, face these constantly lingering feelings, and maybe, this is it; this is the music, but something about him, about this, regresses you back to that teenage girl feeling: shy and insecure.
“I –” Jeno inhales, crumpling the hotteok wrapper into his pocket, then waddling over to you. “I don’t think you know what you’re saying.”
You frown. He is not listening to you. Why else would you repeat the friendship-shattering phrase? You thought that this was it, that you could live with being his weekend mistake, but that involved getting a solid response from him, something tangible to let you know how he feels.
“I just … You don’t …” You lick your lips, gradually dropping your gaze to the floor, unable to face him with all this uncertainty. “I,” you emphasize, pointing your middle phalanges above your heart, “don’t know what you’re saying. Jen, I want some cl –”
For the second time tonight, he cuts you off with a simple kiss, long and chaste, holding you by the neck, as if the action exempts him from explaining himself. And maybe you are easy to sway, because you let him kiss you in the middle of a bridge overlooking the Busan city streets, convincing yourself that having him physically close is the same as having him emotionally close.
Jeno hopes that he won’t be like Jaehyun on his wedding day – absolutely insane. Well, he hopes that he won’t be like this on his wedding day, with you, oscillating between awkward silence and carrying out his childhood, assuming that he marries you. Granted, the wedding cake did melt, and another groomsman, the best man, Yuta, is running late (delayed flight from Japan), and Jaehyun did rip his tie, hence why Jeno, now, runs around the Park Hyatt Hotel, searching for any front desk attendant to point him toward a sewing kit at the very least. He should have brought his back up tie, a skinny black tie that he definitely does not know how to turn into a cravat, and he cannot ask you, not after last night when he evaded your question by sleeping with you.
Left. Right. Left again. Jeno looks around the empty, second-floor hallway, above the equally empty front desk, adjacent to the imperial staircase. Promptly, he shuts the door, inhaling and exhaling under the weird single lightbulb at the center of the ceiling, eyes shut, trying to imagine his happy place.
“Jeno?”
He sighs, shoulders dropping, face finally relaxing without the groom-zilla pacing and spiraling without “his soul mate” to calm him down, but Jeno cannot refute very much. Even in his dreams, you exist. And maybe he talks too little, or you talk too much; maybe he doesn’t say enough, or maybe you don’t say the proper words, but he could live in the in-between, in the that moment after you say something and right before he doesn’t. So, he sinks into your enveloping voice, engrossed by just the sound of his voice, no pressure behind it – pressure to answer your ‘I like you’ confession with his thousand-word ‘I love you’ confession; pressure to have the ‘what are we’ conversation; pressure to face your inevitable rejection that, although you feel something more than friendship for him, you don’t feel the same way. Except, Jeno doesn’t just feel the warmth from your words.
Your fingers slowly touch his tall shoulder, pads of your fingers dipping in harder to grab his attention. And he screams.
And you copy him.
It takes a moment for him to turn around, a hand over his heart, patting down his lapels. But when he does, when he finally looks at you, as if he were the groom this wedding, waiting for you, the bride, to surprise him at the end of the aisle, Jeno’s breath stops. He cannot discern whether it’s due to the shock value of being in close proximity to you again, in an intimate setting almost rivaling 7 minutes in heaven (though he can say that he’s had more than 7 minutes in heaven with you, outside a closet); or it’s because you look absolutely stunning, somehow making the lime green garden wedding theme work for you – Jaehyun practically shoved a floor-length dress in your arms the moment you both arrived, absolutely exhausted, half-filled coffees pressed against your foreheads, above your sunglasses blocking the sunlight, as if you two were hungover (you weren’t; neither of you have drank more than water this weekend so far), before he directed you to Mingyu’s “side of the hotel”, even though you are his cousin, and took Jeno to his side. And, when you initially asked him to be your wedding date, Jeno didn’t expect to stand with the wedding party, thought he would just have to sit in the audience, watching you stand at the altar in front of the wrong man (granted, your cousin and his groom), but Jaehyun gave him a matching green tie and the second groomsman spot.
“Ha-ha-hi. What, um, what are you doing in here?”
You, staring at the floor, feet squirming clickty clack in your heels, hold up a tiny sewing kit. “Stealing some supplies for Mingyu. He brough an extra cravat and wants me to sew in tie, as a precaution, in case something happens to the current one.”
Jeno lets out a small laugh, and you slowly look up at him.
“What?” you frown.
“Nothing,” he smiles at you. “Just … they’re really meant for each other. Jaehyun ripped his tie, and he sent me looking for a sewing kit to fix it.”
You furrow your eyebrows and tilt your head to the side. And Jeno coughs weakly into his hand, trying not to think about the way you kissed him, last night, head tilted again, eyes half-lidded, lips parted slightly. “What about Yuta?”
“Delayed.” Jeno jingles his watch into frame. “He should be arriving at Incheon in the next few minutes, but he won’t be here until, like, 20 minutes be-before the wedding,” Jeno trails off slowly at the end. The ceremony, the intimate short portion of the early afternoon, starts in two hours. Except, right now, the closet seems more intimate – perhaps 50 people will be accommodated later, the ballroom, and if he translates that into this space, about a tenth would be in attendance. And they probably would not like to witness him undress you with his eyes.
“Mmhmm,” you hum, stumbling your fingers onto his lapels. You feel the material once, under your thumb, then smooth out imaginary wrinkles. He has to wonder what you see that he doesn’t, but he says nothing about it, not wanting you to leave him. “Luckily, Jaehyun has you then, huh?” You press your palm into his jacket, just the one time, above his rapidly beating heart, then start dropping your hand.
But he catches you.
“I’m lucky,” he says, the words falling from the tip of his tongue, like breaking the dam, letting all the pent-up and unresolved feelings flood, “to have you.” Jeno subconsciously tugs you forward, by your hand, until you stand just a hair away, your dress breathing like a Lee Byung-Ho sculpture for SeMA’s Aging World installation a few years ago (he took you and spent the whole time scribbling your name next to the notes that he had to decipher later for his extra credit essay). He flickers his eyes across your face, waiting before he gets an approval. You stay still for the longest second in history, and he mirrors it, mirrors you. When you appear to move away, he also copies that. “Sorry. Sorry. I know we’re in a kind of uncomfortable spot, and I probably shouldn’t’ve –“
“Jeno?”
“… Yeah?”
“Can I kiss you?”
“Please.”
You fist his jacket, ruining the lapels more obvious for him to see, making him stagger forward. He braces a hand on the bookcase storage behind you, pulling your lower back toward his pelvis to help you evade ramming your spine into the shelves, but he still falls, face first into yours, one strong arm keeping you close, the other hovering above your cheek, too scared that he might crush you with the impossible weight of his crush, his feelings. You try to comfort him – as you always do, like a rock – fluffing his hair. Then, your foot slips, stiletto heel snagging on a loose roll of toilet paper. And he catches you, of course, always, holding your waist so tightly that you might crack. You echo him, this time, grabbing, groping, gripping every surface that you possibly can. To stop himself from toppling you, he bunches your silk dress at your hip and shoves his strong leg between your thighs. He drags you up his knee once, twice, thrice, and you moan.
“Jeno,” you barely manage to breathe, after one kiss, lips tight. You go lax in his arms, fawning over his arm like a damsel in distress – head thrown back, hair starting to tangle at the roots, leg hooking onto his waist. He moves down to your neck, your collarbone, your chest; he slides down the spaghetti strap for easier access, peppering wet kisses onto your skin. “Oh, my God,” you moan, arms tightening around his neck, drawing him impossibly close and thrusting your half-exposed tits in his face. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”
Jeno kisses you harder, his tongue barely poking out, bottom lip dragging up. His inhales feel – and sound – heavy, trying to inhale everything about this moment.
“I want you,” he mumbles, nose brushing your cheek. He stops kissing you, open mouth panting into your ear. “But not like this. Not right here.”
“Jen,” you whine, sliding your hand under his jacket, clutching the back of his dress-shirt slightly untucked. “Please. I want you.”
“I – “ he gasps. “I –“
Then your phone rings.
I want you so bad, but not like this. I want to make love with you.
“He-hello?” you answer. You press your forehead to Jeno’s, and he takes the opportunity to analyze your face, the face he has memorized in his daydreams. Jeno twirls a loose, long strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear. “Yeah, I f-ff-found it.” He presses a singular kiss under your jaw, tongue hunting for a prominent vein. And when he finds it, he pushes, harder, sucking just light enough not to create an ostentatious mark. “Mmm,” you nearly moan wantonly, legs giving out, “I-I’ll br-bring it by right now. O-okay, yeah, bye.” You quickly hang up the phone, dropping it to the floor, and wrap your arms around Jeno’s neck, returning one kiss, the final kiss, long and chaste, everything spilling out. “I have to go,” you whisper, sliding down his thigh.
“Yeah,” he mumbles back, “Me too.”
During the wedding, you did this a lot.
Thankfully no one noticed, or you hoped that no one noticed – you and Jeno staring at each other, across the altar; you behind Jeonghan, Mingyu’s best man; him behind Yuta, Jaehyun’s best man. You wanted to pay attention to the grooms, and their lovely ceremony, but seeing Jeno, just a few people away, had you quixotically imagining him at the forefront of the room, surrounded by your own friends and family. Who would be his best man: Renjun, Jaemin, Haechan? Would you get married in his hometown, or maybe abroad? What would you wear – Leehwa, Vera Wang, custom Prada?
Everything faded in front of you, when he met your gaze, staring you down over Yuta’s shoulder, closest to the officiant. You thought that the venue’s organization had it out for you, putting you on a pedestal below Jaehyun, but as Jeno returned your acknowledgement, you realized that the venue was, really, protecting your feelings, because the moment you locked eyes, the entire weekend flashed through your memory – almost kisses, actual kisses, accidental touches. You had to suppress all those feelings, make sure none of it was written on your face, like they meant nothing, like you don’t know what his current suit looks like crumpled and on the floor of your hotel room, like he belongs closer to you. The cheers following Jaehyun and Mingyu’s ‘I do’s were the only thing to bring you out of your own head, to draw the details of reality again, as if you willed time itself to move into the reception so that you could have Jeno to yourself again, restoring the intimacy of this affair to the grooms.
Unfortunately, it took a bit longer to even breathe in Jeno’s direction.
Both the Jung and Kim families shuffled everyone down to the reception ballroom, where even more friends and family and colleagues waited. You had to go back upstairs, without Jeno, to change into your party dress – the silk purple one, a shorter material that matches the tie you bought him. And then, the tables separated you as well, sending Jeno to mingle with other singles and you with your distant cousins, through the first course as both grooms, together, made their rounds, greeting every guest and expressing their gratitude in low bows for coming to celebrate their union. You finally found an escape during the main dish, which forced everyone to pull food from a buffet table rather than be served the same appetizer.
“Hey,” you bump elbows in line with Jeno, stealing his attention from the galbi-jjim, a small smile fighting your cheeks. “I – I can’t believe we got separated there. Do you think I can sneak you back to my table?”
Jeno chuckles and places a rib on your plate, using the obnoxiously large tongs to fix a batonnet carrot atop the meat. “I hope so,” he answers honestly, nose crinkling as a sign of it. “You’d think that they would put us together, since I’m supposed to be your plus one.”
“But I guess not,” you finish for him. You look over your shoulder at your table – nearly empty, like the preceding pew taking communion, then whisper, like making a tryst between spies, “Meet me at my table when you’re done. You can take my aunt’s chair; she’s dreadfully boring.”
You finish plating the traditional food that Jaehyun picked out for the occasion (according to Mingyu) and return to your table (Table No. 3) ahead of Jeno, who stopped to wait for a restock of japchae right before the dessert platters. He is easy to please – and they do say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach – because after he plates his noodles, he looks over his shoulders and sneaks a bite, eyes prettily fluttering closed, lips puckered around the tips of his manicured nails, licking his fingers clean. You try not to laugh, biting it behind an inevitable smile. Jeno finds you, easily, as he always does, tilting his head in confusion, but you wave him off, gesturing for him to finally join you, make you feel at little less alone among the extended family branches.
“Here, take some of the japchae,” he says, already unveiling a nearby fork from the dark green napkin cloth and piling it next to your rice. “It tastes –” He kisses his fingers. “- chef’s kiss, amazing.”
“You two make a lovely couple,” your aunt interrupts – not the dreadfully boring one; a different aunt, a younger aunt, who, just two years ago, claimed that she wouldn’t be like the rest of the peanut gallery, gossiping and leaping to conclusions about everyone younger’s love lives. You and Jeno sink into your respective chairs, deliberately avoiding touching each other. She leans in, over your arm, almost daring Jeno with her excited Princess doe eyes. “Can we expect another wedding soon?” He coughs. And you drop your metal chopsticks. And your aunt leans back, shrugging as if she hadn’t dropped a bomb. “It shouldn’t be a surprise. I’m probably not the only one who is expecting it. You graduated college – what – 10? 13? months ago. Right now would be perfect for you to get married, while you’re still young.” She briefly points a spoon at Jaehyun and Mingyu, before chopping up her almon bowl. “They got married young, and now they’re going to honeymoon across Europe. I’m just saying –“ She shoves a bite of food in her mouth. “It’s better to get married young – you grow together; finances are easier to manage; your health is in good shape, etc. etc.”
Your other aunt, her wife, finally joins, too, and smacks her arm. “Are you bothering another couple about getting married?” She turns to you with sympathetic eyes. “Sorry, after we got married, four years ago,” she emphasizes more to her wife than you or Jeno, eyes slightly narrowed (although playfully) on the last syllable, “she has been obsessed with weddings.”
“Happens when you marry a wedding planner.” They kiss.
You turn away, shyly looking at Jeno, mouthing an apology.
Surprisingly, he leans into your ear, whispering. His initial breath, before he even says anything, sends shivers down your spine, and he grabs your arm, rubbing your naked forearm for warmth. Oh. He mistook it. “Just play along,” he instructs. You can feel a hair move from its place. “It’s easier to say that you don’t know when we’ll get married than to explain why we’re, um, you are not dating.”
“W-we don’t actually know when we’ll get married,” you answer, gradually building your voice to conversation decibel.
“See! I told you they were a couple! There is no way that they wouldn’t be. Look at them!”
You cautiously glance at Jeno, stopping at his matching purple tie (he must’ve changed when you changed; and lucky him, a simple tie is easier than an entire dress), because you do not want to be so obvious about your lie. The train conductor, the Uber driver, the hotelier … they all thought the same, but since then, the start of your trip, you discovered that he does want you to touch him, in all the ways that carry meaning (and then some). You just do not know to what extent. He never said anything, never explained anything, not that you are entitled to his feelings. And you tried to reason it all – maybe you say too much, not really letting him, or maybe he says too little, constantly shocked to silence by all the secrets you spill.
You open your mouth at the round table, but another aunt of yours comes by and pinches Jeno’s cheek, saying something about how handsome he is, the statement echoing far off in your ears. And thank God, honestly; you did not quite know what to respond, merely hoping that, if you simply opened your mouth, your Broca’s area would follow. It didn’t.
“Yes, yes, but as you mentioned, my lovely date does not have a drink, so we best fix that,” you hear Jeno express. You peek to your side, then up, seeing him having stood at some point in his conversation. He throws you a look, eyebrows raised, eyes wide, smile nearly rectangular, and nods toward the open bar. Oh! You stand up, too, albeit clumsily, knocking your thigh into the mahogany, the silverware and ceramics jostling; you give your aunts a hasty bow and apology before taking Jeno’s arm. “See,” he says to your other aunt, “We must be going. There is a long Island iced tea out there with my name on it.” They laugh together, then you let Jeno drag you away to the open bar, away from prying aunties.
“Long Island iced tea?” You quirk a single eyebrow. He refused to drink those ever since the 2020 trip to Germany when you, Jaemin, and Renjun got so fucked up on Long Island iced teas, consuming more and more, claiming that it just wasn’t hitting, until it did, that the four of you missed your nonrefundable trip back to Incheon.
Jeno rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I, uh, couldn’t think of a different drink.”
You flutter your eyes to the drinks menu, reading through the specialties until you find the Long Island iced tea … right above the Sweet Pink Punch, a fruity pink margarita that is definitely right up his alley, had he had a few drinks in his system already. You raise your eyebrow even further up.
“Okay! I wanted the pink drink,” he pouts. “Is that what you want me to say?” The bartender immediately pops one up on the counter for him, pointedly fluffing the pink little petals over the equally pink salted rim. Jeno groans. “So not what I wanted.”
“Here,” you laugh, flagging down the same bartender. “I’ll take a six blueberry kamikaze shots and a whiskey smash.” It is Jeno’s turn raise an eyebrow at you, and you laugh harder, lightly smacking him on the stomach. “Don’t look at me like that. We’re just gonna take a couple shots to take the edge off this whole party, –” A bit of liquid luck, if you were being completely transparent. “– then, we’ll make a few rounds and leave early. The key is – thank you –“ You pass him half the shots and put your drinks close together, making it ambiguous which belongs to whom. “– The key is to make a strong impression, and since we were at the altar today, I think we’ve got a free pass, but, just to be safe, –” You down a shot. “– we’ll take a few more photos, schmooze Mingyu’s cousins, note a talking point for later, then –“ You click your tongue. “– we’ll bounce.” You down another shot. Just one little glass remains, filled on your side of the bar, while your date has yet to even touch the table, so you look up at him. Jeno has an arm folded under his chest, opposite fingers dragging his bottom lip down, intermittently padding inside his mouth. And you swallow, throat suddenly dry with only liquid courage to drink. “Is … Is that okay?”
“Huh?” He drops his hand, and your eye follows, mouth drawing a continuous blank. “Oh, yeah,” he answers. “But, um, we don’t have to leave right away. It’s your cousin’s wedding; it might be fun to hang around with everyone for a bit.”
Jeno doesn’t know why he said that – We don’t have to leave right away, and it might be fun to hang around for a bit. Those few rounds you talked about (not the shots ☹) turned into hours, even more after you offered to stay while everyone else left, to help clean the reception hall. Jeno stood up, also, to start piling dishes into bus tubs, but you, and the others helping, only gave him easy-to-complete tasks or shooing him away. He eventually just sat down, sporadically drinking a bottle of soju, watching you laugh with your aunt and Mingyu, now your cousin-in-law, over something he couldn’t hear from so far away.
And when Jaehyun approaches, Jeno misses him, too caught up in the way your eyes almost physically light up at Mingyu’s umpteenth gawky faux pas of the night.
“How long?”
Jeno jumps, straightens his back. He relaxes after seeing Jaehyun, who looks far calmer than a couple hours ago. Maybe marriage suits him, brings out the vulnerability that no one really sees unless they get a few drinks in him. Jeno wonders if marriage would change him. Would he be more conscientious? Introverted (if that were even possible)? Would he have the same level of self-control? Or would his sex life get worse? And what if he didn’t marry you? He wants everything that marriage entails, even the compromises he might not be able to think about right now, but he isn’t sure that he would want it if it wasn’t with you.
“I …”
“How long have you been in love?” Jaehyun repeats, a knowing look quirked into his smile.
Jeno inhales, once, twice. He opens his mouth. Then, he puts down his bottle. “Forever,” he answers quietly, “maybe.” He winces. That sounds wrong, so he corrects himself, “Probably. Your cousin …” he starts, not saying your name, because if he does, he might accidentally confess something that he wants only you to hear.
Jaehyun chuckles, possibly more intoxicated than Jeno. It feels like that time in high school (Jeno cringes at how often he’s thought about his teenage years, like someone stuck in the past, but he cannot help that he has spent half his life with you) – that time in high school, near the end, when you invited him to his first college party, Jaehyun’s college party. So many things happened, so many firsts happened: his first beer, his first time losing his wallet (it was in the garage refrigerator), his first hickey; he emerged from a random bedroom, tugging up the collar of his shirt, and accidentally bumped into Jaehyun who was coming out of the bathroom from a different – but similar – experience.
“Dramatic,” Jaehyun comments. And Jeno whips his head to look at the groom, but he finds him looking at Mingyu. Jeno turns, too, but his eyes find you instead, instantly forgetting about the wedding party, until Jaehyun starts talking again. “Though, understandable.” Jaehyun spins his chair to Jeno, crouching a little closer, like he is about to reveal a secret. “You know, I almost asked you to give a wedding speech too.”
“Me?” Jeno points to himself. Jaehyun nods, re-affirming. “Why?”
Jaehyun shrugs, leaning back. He takes Jeno’s soju. “Because you give good speeches.” He tilts his bottle to Mingyu and you dancing and singing (Mingyu off-beat; you off-key). “My husband –” He smiles (that annoying and sickening lovey-dovey smile … that Jeno can’t help but want too). “– thought it might make you confess.”
“What?!”
Jaehyun shrugs again. Then, a beat passes, and Jeno opens his mouth, but Jaehyun gets up to join you and Mingyu; you pulling him up by an imaginary lasso. He hands back the soju, shimmying toward his husband. Another jealous pang bubbles in Jeno’s chest, and, yeah, he may not be the best person to let give a speech, or he might be the best. Sure, he wants that – to be called someone’s (your) husband and dance the night away with them (you); and yeah, he thinks about what it means to be in love, or what love itself means, and he comes to the same conclusion, every time. He comes to the same conclusion as you gesture for him to join the mini-after party, starting up an old SHINEE song on your iPhone that everyone knows.
More muzak fills the silence, albeit awkwardly now, through the first floor of the hotel. Jeno holds the sensor open, allowing you to enter first and push the Floor F button. He takes a place next to you, leaning on the cold wall, flushed face finally starting to mellow. You stare at the red numbers increasing on the monitor above the door, adjusting the hem of your purple cocktail dress lower than his tuxedo jacket hanging off your shoulders, rubbing your thighs together at your knees. The reception lasted longer than you anticipated; weddings, especially those so deep in Busan, tend not to exceed two hours, but you stayed passed 7 PM, since 11 AM, helping around where you could. And maybe it started out as a way to avoid Jeno, after the previous night, then all the discomfort and embarrassment faded, once you got a kiss and liquid courage. It seems to have faded by now though.
“Beautiful, um, beautiful ceremony,” Jeno mumbles, scratching the back of his neck and biting back a smile.
"Yeah,” you agree, breaking into a nervous smile. You fumble with the silver cufflinks, the memory of the last time you were confined to a small space with him – the closet at the Park Hyatt Hotel – at the forefront of your brain, and you wonder if his breath would be warm, or warmer, on your neck now. A glimpse of Jeno crawls into the corner of your eye, so you look him up and down. He doesn’t appear tired, rather lost in thought, like you, lips sucked in as if preventing another secret from falling out (or maybe he has to throw up). It becomes harder to ignore the weekend tension, the unsaid confessions, the sex. “Jeno, I lo –”
“So –”
Silence pulses, and the elevator goes up a floor.
You both close your mouths again. Perhaps you should have taken the stairs; the huffing and puffing would help you break the quietude. Beautiful ceremony was the first thing he said to you since getting into the Uber from the reception hall. And before that, he only made small talk, interrupting you if he even sensed a deeper conversation. It was frustrating, but you also understood. You kept bringing it up at inopportune times. Either the next task (eg, the wedding, the not-your wedding) or the atmosphere (eg, too many people) prevented you from really talking it out.
“Oh, you go first.”
“No, you were talking first. You go.”
You inhale. “Jeno, I lo –”
Ding. You have arrived at Floor F.
There it is again.
Jeno shrugs his shoulders sheepishly, gesturing for you to leave ahead of him. “We can talk about this in our room.”
Our room. Funny enough, since you two moved into the new gender-neutral dorms, at the beginning of college, people assumed that you were roommates (oh, my God, they were roommates) and were quite shocked upon finding out that Jeno chose to stay with Jaemin and you with an upperclassman, Yoohyeon, who had the same major as you but was in her last year. And similarly, to this hotel, your room – our room – is in the middle of the Fth Floor. Yay, more awkward silence to tread through. :|
You fall into routine with Jeno, as you step foot in your hotel: he takes your his jacket from your shoulders, hanging it in the closet by the door, and you saunter towards the closest bed, eyes trained on the ground as if an officer asked you to for a walk and turn test. You kick your shoes off by the heels, nearly moaning when the straps release your feet, and rub the bottom before a blister appears. Jeno, equally shoeless, joins you, sits beside you, his thighs parted widely on the space you give him.
“Jeno, I lo –” you start. But he leans over, caressing your cheek, and kisses you, slow yet passionate. His thumb rubs long, comforting lines above your jaw, helping you to relax further and you accept, holding onto his arm for stability. You add another hand, behind your back, supporting yourself as he guides you down on the neatly pleated duvet. He almost tries to say something through the embrace, his tongue clicking a syllable or two above your teeth. “Are – are we doing this again?”
Jeno pecks your lips and rests his warm, exposed forehead against yours. “As much as you want to.” He kisses you again, falling alongside you on the open bed, turning you from the edge. “I,” he pants, eyes closed, chest rising. You brush away his hair, pushing back all the strands you can bunch, stealing the moment to selfishly admire him without the weight of ruining an already intimate affair with your affair. “I – I can’t do a onetime thing with you.”
“Me neither.”
Jeno opens his eyes, instantly analyzing your face. “What does that mean?”
“It –” You peck his lips again, rolling him under your body, straddling his waist. “– means that this feels good.” You grab him by the collar, a button falling undone. He immediately finds your waist, just like the train ride, hands belting through your short dress, dragging the silky material up your thighs. You can feel his shirt scratch into your skin as you both find the most ideal spot. He winds up further on the bed, arms mingling with the sheets, and you slide down his hips, slipping to his dick, teetering on your knees, preemptively riding him. “Do-do you like it?”
His body freezes, and you fear that you did something wrong, touched something wrong, said something wrong, but then, Jeno shimmies his hips, sliding down his trousers. You feel his cotton Calvin Kleins touch your own cotton panties; your pussy practically activated by the twitch of his cock. He taps high under your thigh, drumming hard enough to jiggle your ass, almost contemplatively.
“I … like it,” he decides to say, but his easy-to-read face frowns and he opens his mouth again, “I … I love it.” He bites his lip. “I love … I love you. So much.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.” Jeno gazes into your eyes, and you try your best to reciprocate, because you do reciprocate everything: the looks, the feelings, the love. Slowly, he sits up, rolling his spine toward you. When he gets in your face, millimeters away, he tucks your hair behind your ear again. You trap his hand there, clamping it between your cheek and shoulder, leaning into him. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same,” he whispers, but you both know that your relationship would not survive the depth of either one of your feelings, not after all these years.
“I love you, too, Lee Jeno,” you answer, kissing him before he can say anything else.
He slithers his fingers under the sides of your underwear, twisting them up, his face pliantly moving in your hands. You grind through your panties, and after a moment, you find his dick, grazing just the tip through your ass, all the way to your clit.
“Shit,” he moans. His hands readjust on your waist, gripping tighter, making you moan. “Are we doing this again?” You nod your head, holding him still and diving a bit lower. Your thighs adapt to the new curve in your back as you sloppily kiss his neck, tongue exploring his clavicle. “Then, sit on my face.”
Jeno helps your legs around his face, licking the wetness up your knees. His constant eye contact tells you to watch him, and you have to fight the urge to completely melt on his washboard abs. Jeno pulls the crotch of your panties to the side, a finger hooked around the black lacy material you once mentioned, that you looked forward to wearing after he ripped the other pair. You nearly lodge a complaint at the silence and the emptiness, but then, he moves. He flips you over, simultaneously tearing away your underwear, clawing your ass to ride his face; his chin lifting, abrading just under your clit. Your forehead falls to his groin, nails scratching into his bare legs – smooth and muscular. He starts peppering tiny kisses all over your vulva, tongue probing the further you soak his face. As a distraction, you unbutton his shirt, from the bottom up, fisting the hem, dragging up his torso. You walk backward, on your knees, punching holes into the mattress, exposing his abdomen. Experimentally, you lick a stripe through his well-defined abs. His knee kicks up. You do it again.
“Princess,” he whines, forehead resting on your inner thigh. “I won’t be able to control myself if you touch me like that.”
“I’m barely doing anything,” you mumble, crawling to his leaky cock again. Jeno, vindictively, adds a finger, and another, and another. He licks your pussy, swirling his tongue near your rim, then jumping back to your cunt, joining his three fingers. You fall forward, groaning, and take his cock, clothed, in your hand, drawing his tip along the lines of your lips, suckling the head.
“Fuck.” His head hits the mattress. It makes you feel attractive, sexy, to turn him on like this, and you love it.
“God, I love you,” you whisper.
“I love you,” Jeno returns. He almost nips your skin, lips barely covering his teeth in time. “So much,” he breathes, almost awed.
“Jeno, I’m gonna cum.”
“Wait!” He pulls his face off. “I want to see you.”
Romantic. And you guess it’s the season, that heightens, if not adds, to the sentiment. So, you contribute, trying to give him everything and more – that is what you have been doing all weekend with the train ride and the food and the hotel and the clothes, giving him your whole self.
You scramble off his chest, turning around, to face him. He flickers from your eyes to your hair and combs the staticky baby hairs back down. And you like to think that you’ve gotten to know him more, the last couple of days, think that you’ve gotten more accustomed to the little gestures, the tender indicators which show you something lasting. You lean down again, slowly, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He rolls you under him, trapped by his strong biceps, humping his dick between your legs, not allowing you a single moment of refractor. With his lips sewn into yours, he extracts his cock, lubricating it with your vaginal spit, teasing your hole. You swivel your hips, trying to push him inside. And just you think he might taunt you further, your orgasm hanging by a thread, he presses forward, centimeter by centimeter.
“Fuck,” you both groan, heads thrown back. A beat pulses, letting you, and him adjust to the size, the tightness (even though you spent 24-hours practically attached to his pelvis, skin sticking in this same way).
“Okay,” you exhale, “Okay. Move, please.” But Jeno keeps his head glued on your shoulder, breath shaky, chopped by tiny whimpers. You groan his name, elongating it when your voice chokes on a sob, feeling his thick cock throb inside you, raw and bare. “Jeno, please, I wan – I need to cum.”
Without looking at you, Jeno pulls back his hips, thrusting shallowly, his tip flopping around your cervix, searching for your sweet spot. And he knows when he finds – you know that he knows he found it – because your face contorts, eyes twisting shut, body relying on his touch to see. At some point, he meets you in the middle, greedily rolling his torso on top of you, roughly dragging you through the bed sheets. Jeno kisses you again, the same tender passion rising but more fervent, like he needs to chase the moment, like he missed out on chasing you all these years. So, you slow down, gasping into his mouth, showing him that you are here, with him, for him, forever, if he wants. And you let out a strangled cry, repeating his name like a mantra, hooking your arms under his shoulders:
“Jeno, Jeno, Jeno, Jeno, Jeno.”
He starts fucking you faster, increasing his pace as his name disappears into a series of blurry sobs on your tongue; he smashes his lips on yours, slamming his hips hard – hard even for him, judging by his own low-pitched whines. Your dress chokes your waist, the straps having slid down your arms, off your wrists, and your boobs spring free, somewhat free, since he holds you so close. You pull him in, nails clawing his back, flexing your legs away to give him the freest access to your cunt. He finds some stability in your clit, pushing the pulsing nub into his thrusting cock.
“Tell me you’re going to cum.”
“I’m so close. Please, please, please.”
Jeno pinches your clit. Your back drives off the mattress, trailing his abs, grinding every inch of skin that you possibly can, both of your outfits doing little to obstruct the tension, only adding strenuous friction. His hand punches the mattress, to avoid losing balance, and gives him more leverage to move faster, if that were even possible. In, out, in, out, yank, pull, prod, in, out. You babble more nonsense, brain barely processing quick I love yous and his name, before an earthquake shatters your sympathetic nervous system, breaking down the walls that blocked your orgasm. Your body trembles, rolling upward, accidentally meeting his thrusts, and your pussy spasms, coaxing out weepy hiccups from Jeno. You push two fingers between your bodies, around the base of his cock, helping his orgasm. And you feel the first ribbon of cum shoot deep in your cervix, his shoulders shuddering, but he keeps going, jamming his cum far up your cunt.
You lay there, curling around his arm, taking his cum while he planks above you, watching your spasms lessen. Jeno moves first, removing your clothes and situating the two of you by the pillows. He pulls you into his chest, shimmying your dress off your legs and his shirt off his shoulders. You let yourself close your eyes, melting into his arms, into the weekend, into finally getting the love of your life. And maybe minutes, or an hour, passes, not that you’re counting, because you’ll have him as long as he will have you. And you think he feels the same, know he feels the same when he whispers a phrase that only people who want to be together for a long time say:
“So, when are we getting married?”
#neohub#jeno x reader#jeno fluff#jeno smut#lee jeno smut#nct fanfic#nct smut#nct dream smut#nct jeno x reader
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Hii
can I please request a fic for Weems and maybe Thornhill where reader gets a nosebleed in class or something idk.
Thank you.
Nosebleed
Pairings: Weems x reader (platonic)
Word count: 1.2K
Summary: You get a nosebleed in class and make a run for it.
TW: Blood, more blood, one swear word
A/n I am really projecting in this fic. Basically, all of it has happened to me expect you know, the whole nevermore part obviously (I wish tho)
Botany was one of your favourite classes by far but today you were exhausted. Enid had woken you up at the crack of dawn to tell you some gossip that “simply couldn’t wait.” You loved enid but that didn’t stop you threatening to give her a buzz cut in her sleep if she cut your sleep short again.
Ms Thornhill was stood at the front of the room talking about something our other. Based off the notes enid was taking in blinding neons gel pens it had something to do with inhibiting the ability of seers. Honestly you would photocopy her notes later, with the black and white printer of course this wasn’t your first rodeo.
You were staring off into space not really paying much attention to the real world when you felt your nose start to run. Dammit. You couldn’t get sick now. Electing to ignore it until the last possible minute still have wrapped up in your daydream you felt enid elbow you.
“Dude.” She said and you glared at her. “Your nose if bleeding.” She hissed in a loud whisper.
“Shit.” You said and brought the back of your wrist to the base of your nose. It came back with a bright red streak, and you immediately cupped a hand under your chin.
Ms Thornhill had paused for a second not really being able to see you past the plants.
“Ms L/n? Anything you’d like to share with the class?” She asked and you stood quickly staying out of sight.
“Nope all good. Be right back.” You said “hopefully” you added under your breath and the way Enid’s eyes widened told you she heard it. You turned on your heel and raced out of the classroom. Ignoring the calls from your botany teacher to return to the classroom. You hurried through the halls the red blood pooling in your cupped hands. You weren’t really paying much attention to the halls; everyone would be in class now anyway.
You had had plenty of nosebleeds in the past, so the start of the new year was always fun. New teachers who were unused to it often worried or tried to send you to the nurse making a big fuss. But by the end of the year, you would simply leave to take care of it in the bathrooms and return to class later with the simple question of “nosebleed?” To which you would say yes and return to your seat. Nosebleeds were just something you were used to.
So many different scenarios in the past. Being pulled out if school swimming lessons because you hadn’t noticed your nose was starting to bleed. That was awesome your hated swimming.
Of course, there were some less than ideal times for it. For example, waking up in the night and not being bothered to deal with it so you simply laid down some tissues on the pillow, sent a quick prayer to whatever god was awake at 2am so you wouldn’t drown in your own blood while you slept and rolled over and gone back to sleep.
In other words, you were simply desensitised at this point. You had had more nosebleeds than regular runny noses so much so if it ran your first thought was it was bleeding not running. But you guessed the less than adequate sleep from last night had contributed to the lack of awareness. You could often catch it before it dripped. Giving you enough time to grab a tissue. However, the idea of going in front of the class, which was partially made up of fledgling vampires wasn’t your idea of fun. So, you fled.
You were navigating your way to the nearest bathroom when you collided with someone, apologising profusely before carrying on.
Had you stopped you may have realised it was Principle weems. Principle weems who was wearing a white blazer which now had a red spot on it. She frowned before recognising it as blood and hurrying to follow you. She made note you weren’t going to the nurse or even remotely in the direction of the infirmary and decided to intervene. She shifted and removed the blood from her clothes and straightened her blazer before pushing open the door to the bathroom.
She peered in and gasped softly. You were stood trying not to touch anything with your bloody hands while your nose dripped onto the white porcelain. You seemed to be experienced in the matter which only made her more concerned.
“Ms L/n? Are you quite alright.” She asked coming and placing a hand on your shoulder.
You looked at her in the mirror and frowned.
“P-principle weems.” You said
“Yes darling.” She said and you connected the dots.
“Sorry for running into you. I was … preoccupied.”
“Multitasking in can see that.” She chuckled and walked over to the paper towel dispenser. She pulled out a few sheets and ran them under the tap next to the sink you were still hanging over.
She walked closer and gestured for you to give her your hand.
“But … it’s covered in blood?” You said.
“Yes, darling i know. That’s why I’m going to clean it.” She said softly and you let her wipe the blood off your hands before disposing of it and going to your other side to wipe it off the other hand.
Once your fingers were clean, she grabbed another sheet of paper towel and placed it on your upward facing palm which she used to hold your chin, her other hand coming to your cheek to guide your head to look at her.
She watched as it bled and surveyed the bleeding tilting your head back very slightly, she knew it was best to make sure you kept your head held forwards, but she wanted to check everything was ok. After a moment she guided you back over the sink and threw out the slightly bloodied paper towel. She washed her hands and came back to stand beside you.
“Darling the bleeding is slowing so we don’t have to take you to the infirmary.” She said and you scoffed, which made her raise an eyebrow.
“Based off your reaction and general demeanour towards…” she gestured to the sink, “this. I’d say this is a common occurrence, correct?” She asked and you nodded as best you could. You waited and after a few more seconds the bleeding had fully stopped.
You rinsed out the sink and the principle came with a wet paper towel to dab the blood from your top lip and cheek. Once she was done, she threw it in the bin along with the others.
Giving you a once over with her eyes she smiled.
“Well. I think you should get back to class. I’ll give you a note for Ms Thornhill.” She said and laughed at the expression on your face.
“How-?”
“Darling why do you think I was heading to your classroom?” She said and you nodded and chuckled to yourself.
“Well off you go. I’ll email Ms thornhill.” She said and ushered you back into the hall before setting off back to her office. You turned to leave, and the footsteps stopped making you turn back to check on her. She was facing you and chewing her lip slightly. When she caught your gaze, she sighed.
“Darling if you ever need anyone to help with this or the aftermath. Send someone or come get me love. Blood doesn’t bother me.” She said and you thanked her and went back to class.
MASTERLIST
#sicfic#nosebleed#blood#fanfic#weems#Larrissa weems#Princple weems#comfort#weems comfort#hurt / comfort#injury#reader gets nosebleeds#weems x r#platonic relationships#whump#fluff#no angst#no smut#thornhill#marylin thornhill#enid Sinclair#Wednesday addams#nevermore#nevermore reader#outcast reader#hurt reader#self insert#y/n#reader#weems x reader
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My Girlfriends Roommate - Chapter 8
Warnings: Harrassment (mainly sexual) against reader, slight use of violence (for good reason).
Lots of fluff in this one, I would say if you had to skip chapters (though I wouldn't recommend it because all of the chapters will have fluff that is juicy) but this chapter is a must as it's leading to a very important event.
Noting that it had been a few weeks at the very least since you last saw him, you were caught off guard by his sudden presence, but figured it was obvious since he’s more than likely here to meet up with Vicky.
Though his attire differed from his usually relaxed style he frequented, the black cap remained, like always. You chuckled to yourself at the prospect that you may never know the true face of Ethan Lee.
It was evident that after the countless times you saw him in the shade, black and dark bold colors were his favorite. He wore black skinny jeans, only this time there were no rips or holes in them, they were neat and looked fresh. He also had on a black v-neck shirt, a casual fitted blazer in the same color, and a pair of expensive looking boots, also in black. He was looking rather suave and refined.
You smiled at the thought of Vicky going through Ethan’s wardrobe and picking out his clothes with her being dressed in the usual preppy manner, no doubt this was an ensemble that she picked out for tonight. There was something else you took note of, although it took you a moment to try and figure out what else was different about his appearance, then you realized it was his hair. From what you could see that wasn’t hidden beneath his cap, his hair looked to be a few inches longer. It was slightly shaggy, some of the elongated pieces grazing over the helix of his ears, which adorned two types of earrings, one stud and one dangling with a small chain and a spear tip trinket hanging off the end.
Towards the back of his neck, though tapered, his hair still held on to some length, just enough where it rested below his collar. The sleeve of his blazer, rising from his reach, when he grabbed a bottle to pour himself a drink. You saw a silver chain bracelet wrapped his wrist and a collection of rings on his fingers.
While he took a sip of his drink, tilting his head back, he peeked down and notices you, giving him a gentle greeting wave and smile as he makes his way to come greet you verbally, re-leveling his head to where the bill of his infamous cap covered his eyes and left only his lips and his nose exposed. He displayed a small smirk on his lips as he spoke;
“Y/n, how have you been?” Hearing his voice for the first time in weeks, you felt relaxed.
A flash of comfort came about now that you were in a shared space with someone other than Gabe, who had subjected you to harassment that, while not physical, was still troubling you as much as you tried not to let it.
Of course, you refrained from doing so, yet you couldn’t lie to yourself when you thought about telling Ethan everything that had transpired since you last saw him. With Vicky being oblivious and Samuel being too busy, you hadn’t been able to vent out your frustrations regarding Gabe, which was something you were starting to believe you needed to do. You were just waiting for the right time to talk with Vicky.
You felt the smile that adorned your pretty lips softened at the thought, it just felt so comforting, and you couldn’t help but let it reflect off your face as you stood there, realizing now that you missed talking with Ethan.
“I’m doing good, how have you been?” You responded softly, just loud enough so you could be heard over the music. Your friendly smile coming back to life as you answered.
He didn’t answer your question, instead, he stood there silently with his eyes still covered. You felt a bit confused as to why he paused and wouldn’t respond, then you realized, he noticed something on your face that garnered his full attention. Unknowingly to you, a piece of your hair was stuck to the corner of your mouth.
The piece delicately reached over your cheek and remained gracefully planted, more than likely getting stuck as it draped over from when you tilted your head back, finishing off your drink just before he approached to greet you. He leaned in slightly, just a tad bit and while he may have not noticed, this was the closest you’ve ever been to Ethan.
For the first time you inhaled the scent of his cologne, it refreshingly cool, brisk, and bold. Not at all subtle but not overpowering either.
You tried to narrow down the scent, it was faint, but you felt almost certain you detected a combination of mint and cedar; a very masculine scent that suited him well. It made you weak in the knees; you never met a man who smelled like that, it was powerful and
intoxicating.
He gently raised a closed fist and barely rested it on your cheek. Using only the stretch of his thumb, he reaches for it, maintaining very light skin to skin contact. His touch was so gentle, considering he was such a tall and intimidating looking man, yet the smoothness of his swipe along the icy scent overwhelmed you.
Grazing downward, his thumb gently pushes the piece of hair away as he continues to move it off to the side, tucking it behind another piece that framed your face, just so it would stay in place.
“…I’ve been good.” He finally responded as he assessed your face with a content look.
His voice was probably the softest you’ve heard him speak; it was almost airy. Your breathing shortened. It almost felt like you couldn’t get air into your lungs as a slight sense of soreness was pierced our chest, that the blood rushed throughout your body, like Daytona 5. You hoped to God that your face wasn’t losing composure, because internally you were. Not being to withstand looking in his direction, you lowered your head just a tad trying to regain some stability in your breathing.
You shifted your gaze down and looked as you rolled the empty Red Bull can in your hands. Ethan also looked down to your hands, noticing that you were trying to regain steady flow in your breathing as you exhaled. In his usual mute fashion, he reaches over, grabs the can from you as he delicately pulls it out of your grip; the can slips out of your hands as you raised your head slightly, looking off to the side, not yet ready to look at his face.
He turns to face the bar, exposing his profile. His eye barely peeking from below his hat as he looks over to the bartender and places the empty can on the counter.
The bartender looks up at Ethan as he spoke in his usual relaxed tone; “Red Bull.”
The bartender nodded and handed him a freshly cold can to which Ethan received and turned back to face you. His eyes become hidden once more as he faces your direction, handing you the drink. You received it graciously and thanked him. At that moment, someone calls out from behind Ethan, at first you thought they were trying to reach him, but you realized they weren’t calling his name.
A young man is seen approaching closer to Ethan. His face looked friendly and kind, he reminded you of a puppy with his eyes wide as he reached out to pat his shoulder, displaying a big smile.
“Heeseung! Hey man what’s up? Hadn’t seen you since this morning. Where you been?” The young man spoke out as he and Ethan grabbed hands and pulled each other into a familiar hug as they greeted one another.
“Hey Jake.” Ethan replies. Just as Ethan received his friend; a pretty girl walks up from the man who was identified as Jake.
She reached around his arm, hugging it shyly. Jake turned his head to her while grabbing on to her hand in a reassuring manner, his smile grew wider as he looks over to “Heeseung” and introduces the girl.
“Heeseung, this is my girlfriend, Emily.”
Jake guides her to stand in front of him while rubbing her shoulders to ease her nerves as she shakes Ethan’s hand, obviously feeling
timid from Ethan’s presence. Understandably relatable as you recall your first meeting him.
Emily was short and cute. She almost looked to be the same height as Vicky, possibly shorter. With a shaky hand, she reaches to meet with Ethan’s, only grabbing on to the tips of his fingers, she trinkled out her greeting.
“Hi….I’m Emily.” Her voice ridden with fear. You felt bad for the poor girl, had you not been a stranger to her, you would have consoled her and shared your experience on meeting Ethan for the first time.
“Nice to meet you.” Ethan simply nods and gently shakes her hand that was barely hanging on as she began to prematurely retract it when she looked up to view Ethan’s face.
You thought to yourself on how Ethan should really work on his countenance, the habitual effect of scaring the wits out of people wasn’t doing him any favors. Jake looks to your direction and his eyes widen as you both made eye contact, becoming grounded, his gaze began to zone out as he studied your face. He catches himself staring and shook back to his senses after Emily shoved and hid her face into his chest, feeling apprehensive of Ethan’s spine-chilling presence.
“I’m sorry, we haven’t met. My name is Jake, are you a friend of Ethan’s?”
You gladly shook his hand and gave a warm smile back. He really was polite and the tone of his voice was bubbly. He matched the criteria of someone who was loved and respected by everyone, never made an enemy in his life. Similar to Vicky.
“Nice to meet you, I’m y/n. I’m Vicky’s roommate, I met Ethan a few months ago.”
Jake looked somewhat perturbed when you mentioned Vicky’s name and glanced over to Ethan, who while remaining unchanged in his posture and expression, simply looked back at Jake and nodded his head from left to right as he briefly closed his eyes. Jake, giving a single nod back, looked as if he solved a riddle that laid beneath Ethan’s expression. At that, Jake turns his face back to you.
“Oh, I see…well, it’s so nice to meet you. This is my girlfriend, Emily.”
You were about to exchange greetings with the girl as she smiled widely and took your hand, which you had intentionally extended for a handshake. Yet instead, she held it with both hands
and performed mini jumps as she became overly excited in meeting you.
“Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god! I know who you are! I’ve seen you around campus and we have the same anthropology class, you’re the pretty girl everyone talks about!”
You were too stunned to speak, instead you looked at her with your mouth shocked open. Did you hear correctly that you both share the same class? You became even more perplexed of her mentioning this, which made you feel terrible for not recognizing or even knowing that she existed, yet here she was bouncing with joy while holding your hand, making her way closer to you as if she was going to embrace you out of pure joy.
“I’ve always wanted to say hi to you, but I was too shy-oh but!…wow…you’re…really pretty up close.” Her jumps slowed to a stop and her smile was replaced with a deep stare as she trailed off in her sentence.
Stunned with a look of esteem wonderment, she paused all movement and didn’t break eye contact as you watched her catch her breath and her hands slowly released your one.
Jake looked at her adorably and laughed. He began teasing her for expressing how shy she had been to approach you, yet suddenly found courage to pour out her heart and feelings after meeting you via a third party introduction.
Ethan leaned back slightly to rest against the counter behind him, crossing his arms and tucking in his chin. Despite how the angle of his hat covered his entire face when he dipped it down, you saw a tiny glimpse in the showing of teeth as he gave out a small chuckle. He nodded his head, looking as if he felt Emily’s reaction was warranted, before bringing his head back upright, licking his lips and peering his gaze off to the side. You hear the girls calling to you, bidding you to come over to them. You excused yourself and gave a friendly so-long gesture to the boys as you walked over to the
group.
Ethan and Jake migrated over to the opposing side of the kitchen, pouring their own drinks, engaging in friendly conversation. Emily stayed back and remained by your side and continued in getting to know you. You enjoyed her company and had fun laughing
and poking fun at the comical whims of your shared professor. She was funny as she would accurately portray Mr. Lewis, your anthropology professor. You introduced her to the girls and their boyfriends; all of course were receptive of her and complimented on
her dress as you all engaged in girl talk away from the boys.
You were having a great time. With the addition of Emily, you and the girls spent majority of the evening talking, laughing, and taking a few shots here and there. Just as you were pondering on her whereabouts, Vicky, on que with your thoughts, walks through the narrow hallway that led to the kitchen.
The entryway she emerged from was parallel to where Jake and Ethan were standing. Expecting for Vicky to migrate over to unite with Ethan, you were deeply shocked that they remained apart, and that only the exchanging of looks was shared between them. Ethan had his back leaned up against the wall, taking the strain out of standing for a long period time as he was talking to Jake. His arms remained crossed, and his face was slightly tilted forward as he shifted his gaze and daggered a very stern glare over to Vicky. A look that he had never issued to her before, not even during their worst
arguments.
He didn’t make any movement towards her, not one single budge. His face remained hidden under the casting shadow of his hat as his lips remained shut and stretched into a tight line of aggravation. Vicky on the other hand looked uncomfortable and rather embarrassed.
By now, you already configured that they were either in the middle of an ongoing fight or that they were no longer together.
Unsure if she decided to break it off with him much sooner than she had previously stated, you felt a boulder of dreadfulness hit you as you realized that, if they were no longer together, that could only mean…
Before you finished your thought, entering through the corridor and coming in behind Vicky, was Gabe. He was accompanied by another male, one who had a snarky look on his face and just
like Gabe, was dressed in expensive attire, judging by the brand logos plastered all over. Speaking of which, it seemed Vicky imparted some fashion sense onto Gabe, seeing as how his outfit was well put together this time. It didn’t look randomly mismatched or screamed for attention.
A sudden shock of realizing something punched your gut from within. You were just now considering that the entire time Gabe was present at the dorm, Ethan, never once appeared or objected to his frequent visits, which was something that that would have happened, had he and Vicky been still dating. You felt like a fool. You stared at the floor speechless; you’re typically more observant than that, yet you had been blindly unaware of the obvious that pertained to this situation.
As they both entered the kitchen and walked over to the girls, you noticed the casual display of Vicky and Gabe’s affection as he wrapped his arms around her waist. You suddenly thought about Ethan and shot a glance over to the area he and Jake were
standing. He simply stood there, but not without stabbing a glare towards both, Gabe, and Vicky. They remained ignorant to notice as he would observe their body language, before shifting his gaze over to you.
Making direct eye contact with you as the look on his face softened and he projected a new demeanor, much different than how he looked when he was eyeing the other two. You overheard the girls talking and they remarked on how handsome Gabe looked, the first you ever heard them speak that way towards him. Both, Gabe, and the young man standing next to him were shooting devious looks over to you.
Noting their stance and the sudden shift of eye movement, you realize that you were the topic of their exchanging of whispers.
Issuing your own harsh looks towards Gabe and Vicky, Ethan looked your way intently observing you, he noticed your brows slightly furrowing the emotions of discomfort. He waited for you to look back at him, but you never did.
You were distracted by the plotting that was happening afoot, your instinct persuaded you to keep your eye on them. A disapproving look was cemented on your face as you watched Vicky with a discerning look smeared across your face. Gabe greets the girls and of course, initiates physical contact by opening his arms and
receiving hugs from the girls and being touchy as ever. They remarked how the color of his attire brought out the blueness in his eyes, Vicky expressing bouts of “I told you so” towards him as he showered his sly smile. You were legitimately beginning to feel sick.
A nauseating feeling was beginning to rise from the base of your throat, and you contemplated in turning away to place your drink on the counter behind you and head back to your dorm room.
Before you could set the can down, Gabe’s voice busted through your bubble as it sounded too close for comfort. You snapped your face over and saw him standing in front of you.
Poor Emily had to shift aside as he rudely made his way to get to you, almost stepping on her toes in the process. His eyes moved around as he took in your appearance, first staring at your chest before
moving further down to your hips. He displayed the look of lustful perversion as he began reaching for your waist, trying to pull you in so he could receive a “hug”. The man was so shady, always using his requests for embrace to feel up a woman’s body. The nausea was starting to make you feel dizzy as you smelled the disgusting scent of his cologne surrounding you.
You felt violated the moment his greedy hands grazed the sides of your hips, something he normally did whenever he greeted Vicky or the others. You felt ridden with a sense of uneasiness as you clicked a step back, feeling the counter behind make contact with the base of your spine.
Snapping your head away, you stared at the wall, trying to be as calm as possible while your eyes became glossy out of frustration and disgust.
“Okay okay, I get it. You’re not the type to like hugs. But I just wanna say, y/n…” Gabe lets out in between his chuckles.
Of course, you weren’t going to hug him. You never had done so to begin with, yet he was always tenacious in getting one from you.
Your head remained kinked, avoiding in facing him directly as you eyed him from the side and watched as he lifted his hand to point at you. Extending his index finger, he moves it up and down, directing the indiscriminate tip of it towards you.
He issued a nod as he followed the direction of movement with his finger, displaying his approval as his eyes shifted in sync.
“Very nice. Hmm. Very, very nice.” You lost all composure, and the anger was reflected as you shook your head in absolutely disgust. You badly wanted to tell him off, but you couldn’t manage to find the
words to use at expressing your disdain. There were too many that you wanted to throw at him and it was overwhelming when you couldn’t narrow down which ones use.
You thought about side stepping away along the L-shape counter to escape the pressures of the harassment. Yet you hesitated and your mind began to over think your actions and his reactions. Remaining still, you played out the effect of how he and his friend, in response to you trying to escape through the narrow path at your side, could
snag you by the arm, taking advantage of slurred movement in your side steps.
Your eyes shifted back to the wall as your head remained facing over your shoulder, slightly leaned back as you felt Gabe’s face leaning in towards yours. You noticed the blank void of the paleness as you noted that Ethan and Jake were no longer present. Your focus on Gabe’s ill manners enabled you to be unaware of their disappearance,
unsure of when exactly they departed.
The man hanging with Gabe and Vicky came up and peeked over Gabe’s shoulder, a single “whoa” came out of his lips, followed by him inquiring your identity. Regarding you, they exchanged a conversation as their eyes dripped down your figure.
“Who is this?”
“y/n. Vicky’s roommate.”
“Oh dude! This is y/n?! Damn bro, she is fucking hot! Fucking aye man!” Gabe’s friend coming off just as ill-mannered as himself, you could see why they had a bond.
“I told you. She’s perfect.” Gabe suddenly shifted the talk towards you as he pelted you with his mistreatment.
The sight of the wall was beginning to become blurry from the glossiness that burned your
eyes.
“Y/n, do you have any selfies of yourself? You should send me one sometime, you know, just for memories.” Gabe’s audacity in requesting a photo projected the other man to chime his excitement
as he requested for one himself.
Just as you were beginning to think that it couldn't get any worse, you once again found yourself drenched with utter shock towards the stupidity of the two as they manufactured their request. Their ignorance astounded you into pondering if they really thought you were going permit them a photo, handing it out like candy.
You rolled your eyes at Gabe’s displayed audacity. You tried yet again in your attempts to keep it together; however, the rolling of your eyes nearly projected the collected moisture in your eyes to stream down your face. As frustrating, uncomfortable, and sickening you felt in the stomach, you didn’t want to give Gabe and his friend the satisfaction of seeing your tears. You just had a feeling in your gut that convinced you to believe they would enjoy seeing that, regardless if it was
caused by their tormenting behavior towards you.
The two exchanged laughs and remained planted, showing no signs that they were going to move. Gabe’s friend asked you to dance with him while Gabe looked over and chuckled.
“Just remember, I saw her first.” Gabe veered with a smile that reflected a disrespecting vibe of sportsmanship.
Your resolving will was deteriorating and you wanted to scream. The details of the wall could no longer be made out due to the collected moisture formulating in the ducts of your wide eyes. It was blinding your sight as all you could make out of the kitchen were shadows of blur.
Just as you were beginning to reach the abysmal pits of your despair, something suddenly projects out from the side, a shadow glints passed your face and projected a bolt of impact as it is met with Gabe’s chest.
It was fast, hard, and forceful.
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Double Jeopardy: Chapter Four - Public Defender
Bit of a longer chapter because everyone's favorite boy has arrived! It's Eddie time!!
(For those who have been following Ariel for a while, this is the long awaited origin of the Ariel/Eddie rivalry)
Read it on AO3
By Friday of her first work week she decided the hideous jumpsuit would have to go.
It had gone by as smooth as it possibly could. Ariel was given her own little desk right in Harvey’s office. When asked why she wouldn’t be given her own office Harvey scoffed at her and crossed his arms. ‘I need to keep an eye on you to make sure you don’t fuck anything up’ he had said. His tone conveyed something different. Ariel wouldn’t fuck this up.
Working in such close quarters with him was… stressful. The occasional outburst would cause her to jump in her seat and pray for whatever poor soul was on the other end of Harvey’s anger. However, she was learning a lot about this line of work. By Friday she had watched him plan a bank heist, broker an arms deal and buy a new hotel in West Gotham. In her heart she knew Two-Face was a criminal, but it was hard not to see him as what he really was: a businessman. She didn’t know what the future held for her in terms of her career, but she did know that anything she could learn from Two-Face in her time here could only benefit her.
Which brought her to Friday.
Standing in front of her mirror she looked at her new outfit with a big grin on her face. As soon as the jumpsuit was placed in her hands she ordered something new immediately. A two-toned black and white corset top and a matching pair of suit pants. The black heels she chose made her at least two inches taller, and as she turned around in the mirror she finally started to feel like herself again. It wasn’t like her to be caught dead in something as hideous as a used jumpsuit covered in old blood.
The rush Ariel felt while walking into the office was always present, but today it held a different air. Sure, she had gotten plenty of stares and comments before, but today they were silent. As she glided through the double doors, head tilted up and staring straight, she watched the heads of the various henchmen turn towards her, mouths slightly agape. Ariel couldn’t help but smile to herself as she approached the door to Harvey’s office, giving it two knocks before walking in.
Harvey stood in front of the large window at the back of his office. Ariel stopped in her tracks when she noticed that she wasn’t the only one who had dressed up today. Harvey usually wore a crisp black and white button up, sleeves rolled up to the elbow and a deep purple harness wrapped around his chest that always reminded Ariel of fetishwear. Today, however, it was an incredibly expensive white blazer, black shirt and deep purple tie. On his head was a white and black fedora, shading the scarred side of his face just slightly. Ariel considered herself to be incredibly knowledgeable when it came to fashion, and she knew that this was an elegant outfit. It caught her off guard.
She wasn’t the only one, though. When Harvey turned to her he froze, eyes narrowing. Ariel swallowed and placed her bag down onto her desk, walking towards him. Her heels clicked along the wooden floor as she moved. “What’s with the outfit?”
Harvey scoffed and crossed his arms. “I could ask you the same question. I thought I told you my rules on the outfit.”
Ariel frowned and did a little spin. “It’s tasteful! If I don’t have any authority here I can at least dress like I do. Does it really bother you that much?”
Two-Face rolls his eyes and leans his arm against the window. “Doesn’t bother me one bit, doll. But if one of my guys puts a hand on you I don’t want to hear about it.” He stared at the glass with furrowed eyebrows, as if just saying that sentence pained him.
Ariel sighed and crossed her own arms in response. “Well? What about you? What’s the occasion?”
Harvey nodded his head out the window. “Cobblepot’s hosting an event tonight. You’re gonna be alone at the office today and I have a few meetings you’ll have to take care of.”
Ariel looked out the window at the limousine sitting outside the courthouse. Two pretty girls in skintight dresses stood next to it, giggling. Harvey’s dates, she assumed. Ariel frowned and distracted herself from the confusing bit of jealousy by talking business. “Meetings? I can’t hold a meeting! I’ve barely been here a week!”
Two-Face hands her a file and smirks. “It’s only two meetings. You need to go over the change in schedule with the crew, and seeing as you made it I figured that shouldn’t be too difficult.”
“And the other one?”
Harvey quickly looked away, almost guilty. “I... have a meeting with Nygma at 3:00. He’s ordering something.”
Ariel’s jaw dropped, and she paced forward, poking him in the chest. “Nygma?! I thought you said you didn’t want me near other villains? And Riddler?! He’s insufferable!” Harvey looked up at the ceiling, silently agreeing with her. Ariel gasped. “You just don’t want to do it yourself! This isn’t part of the job! He could kill me!”
Harvey rolled his eyes again and grabbed her wrist, pushing it away. “Relax, Eddie’s harmless. Mostly.” He took off his fedora and placed it on her head, smirking. “Just do what I would do, doll. If the meeting goes well I’ll throw in an extra two hundred on your next paycheck. Sound good?”
Ariel scoffed and glared up at the man. “Make it five hundred.”
Two-Face smirked and grabbed her chin. “You sound like me already. Don’t fuck it up.”
And with that, he sauntered out of the room, nodding at her on the way out. Ariel readjusted the fedora on her head and sighed. This was beginning to become a bit more than she bargained for.
The meeting with the staff went better than expected. For a bunch of Gotham grunts, they seemed to respect her. Ariel wasn’t sure how much of that was Harvey’s doing. But she chose to believe that it was because she was finally giving them fair hours and paid time off. Harv didn’t need to know about that last part.
At 2:30, Ariel returned to the office, and she almost turned to sit at her own desk before she noticed a figure sitting in Harvey’s chair, toying with a few files. Ariel’s eyes widened and she cleared her throat, annoyed. The files came down and Ariel became face to face with the piercing brown eyes of The Riddler. He was a thin man who couldn’t have been much older than her. Ariel always remembered thinking he was so young looking when his mugshots appeared on the TV. His messy bright red hair was swept back, and his clothing was confusing. All of the pieces were fancy and expensive, but the colors were hideous. Bright green and purple? Not her style. He glared at her, looking her up and down before crossing his arms. “Where’s Dent?”
Ariel crossed her own arms in response. Her heart raced at the thought of talking to a real villain. At this point, talking to Two-Face was like talking to any manager she’d ever had. This… this was different. Edward had no obligation to be nice to her. “He’s away on business. I’m conducting this meeting. I’d appreciate it if you’d get out of his chair. Please.”
Eddie laughed, a snort followed by a mean cackle. “Please? Seriously?” He placed his purple shoes on top of the desk, smirking as he continued to look through the files. “So you must be Miss Lancaster. Harvey wrote here that you’re his secretary, hm? ‘Exceptional work ethic, detail oriented and a surprising openness to illicit activity’. Oh! And it says here in the corner ‘not too bad on the eyes either’.” Ariel gasped and snatched the file from his hands, quickly looking for the text, only to find nothing. Eddie cackled again and leaned back in the chair. “Too easy. Now, I’m a bit too busy to be fooling around with Dent’s secretary so if you’d find me someone a little more important to talk to that’d be lovely, dear.”
Ariel glared at the fellow redhead and folded up her file. She wasn’t going to let this freckled, five-foot-nothing man boss her around. Villain or not. “Harvey asked me to do this. He said you weren’t important enough to warrant a real meeting. Now can you place your order and go?”
Ariel watched as Eddie’s left eye twitched. “Not important, hm? Perhaps Two-Face doesn’t want my business then!” He stood up, barely matching Ariel’s height and began to walk out.
‘Damn’ Ariel thought, ‘he called my bluff’.
“Wait!” she shouted. Eddie turned to her with a nasty smirk. Ariel sighed and picked up the clipboard she had set up for this meeting. “Harvey won’t be back tonight so unless you want to reschedule you’ll have to deal with me. How can I help you, Mr. Nygma?”
Eddie raised an eyebrow and leaned against the doorframe. “That’s more like it, dear. If you’re lucky I might even pass on a good review to the boss man”. He gave her a wicked smile and sat down, allowing her to put in his order with only mild annoyance.
#fic: double jeopardy#Simon writes#harvey dent x reader#harvey dent x oc#original character#Ariel Lancaster#Harvey Dent#Two Face#batman#dc comics#Edward Nygma#Edward Nashton#The Riddler#riddler dc
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let’s be honest it was only a matter of time before i babygirlified an old man
closeups and (many) design notes under the cut :)
ok design notes time (these r mainly for the narrator bc. well. stanley has an actual physical appearance):
- while thinking of how to design the narrator i got the idea that he took one of the models in the audience for the ending where stanley gives a speech and edited it to make his “human” form
- because of this i wanted to include a bunch of little things that he “got wrong” during the process of mimicking a human. most of them get ironed out when stanley points out how weird they are but some of them stay
- to name a couple, his teeth are all flat- no canines or molars. also his little headset + glasses have nothing that actually attach them to his head. they just Are There. not to mention his interesting fashion sense of tie + turtleneck + blazer (he defends this choice no matter how much stanley laughs at him). he’s just weird enough to be slightly uncanny- it’s an imitation, not the real thing
- since i’m indecisive as hell he’s a bit of a shapeshifter. he actually doesn’t use his physical model in-game a lot and tends to just show up in things. shadows, reflective surfaces, screens, etc. even more often than that he’s just his voice
- bc he plays the guitar in the out of bounds ending i am now convinced that he can play many instruments. that little piano in the memory zone before the first review? yeah he’s there playing that in-game he’s just not visible to you
- designing his hair was SO DIFFICULT i literally went searching thru the tag for inspo and i liked so many different things. after a struggle (you can see a slicked-back attempt in the shadow idea doodle) i eventually decided on the style shown in his main drawing. every time i draw it i fight so hard to make it distinct from miles edgeworth. to make this easier the cowlicks aren’t too pronounced and the larger bang is more of a fringe. it still sometimes looks like miles edgeworth whoops
- some of my favorite fanon design things are the Line™ tie the square glasses and the little gay ass highlight so i knew i had to include them. those were my only definite choices going into this
- once again bc i’m indecisive the narrator can scale his model up or down as he pleases. he prefers to be bigger than stanley but stanley complains that it “makes his proportions weird” because he’s “short-coded” so sometimes he goes to a more human size.
- the narrator being stout just makes sense to me it’s correct in my soul (i actually think i drew him too skinny in most of these. i just didn’t wanna redraw shit bc i am tired but if/when i draw him again he will be less skinny)
- i wanted to work with shape language a lot because the narrator’s whole character is a voice- i wanted to make sure i captured the vibe of some stuffy old writer who has an undeniable silly streak. so he is squares and circles (his tie is the only triangle save for maybe the hair)
- for similar reasons stanley is squares and triangles. felt right
- speaking of stanley his soul patch is a goatee now bc i hate soul patches with a boiling passion. so now it’s a goatee
- i also gave him a little beauty mark by his right eye. i don’t know why i just knew in my heart that it was correct
- stanley uses asl and not bsl because i want to learn asl sososososo bad and this just might be the thing to get me to actually do it. he can project his thoughts to the narrator but he doesn’t like it so he almost always signs
#martzipan#the stanley parable#should i tag stannarrator. i probably should#stannarrator#fun fact this file is saved in my art folder as 'old man yaoi.png'#oh also i'm not fully decided on the colors i chose so these r more indicative of value than hue#ANYWAYS. hyperfixation go brrrrrrrrrr#i've drawn so many things for the first time in this. asl. a chin grab (it was so difficult to pose that btw i still wanna fix it). wrinkles#tbh still don't fully know how wrinkles work but i think i got it.#besides it would not be a human narrator design to me if it didn't have wrinkles#anywho. what if you and the narrative doomed... each other?#this was inevitable i am a sucker for mutually assured destruction#i deffo have fav doodles in here btw. those being the tbh the catboys and 'you wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid'#what are they if not silly
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obdurate ; jotaro x reader.
3.2k words, afab reader (no pronouns), nsfw - public sex, jotaro being an ass, etc.
prompt // “be quiet, we’re in public.”
a summary (of sorts): jotaro gets handsy after a long, boring meeting.
fic request for @strawhatsoraya; thank u for being patient, u already know what time it is ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
sunlight filters through the large window behind you; soft, golden, highlighting and casting shadows around the conference room. eyelids heavy, you stifle a yawn behind your hand, as you attempt to stay awake during the meeting. your department head drones on and one, voice monotonous, words droll, uninspiring, repetitive. you can hardly stand it. it’s hot outside, the air sticky and humid, causing your curls to frizz as you helplessly comb through your hair with your fingers. because the university severely cut funding recently, you’re subject to sitting in a warm room, no breeze in sight even with the windows open.
you’ve long shed your blazer, opting to drape it over the back of the empty chair next to you; discreetly, you unbutton the top few buttons of your top, hoping no one notices as you sit in the back of the room. it’s crowded—which is part of why the heat is so unbearable—and you’re the only one sitting in the back row. a smidgen of relief takes hold of your body, you even go so far as to use your folder as a makeshift fan as you attempt to cool off. you cross one leg over the other, your skirt riding up your thick thighs, tongue darting outside of your mouth to run along your lips, gently moistening them.
after reading through the program earlier, the lecture should be over soon—but, as another thirty minutes rolls by, you’re not too sure. it’s when you hear a round of applause that you realize it’s finally over. normally, you’re fine sitting through lectures like that; but this was brutal. the speaker is an old professor of yours, who rarely ever ventures outside of his traditional methods of research, thus making anything and everything he does boring. when you finally make it out of the conference room, you don’t bother putting your blazer back on, nor do you button up your blouse—why bother, the heat will still find you even in the hallway; people mill about around you, talking amongst one another, but you don’t stay to socialize.
you want to get out of there.
as you make to leave the building, a hand grabs onto your arm, firmly halting your movements. irritation colors your vision, clouds your judgment, making you turn around and speak roughly. “i dunno who you think you are, but you bett—” your eyes widen, shock choking the annoyance out of you; of all the damn people to find you, it would be jotaro. jaw clenched, you tug your arm out of his grasp, not liking the way his touch brands your skin, even through your shirt. with your eyes narrowed into slits, you attempt to calm down, going so far as to count down backwards in your head. the tall, dark-haired man gives you an unreadable look, green eyes reflecting a quiet anger that somehow seems directed at you. and only you.
it’s rich, in your opinion, because he definitely has a lot of fucking nerve.
“what do you want?” you cross your arms, momentarily forgetting that your cleavage is fully on display. that sleepiness you felt just minutes prior is suddenly gone, replaced by a different kind of energy—something that you can’t quite give words to. you’re certainly not star-crossed lovers, as it seems that anytime your paths cross, you almost always end up in some sort of argument about nothing. and no matter what, you will not get sucked into whatever drama him and his stupidly handsome face may bring.
“come with me.”
you let out a short, callous laugh. apparently, he’s yet to grow out of his perpetual state of audacity. no matter what you say, something will somehow be misconstrued and you’ll never get your peace back. mind made up, you flick your gaze over to him—casual, unassuming. nothing close to innocent, but you’re not too far gone yet. “no thanks,” your words dance around him impishly—nauseatingly sweet, and nothing of the real you—a frown tugging his lips down, which only prompts a smile to leap onto your face. your cheeks strain as they stretch, but it doesn’t matter.
his eyes track your movements with a hawk-like precision, using long, sweeping motions as he takes in the sight of you. with his lips pressed together, he tries not to stare, but finds that it’s not feasible at all. a vein bulges on the side of his neck; his thoughts once again occupied by you and only you—it’s always been that way, and no matter what he does he can’t seem to rid himself of you completely. he hates it. an absolutely ridiculous situation he’s found himself in—a sick joke, even.
a heavy pause ripples through you underneath his scrutinizing gaze; fingers trembling slightly, you ball them into fists, hoping to calm your nerves. if you don’t compose yourself soon, you’ll never make it out of there alive. you make another attempt at grabbing the door handle; it barely budges as you’re pulled back by jotaro. you wish you would’ve gone the other way, maybe you could have avoided him altogether.
he clenches his jaw, a hardened look taking hold of his face; it’s difficult to deal with you in public, you’re such an unpredictable unknown, that it unnerves him. a lot. and while he isn’t exactly a gambler, he’s sure things will end in his favor. “it’s not a request.” his gruff response prickles against your skin with a familiarity that you can’t shake, your body on high alert from his proximity. acting aloof is your only sensible course of action—at least, that’s what you tell yourself. maybe if you say it convincingly enough, you might actually believe it too.
a sigh slips out of your mouth and you roll your eyes at him. “you’re delusional if you think i’m coming with you.” it’s not because you haven’t been alone with him before—no, it’s because whenever he does get you alone, it almost always ends in a disaster of sorts. this is just extreme self-preservation at this point.
he raises a brow at that, “you know i hate repeating myself, y/n. so…” he motions for you to get it together and stop acting like a brat. with your eyes closed, it’s almost as if he isn’t real, like you aren’t being berated by the one man you swore to yourself you’d never get enmeshed with anymore. it’s impossible, though; you’re much too aware of him now—his hand never leaves your arm, your face flushes at the thought of that.
“if i go with you,” you start carefully, “promise that you’ll leave me the fuck alone after that.” your tone leaves very little wiggle room; if you’re not firm with him, you’ll never be able to get a handle of things. but you don’t mean it. you can never actually leave him alone, now, can you?
jotaro doesn’t respond right away, but he does let your arm go. “this way.” he swivels around and heads down an adjacent hallway, long legs carrying him swiftly; you do your best to keep up with him, but it’s difficult. he’s too damn tall for his own good, and you’re too stubborn to ask him to slow down. silence is always awkward for you—it hovers around you like a pesky insect, buzzing and flying, no matter how many times you swat at it, it never truly goes away.
but this time it’s more than that.
“where are you even taking me, anyway?”
you don’t like the idea of him having this much power over you, nor do you like the idea of him making you feel things—things that have been buried deeply within you for years and years, now. your question goes unanswered as jotaro takes you around another corner. “if you’re kidnapping me, you’re doing a pisspoor job.” you’re pushing your luck, you know that; you’re really just gauging to see how much more you can push him before he snaps properly.
he lets out a small grunt of displeasure, annoyance seeping into him at an alarming rate, his inability to control himself around you making it difficult for him to properly see reason. but you being impossibly you, etch yourself so deeply inside of him—your voice, your touch, your smell, all of it contributes to his downfall. he isn’t actually sure how he’s gone this long without seeing you. it’s unbearable, inexcusable, and his patience is at its limit. and when he saw you earlier, after you went into the conference room—your face reflecting your boredom as you chose to sit all the way in the back—he had to walk right out.
if he stayed for much longer, he would’ve caused a scene; and he can’t have anyone knowing just how much you affect him. although, it’s not quite as secret as he thinks it is—people are just too chicken to say anything about it.
a light in the hallway flickers, shadows eerily molding themselves onto the walls and floor. your eyes linger on his broad back, memories of your fingers running along the taut muscles on his skin, tracing each ridge, dip, admiring the firmness underneath. back then, you naively thought you’d be with him forever; that your differences would allow you to have some semblance of variety in your life, but all it brought you was an incurable headache that you’ve dealt with for several years now. you’re so caught up in thoughts of him, that you almost don’t notice him slip into the classroom nearby. it’s empty; summer classes have yet to begin, but it doesn’t mean that students, professors, and other employees don’t have access to rooms like that.
you follow after him and once you’re inside, he closes the door behind you, the noise echoing throughout the room loudly, causing you to jump a bit. “dramatic much?” your voice is a few octaves higher than you mean for it to be, namely because jotaro makes you feel so erratic that you nearly spin out of control every time you interact with him. it’s precisely because of this—his imposing nature, his fierce way of handling things—that you’re constantly compromised around him. but before you can let another snarky remark fly out of your mouth, he pushes you against the door roughly, his long fingers gripping your hips tightly.
“that mouth of yours,” he starts, voice surprisingly low, your back arching as he presses closer to you, “it’s going to get you in trouble.” there’s no malice in his words, only curiosity. you can easily point out that it’s already gotten you into trouble—case in point, your current situation with jotaro in this classroom—but fear admitting that will somehow make things worse. you want to tell him to go away, to leave you alone like he promised he would, but the more time you spend this close to him, the more you want him to stay. it must be an illness that doesn’t have a name for it just yet; why else would you willingly seek out this form of heartache?
almost as if he’s unphased by the whole ordeal, jotaro leans forward, his mouth grazing the curve of your cheek, lips parting slightly as he mumbles some unintelligible words. his breath is warm against your skin, you body burns up entirely. your fingers latch onto his shirt, digging into the fabric desperately. what is he doing to you? you almost wonder out loud, but manage to have some semblance of dignity.
somewhat.
you squeeze your thighs together, a motion that doesn’t go unnoticed by him. his mouth makes a slow descent, lips gliding down your neck, tongue sampling the skin there. he really didn’t mean to let it get this far, but once he starts, it’s hard for him to slow down. with the way you’re reacting to him—breath quickening, chest heaving slightly, a shudder violently traveling through you—he’s certain you’ve been teetering along the edge just like him. there’s a fine line between lust and insanity; he’s not sure which side is worse at this point.
he leaves behind a blazing trail of kisses, one right after the other, your restraint slipping through your fingers when you fumble around and reach for it. before you know it, you’re panting and whimpering, eyelids fluttering as you attempt to keep focused. you want to ask him why, but know that if you open that door, you’ll never recover; so you say nothing and enjoy the moment. maybe if you get this all out of your system, you can finally be rid of him.
it’s not a solid plan, but it’s worth a shot.
the way you call his name softly has him biting your skin. you gasp, hips pushing forward as the bulge in his pants grows bigger. his lips are on yours before long, his hands sliding around to grab your ass underneath your skirt, a moan lodging in your throat as he kisses you senselessly. when your tongues meet, an explosive feeling takes over, clouding your judgment in the most irreversible way. and while you’d really like to take your time, you know that you both don’t have that kind of luxury right now. especially here.
skirt hiked up higher, you scramble to pull your panties off, ignoring the dampness on the fabric, wetness clinging to your inner thighs. in between all of the kissing, he’s unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, your hands wrapping around the length of his fully erect cock with ease. you fall back into the rhythm of things—of being with him, really—stroking him slowly at first, liking the way he tenses when your thumb rubs along the head of his cock. it’s the only time you have the upper hand with him, and he knows it.
still, he lets you have your way for a bit, hips jerking forward as your hands move faster. your kisses become sloppier, more intense, his tongue caressing yours hotly. it consumes you, and if he hadn’t picked you up, if you hadn’t wrapped your legs securely around his waist, you would’ve fallen already. there’s absolutely no way you had any strength left to defend yourself against his ministrations; your legs almost always gave up on you every time.
a string of curse words leaves his mouth as you rub your pussy against him, your wetness clinging to him with all of your movements. he positions his tip at your entrance, your pussy clenching, anticipation making you hazy. words continue to fail you, until he finally slides his cock inside of you. there’s nothing inherently soft or beautiful about the way he fucks you—it’s never been like that between you two—but, you feel a warmth grow in your chest, your thighs shaking as he plunges into you deeply.
naturally, you’re more vocal than you care to be.
“oh, fuck.”
a smirk forms on his lips, but you’re too far gone to get on him about his smugness; when he snaps his hips against yours roughly, you choke on your moans, his hands gripping your thighs as they relish in their softness. you should probably keep quiet, but with jotaro it’s always hard to gauge how loud you’re being. everything is always so intense; and he doesn’t make it any easier. he can say the same about you, he’s just better at keeping that part of him subdued, even if it’s just for a minute. his mouth finds yours again, kissing you feverishly, your pussy dripping, the slick wetness sending him into another realm.
it’s a religious experience, almost; a baptism of sorts. you’ve never had someone recklessly disrupt your life the way he has—and, try as you might, you’ve never been able to find anyone else to scratch that itch the way he can. you hate him for it; and you hate yourself because you don’t actually hate him at all. if anything, you’re too jaded from past interactions with him and dislike the way he’s become a permanent fixture in your life even when he isn’t around.
when you clench around him, a warning of sorts, he slams his cock into you mercilessly, hips dangerously close to yours as he gives you mind-numbing thrusts. it’s a battle for dominance, one that you’re desperately trying to win but know that ultimately he’ll come out as the victor. it’s always like that with him; and even when you tell yourself that this is the last time, it’s never really true. he thinks he can fuck you out of his mind, but keeps forgetting that you’ve settled somewhere deep inside of his heart, tucked away carefully in a place that he can’t reach easily. and while he isn’t one for romance, he can’t exactly rid himself of you.
it’s frustrating in the worst kind of way; there’s yet to be a problem that jotaro kujo can’t solve, and yet here you are, offering yourself to him without much resistance, trusting that he won’t break your heart like he has so many times before. it’s inevitable, though; with him it’s all or nothing, he can’t be bothered with unnecessary feelings or situations. except, can he really call any of this unnecessary, when he’s the one who sought you out?
jotaro sucks on your bottom lip, your hands gripping his broad shoulders as he pummels into you harder. the sounds of your pussy squelching with each of his thrusts fills the classroom; and every time you moan a little too loud, he kisses you again—as many times as necessary—silencing you as best as he can. not that he’s in a much better position right now, his balls slapping against you, the noise lewd and invigorating. loud footsteps in the hallway only intensify things; the possibility of getting caught with him knee-deep in your pussy turns you on in a way that should feel shameful, but you’re too invested, too drunk off of him to care.
he lunges his tongue into your mouth again, and swallows all of your cries; your pussy squeezes around him tightly, making him feel like he’s floating and drowning at the same damn time. you roll your hips to meet his thrusts and cry out as an orgasm tears through you frightfully. he doesn’t let up, working you through your orgasm as he rubs circles around your clit with his fingers. his thrusts get sloppier and when he cums, it takes him by surprise; he means to pull out, but you tighten your legs around him, holding him close to you in a move that matches his level of selfishness.
there’s a moment of haziness, a light-headed feeling that almost makes you forget that you’re supposed to be mad at him. weakly, you smack your hand on his chest, not wanting to look at his face, because if you do you might never recover.
“this is the last fucking time, kujo.”
he lets out a soft scoff before sucking his teeth at your words. you always get so snappy after sex; almost like you want to piss him off intentionally. he’ll never understand, but he somehow falls for it every time.
“i mean it,” you insist, although the stern tone you once had is long gone. he doesn’t acknowledge any of that; instead, he kisses you again, focusing on memorizing the plushness of your lips before you’re back at each other’s throats. if you make it through this interaction in one piece, you’ll give him a proper piece of your mind, but for now… you’ll just accept the little hiccup for what it is.
it’s hard to resist him, after all; you confuse love with lust and vice versa, wanting to distance yourself but always finding that you can never stray too far for too long.
#jotaro x reader#jotaro x y/n#jjba smut#jjba x y/n#fic request#jotaro was remarkably compliant *washes hands of this*#‘i can change him’ 🥴#jotaro kujo#jotaro smut#jjba x reader#kujo jotaro#jotaro kujo x reader#jotaro kujo x y/n
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hey!! here’s a one-shot i wrote about austin butler bc im obsessed lol
I didn’t expect this. Sure I knew this movie was going to be a hit, but a ‘twelve minutes standing ovation at Cannes’ hit? Never in a million years.
I looked around, everybody smiling and clapping while the big screen was focusing on the cast of the best film of the night, Elvis. I couldn’t wait to get home, write down everything I thought, felt and saw in the previous two and a half hours.
Baz Luhrmann is possibly a genius. It was great to see all of the cast getting emotional and proudly accepting the loud applauds that filled the room. There were big cinema legends here and all of them were clapping for this one boy, man, I couldn’t take my eyes off.
How could I though? His performance was captivating, beautiful, sexy, accurate and overall award-worthy. Now he is standing two seat rows in front of me and I catch a little glimpse of his rosy cheeks when he looks at someone next to him. He is so different from here then he looks on the screen.
As I get more and more mesmerized by his beauty and talent the crowd starts to quiet down. Some people sit back to their seats and some take the exits, just as the star of the movie does. So I follow.
It’s fine I just want to ask him some questions, how cool would it be to have some exclusive interview with him next to my review of the movie. It most likely won’t happen but it’s worth a try.
It was worth a try, but it’s impossible. As soon as he is out the door he is surrended by interviewers, big actors congratulating him and some people most likely from his family. So I take some steps back and give up on this idea of mine, and walk back to the theatre, to watch the next movie coming up.
Hours pass, the movie ends. Cannes really knows how to get together a perfect selection of movies, because I’m actually really impressed by everything they are doing here.
Oh no.
I look to my right and notice a pair of familiar brown eyes.
It’s Jeffrey. Jeffrey Anderson. A really wealthy and famous producer who may or may not have a crush on me and doesn’t ever leave me alone. But he is coming up to me right now so, I gotta do what I gotta a do.
‘Hey Jeff.’ I say with a fake smile. Honestly, Jeff is a nice guy, knows how to do his job, but sometimes he’s a little much. And often doesn’t get the hint.
‘Stacy! Good to see you here, babe.’ He smiles and pulls me into a hug, which I don’t return, I just need to get out of this conversation, fast.
‘Yeah, same…’ I say. We small talk and somehow I’m able to get out of there with a little lie, even if this means I cannot watch the next movie coming up.
I take out my phone and open my notes app. I start writing words down, things I really, really have to use in my review, because suddenly I’m back to thinking about Elvis, the brilliance of this art that this movie is, it is hard to describe it with words. I make my way to the bar with my phone in my hand, fingers typing furiously, it’s like motivation suddenly corrupted my brain. I write phrases like ‘mesmerizing, magical, never been done before, beautiful—‘ and before I know it someone is bumping into me, spilling their drink all over my dress.
‘Oh my god, I’m so sorry!’ Says the gentle voice, and I look down on my dress. It’s completly drenched. Fuck. ‘Let me get some paper towels for you!’ Says the person who just spilled their champagne over me, and as I look up you recognize it is Olivia, the actress who played Priscilla in the movie.
And suddenly I’m not even mad about the dress anymore.
‘It’s okay.’ I smile. She smiles gently and goes over to the bartender, getting a couple of napkins.
‘Still, do you have anything you can change into? I have a blazer over there at my seat if you want to wear it.’ She apologizes while trying to soak up some champagne.
‘No, it really is fine! I have a jumper in my car.’ I lied. ‘I loved you in the movie by the way!’ I take my chance, now or never.
‘Thank you so much, I promise I’m not always this clumsy in real life.’ She chuckles.
‘I’m Anastasia,’ I reach for her hand. ‘But everyone calls me Stacy.’
‘Olivia, nice to meet you.’ She says. ‘Can I buy you a drink? I feel so terrible about this whole situation.’
A drink? And maybe talk? That would be perfect.
‘Only if you have time, it’s fine, really.’ I try to be polite but my heart is beating out of my chest.
‘No, I insist.’ She smiles and the two of us make our way to a bartender. We talk a little and I reveal myself to be a journalist, and Olivia offers me some of her insights on the film and how she got into the role while still talking about basic stuff and about the whole Cannes event. She is really good to talk to.
‘Hey, would you like to come and say hi to the rest of the crew? I think they are done with the big interviews.’ She smiles and I take a deep breath.
This would be such a big opportunity, and Olivia is so nice, she wouldn’t let me get uncomfortable.
‘Okay.’ I smile. This is the perfect opportunity. ‘Get yourself together,’ if I ask the right questions and talk to the right people I could get into circles I have always wanted to.
As I follow Olivia through the giant crowd I look down on myself. My dress looks so bad and I’m going to meet the big names of Hollywood in this. Great.
Olivia holds my hand and leads me into a room which was divided by a purple curtain, and as we walk through I see we are in a private room. Some bar-chairs all over the place and some gentle music is playing in the background, suddenly, I am nervous.
‘Baz!’ Olivia calls out. ‘This is Stacy,’ She tugs on my arm and I’m in front of the brilliant director of the movie.
‘Nice to meet you, Stacy. Did you like the film?’ Baz asks.
‘I loved it, you did a super great job!’ I smile and he chuckles, being proud of himself, as he should be.
‘It was Austin who did most of it, but thank you.’ He smiles and I suddenly feel a presence behind me.
‘That is not true.’ The voice says and I look behind me, and it is him.
Elvis— Austin.
‘Yeah it is, all that clapping was for you, darling.’ Baz says but I can’t even pay attention because I am so blinded by his aura and energy.
Suddenly Austin’s gaze leaves Baz, and he is looking in my eyes.
‘I don’t believe we met.’ He says in a really soothing, calm voice.
‘I don’t believe we have.’ I say, trying my hardest not to blush.
‘Austin Butler.’ He says and reaches for my hand.
‘Anastasia Dane.’ I say and I give him my hand, which is clearly shaking.
‘Nice to meet you, Anastasia.’ He smiles.
‘Stacy’s fine.’ I say.
‘Anastasia is beautiful.’ He says in a quiet voice.
Olivia suddenly appears with a glass of wine in her hand, giving it to me.
‘I spilled my drink all over her.’ She says to Austin who looks at me, his eyes going all the way up and down. ‘I can see that.’ He says and I blush, God this is embarrassing.
‘You didn’t even offer her something to cover up with?’ He turns to Olivia.
‘She did, but I’m fine.’ I smile reassuringly and he tilts his head slightly. He takes two steps forward before taking off his tux, leaving him only in a white shirt, the first button unbuttoned and the sleeves of it are rolled up to his elbows.
He is so close, draping the tux over my shoulders. ‘I don’t doubt that,’ Austin whispers.
Is he flirting with me?
‘So I hear you liked the film,’ he says, stepping away from me.
‘I did yes, it was amazing, can’t wait to rewatch it.’ I smile and he keeps eyeing me up and down.
‘I’m glad you liked it.’ He says and looks away, noticing a few people coming in from behind the curtain that we just walked across. ‘Be right back.’ He says with a smirk and leaves me there.
I take the opportunity to talk to Baz, and honestly he’s so intellectual but at the same time casual to talk to, he makes sure everybody in the conversation feels included. I get some stuff for my review and then I just stand there and listen to his captivating stories.
We talk for what seems like hours, and suddenly just like earlier I feel presence behind me, this time it’s closer, followed by a hand on the small of my back.
I turn my head, even though I knew fully well whose hand I have gently laying on me, and I see Austin locking eyes with Baz and listening to him talking with the same amazment as me.
‘No, I didn’t think that!’ He suddenly joins in on the conversation, making everybody chuckle. His hand never leaving my back and the way he is closer every second I can’t even focus on what everyone’s saying.
‘Stacy, did you notice that in that scene?’ Olivia smiles and I have no idea what they are talking about.
My face goes red and I keep avoiding eye contact, ‘Uhm… No, I-I guess I should’ve paid attention more.’ I stutter and Olivia smiles, continuing her story and I feel the hand leaving the small of my back to grip into my waist, and pull me just a little closer.
‘Guess you should’ve.’ Austin whispers, smirking a little and I blush once again.
He is flirting with me.
More and more people keep coming in from behind the curtain, and this family-type feeling is gone, suddenly everyone’s talking to different people and I’m left alone on a barchair.
‘Stacy!’ I hear from behind me.
Jeff.
‘Stacy! Hey!’ He says, and I can recongnize the alcohol in his voice.
‘Hi Jeff.’ I say with a little smile.
‘How’s my favourite girl?’ He says and stands right next to me. I feel uncomfortable with how he is standing so close and I just want this to be over.
‘I’m okay. Just finishing this.’ I smile and take a hold of my drink.
‘What happened to your dress?’ He asks, looking down on the huge stain.
‘It’s fine, someone spilled champagne over me.’ I tell him while trying to think of something that will save me from this misery.
‘You know,’ He leans closer. ‘I could take it off of you.’ He says and I lean away.
God this is embarrassing.
‘I—‘ I say when I suddenly feel somebody from the other side of me.
‘Hey, beautiful.’ I know that voice. ‘Everything alright?’ Austin.
‘Yeah uhm… Everything alright.’ I say, still leaning away from Jeff and leaning closer to Austin.
‘Hey, I’m Jeff, and old friend of Stacy here.’ Jeff says and extends his hand, while the other one squeezes my shoulder for a second. Austin catches the movement and extends his hand back.
‘Austin. Now if you will excuse us, I need to talk to Anastasia.’ Austin says and the hand on my back is back, him leading me away from Jeff.
We go to a small hallway and he lets go of me.
‘Thank you so much.’ I say with a sigh of relief.
‘For what?’ He asks with a smirk.
‘For saving me from this awkward situation.’ I say and he walks a little closer.
‘It’s nothing.’ He says and we stand there in silence. The hallway is dark and I can barely see his face with how close he is standing and how nothing’s lighting up his face, his handsome, pretty face.
He lifts his hand and gently puts his thumb on my forearm, carassing a little skin there.
‘I didn’t like him being so close to you.’ He says and woah. Woah.
What is happening?
‘Me neither.’ I manage to get words out.
‘I didn’t,’ He backs me up into the wall. ‘I didn’t like him touching you.’ He says and takes both of his hands to cage me into the wall, both of those hands on each side of my head.
‘Me neither.’ I say with a little smile, trying to play along, trying not to sound completly gone, trying to hide that I’m already so aroused by just this, and he didn’t even touch me yet.
‘Do you like, me touching you?’ He whispers and one of his hand leaves the wall, gently guiding his fingertips over my jawline.
His hands are so soft.
‘Yes.’ I say breathlessly, thank god he can’t see my red face in the dark.
‘Hm.’ He hums and softly moves his hand, touching my cheek, then my jawline once again, my neck, my collarbone and everything’s too much, I feel too hot, I raise my hands and get out of his tux that I’m wearing.
He smirks and leans closer and suddenly his lips are on my neck. My breathing quickens as soon as I feel his soft lips on my skin, I’m sure he can feel how my heart paced up.
He plants gentle kisses on my neck, then my jawline. I don’t know what to do with my hands and a sudden rush of bravery washes over me, grabbing his face in my hand and kissing him with force.
He takes one hand and puts it on my neck, while the other takes a hold of my hip, and with that we move into each other. While the kiss evolves into something more passionate Austin grabs me the side of my thigh, holding it up so our groins directly touch. His hand is under my dress, and I feel him moving his bulge into me. I moan at the contact, louder than I intended.
‘Fuck, should we get out of here?’ He says, pulling away from me.
‘Yes, please.’ I say and he takes a hold of my hand.
He leads me out of the hallway, and drops my hand when we get into the room. He places his hand on the small of my back and leads me out of the crowded place, waving to Olivia and disappearing through the purple curtain.
He takes a left and we are suddenly at some kind of a backdoor, where there are cars waiting for people, Austin looks at one, then looks at me and goes to open the door to let me get in.
He tells the address of his hotel to the driver and throughout the journey his hand never leaves my thigh.
‘Can’t wait to get you alone.’ He leans closer and whispers in my ear.
I sigh breathlessly, trying to keep it together but it’s so hard to do so, so hard when he is so close, his breath on my neck, his shoulder touching mine while his hand creeps up my thigh.
‘Baby…’ He whispers and bites my earlobe and I quietly moan which makes him smirk.
The driver slows down and I know we are at the hotel. Austin gets out and extends his hand for me to take.
His hand is on the small of my back, this becomes like a routine for us, while he guides me to the elevator. Some other people get in, making us step back and standing directly in front of the back of the elevator.
I feel Austin’s hand going lower just a little, settling on my ass, not squeezing or groping, he just leaves it there.
The elevator stops on every level, and now I’m getting impatient, I need to get my hands on him, and I need him to get his hands on me. So out of desperation I lean closer to him, my head barely touching his chest. I feel his hand leaving my ass as he thightly grabs me by my waist.
And suddenly we are on our level. We excuse ourselves and get out before Austin is basically running towards the door. He gets out his keycard and looks at me, motioning me to come in.
He locks the door behind us and I look through the beautiful room, with the most beautiful view. As I look at the direction of the window Austin comes up from behind me, wrapping his strong arms around me.
‘You like?’ He asks, breath hitting my neck, chuckling.
‘I do.’ I smile and turn, finding myself pressed against his chest. I grab his shoulders and I press a gentle kiss on his inviting lips. He kisses back and I feel butterflies in my stomach because of how tender and sensual he is, it makes me want to never stop touching him.
The gentleness in long gone now, he holds me by my hip, backs me up into the kitchen counter, and starts to unbutton his shirt. I try to help him but I’m too preoccupied with the kisses and how when I open my eyes I see more and more of his skin on his chest so I pull away and start kissing him as more of his skin is revealed.
He chuckles and I unbutton the last two buttons on the shirt before kissing and licking his chest and stomach all over. He puts his hand into my hair to guide my head and I gently pull away from the counter I was pressed into so I can lower myself and get on my knees.
‘Fuck, Ana…’ He says and looking up at him, totally out of breath, shirtless, his hair messed up. It was definitely a sight to see.
I guide my finger on the line of his V-line and I reach the waistband of his pants and start to unbuckle his belt.
‘Fuck, you are so- so pretty, baby.’ Austin says as I struggle to open his belt, he reaches for my hair and holds it up for me.
Finally I successfully remove his pants and he steps out of them, standing there in only underwear. I put my lips on his bulge and I can feel him slightly moving his hips, he is eager. So I don’t waste any time, I need him so bad, I free his hardness.
I audibly swallow when I see it, right in front of my face, and I once again waste no time spitting in my hand and guide it up and down on him.
He groans and I take this as a sign to finally get my mouth on him. I kiss the tip and lick it from the base to the top all the way. He pulls on my hair at the sudden contact and I take him in my mouth as deep as I can, while he tugs on my hair a little harder. Not that I mind. I look up to him and I see him struggling to keep looking at me, his eyes rolling back, even throwing his head back. I continue to bob my head up and down before I feel him pulling my hair slightly upwards, making me pull off of him.
‘Stand up.’ He says and I feel heat all over mg body hearing him order me like that, so I do as he says. As soon as I’m up on my feet, he gently bends down and reaches for the bottom of my dress to pull it over my head. I’m now left in my dark red bra and panties, while Austin throws the stained dress aside. He picks me up and puts his hands firmly on my asscheeks and carries me to a room which, I suppose, is his bedroom.
He basically throws me onto the bed and I smile when he is crawling over me.
‘You are so beautiful.’ He says and looks at me up and down.
‘You too.’ I say and he smirks before lowering himself and coming in direct contact with my breasts which are still covered by the red lace. He kisses one gently.
‘So pretty. I wanna get my mouth on them so badly, can I, baby?’ He says and wouldn’t I be the biggest fool on Earth to say no to that.
‘Yes, please.’ He smirks and reaches under me to unhook my bra, freeing my boobs, my nipples already hard because of him.
‘I like it when you say that, darling.’ He says and I moan loudly when he attaches his lips, those perfect lips, on my goosebumps filled skin there.
‘You like that?’ He asks and sucks on my skin. I nod with my mouth gaping open, not being able to think because of the intense pleasure I’m receiving.
‘Answer me, sweetheart.’ He asks and looks up at me, stopping everything he was doing, I arch my back because of the lack of touch.
‘Yes, yes. Please.’ I say and I can tell by his smirk this is turning him on so much, but still fights the urge to keep kissing me.
‘Please, what? What do you want, tell me baby.’ He asks and his eyes are burning a hole into my forehead, his gaze is so strong and powerful and full of undivided attention, his gaze is something everyone who wants to feel loved and wanted should experience in their life.
‘I want you, Austin. I want you to fuck me.’ I say and his smirk falls before kissing me passionately on the lips.
‘Bold choice baby.’ He says and I smile as he kisses down my body, his hands wandering everywhere he can reach, squeezing my boobs then coming back up to put his hand around my throat.
‘I’m gonna fuck you so well, princess. Nobody has ever fucked you like this and nobody ever will.’ He stares into my soul and I can’t help but moan just at his words. Everything he does is arousing to me. ‘I love it when you are loud like that. Makes me want to never hear anything else again.’ I know I boosted his ego with the moans and the eagerness so I smile at his cocky behaviour change. He winks at me and I chuckle when he reaches down to slightly rub me through my red lace panties.
‘You are so wet, can’t wait to be inside you baby.’ He says and lowers himself on my body to tug down my panties. He does so and throws them away.
I take a sharp breath as he starts to kiss down my abdomen and uses one finger to rub the side of my thigh, to slightly hold me down. His kisses slow down the lower he gets and he is finally planting a kiss directly on my pussy. He takes his other hand and guides one finger down my folds before diving into me, his head between my thighs, licking up everything he can get. Pure ecstasy takes me over and as soon as he inserts even the tip of his finger into my hole, I grab a hold of his hair and I feel heat in my lower stomach.
‘Fuck, Austin.. I- I’m close.’ I say, which comes out as a whisper because my moans are too loud in comparison.
Austin doesn’t stop, he keeps lapping his tongue on my heat, his finger now fully in me, his other hand leaving my thigh and just gently rubbing my clit a little.
And that does the job for me. I grab his hair forcefully and I feel myself reaching my release while he still eats me throughout the course of my orgasm.
He comes up from in between my thighs. ‘What a sight to see, baby, all flushed and wet, just for me. For me.’ He says and comes up to kiss me, giving me just a little taste of what he has been devouring for the last few minutes.
‘Please fuck me.’ I say and I don’t have to ask him twice.
‘Who got you this turned on?’ He asks with a smile while reaching for the bedside table to get out a condom.
‘You, you Austin.’ I say as he slides the condom on himself and crawls back on top of me.
‘So pretty.’ He says and suddenly pushes into me and I scream. He throws his head back and starts to move in and out of me as I moan. He paces up and takes me by my knees to get a better angle, which feels so good, I’m not even sure that I’m thinking clearly anymore.
‘Fuck.’ He groans and I take his face in my hands to kiss him, which is so messy because of our rapid and rhythmless breathing and moans but it doesn’t matter.
I can feel him getting closer and closer and as he keeps hitting that spot in me, I feel closer too.
He suddenly grabs me by the waist and flips us over, pulling out in the process but settling me on his lap.
‘Sit on it baby.’ He says and just like that I do so, because he is back to his ordering self.
He moans and I start to move, the same pace he was fucking me just a minute ago. I bounce up and down and stop just a few times to grind into him. His hand stays on my thighs, sometimes goes behind to grope my ass, or slap it a little.
I feel his grab on my ass getting harder and harder and I know he is close.
‘You close, darling?’ He says and I nod as he takes one hand to grab one of my breasts before sitting up and once again being so close to each other. I put my head in the crook of his neck and he thrusts his hips up once and that is enough to send me over the edge.
‘Come for me, Ana.’ He whispers and I scream when I do so. He looks at me with his sexiest bedroom eyes and just like that he is throwing his head back and coming with me, joining me in this ecstasy.
He pulls out of me and sets me down on the bed. He wraps the condom and goes to which I assume is the bathroom, appearing with a shirt and a towel in his hand. He cleans me up and gives me a kiss on my lips.
‘I’m gonna go pee.’ I murmur with the shirt clutched in my hand and he nods while he searches for pants himself.
When I’m back, the curtains are down, just a little night lamp is brightening the room with mostly just dark brown furnitures. Austin is already half asleep in the bed and I’m not sure if he wants me to stay or not. Should I just go? I don’t have a pair of pants.
‘Stop staring.’ He murmurs in a really low voice and I chuckle.
‘Are you going to stand there or— did I not tire you out enough?’ He says and props himself up on his elbow while patting the blanket next to him.
I start to walk towards the bed and I sit down on it before laying down next to him.
‘You okay?’ He asks.
‘Of course. More than okay.’ I smile and turn towards him. He extends his hand and just touches my cheek lightly.
‘Good night, Ana.’ He says, reaching for the bedside lamp to turn it off.
‘Good night, Austin.’ I smile and he pulls me closer. I can’t help myself but to kiss him gently again.
‘Sleep baby, we will continue this in the morning.’ He whispers.
Well, I didn’t expect this.
#austinbutler#austin butler smut#austin butler fanfiction#austin butler imagine#austin butler elvis#elvismovie#austinbutler fluff
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"mobius." loki reaches out to grab his attention, to stop him. his fingers hold onto the sleeve of mobius's blazer, aimlessly trailing down, dangerously close to his palm, and that's when loki's fingers fall away. "i... i want to thank you. for risking everything." a shrug of his shoulder came with a short-lived laugh. "including your pretty skin." a pause then, as he looks to the floor, then away. ah. "still. ive got... things to tell you. mobius you are---very important. to me. i'd not let you die, if i can help it, i would not. nobody has done for me what you have, i haven't felt this way for anybody and i wanted you to know that... just that. that's all. come on, we've got to find her before they kill her."
❛ i'm tellin' you, there really isn't a quality of life without skin ... ❜
gosh, is it good to be back on land. or, well, as land as the tva and the null-timezone could be, anyway. the ground is steady under his feet. and it helps that there isn't a million branching timelines trying to have its way of shedding his skin into pieces. anyhow, mobius heaves a laugh of his own, half-relieved and still buzzing with adrenaline; his chest full from the expression on loki's own.
he's- there's still so many things mobius wants to ask, wants to really talk to him about — alioth, the other lokis, sylvie, the man at the end of time, does anything hurt at all, and he better not be goddamn lying because they both know it well by now mobius won't buy any — but the overwhelming pang that the god's there at all, that he came back, like mobius always knew he would, feels like mobius had had the honour of admiring ten jet ski models up-close. no, twenty. with all its shape and sizes and different motors and with its each unique features.
it makes mobius feels like the trip on the time loom worth every second, even the ones he waited. or, really, especially those.
loki goes on though; barrelling through. his words are slurred from one word to another. he's on attack mode. or rather, a survival mode. a planning mode. a ready-to-go mode, picking up on every details quick and sufficient to figure out the best way to escape, to live through, to make it out alive. it hurts mobius a little despite all the flattering words he's trying to tell him - and it is flattering, the ol' time agent ( exactly how old, though ? mobius doesn't even know. should he have known ? ) can feel his own face softens by it all, but —
❛ hey, hey, hold on. come on. ❜ he grabs loki by the arm, a habit they seem to fall into since he's crashed right back, and reels the god in. ❛ take a breath. you barely had any since you came back. how- i mean. ❜
a pause. mobius licks his upper lip, eyes sweeping once at loki's expression again — he can do the quick-thinking too — before he nods, seemingly having come up with exactly he has to say.
❛ you know b-15's on that. anything, she'll let us know. but you- i want you to get looked at. or at least- i don't know. take a shower. eat some snacks. have you had anything to eat out there? i doubt he-who-remains cared about refreshments unless there's some hors-d'œuvre you're not tellin' me about. how about this, i'll get you some new clothes. pants. anything you want. you get yourself clean, sorted, and we'll go straight to b-15 - if she hasn't come to get us first. how about that ? can we do that ? ❜
random asks.
#efoyisk#have a soft ( future ) boyfriend#ok im a bit rusty#BUT IM GETTING THERE#for all time: in character.#for all time: answered.
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RUNNIN' WITH THE DEVIL [TEOTR 1]
arabella's fateful arrival in hawkins has her staying with her uncle after her mom couldn't take it anymore.
masterlist - next chapter - previous chapter - song link
cw: mention of death/loss, mention of fake ids, mentions of drug use
Hawkins, Indiana - June 1985
Hawkins hadn’t changed since Arabella was six. She doesn’t remember much, but she remembers the smell of farmland and the emptiness of the town in comparison to the bustling streets of Philly. She knew the small business owned by someone’s grandmother or father that was passed down through generations. It was the little things in Hawkins. Probably because that was all Hawkins had to offer.
At the minimum, at least it was warmer here than in Philly. She was able to finally wear that pair of jean shorts with the black belt and that cream button-down, unbuttoned of course. The small white tank top she had underneath hid enough, even if her uncle Jim rolled his eyes at her outfit. “Do you own a different car? I think one police car ride was enough this week.”
Arabella said, arms crossed as her uncle drove past the corn rows and into the small town. The Welcome to Hawkins sign could be seen but Arabella didn’t feel welcomed - she felt suffocated. Her mom didn’t waste any time in booking the closest flight possible, she had been dragged home in the cop car on Tuesday and she was on the flight to Indiana by Thursday. “Sorry, chickadee. You did it to yourself. At least you’re in the front this time around.”
Hopper tries but the joke lands flat, her giving him the side eye as she looks back out the window. Uncle Jim lived on the outskirts of Hawkins, still in the town but his cabin was nestled to where the woods granted peace and quiet. “Figured you wouldn’t mind riding in the Blazer, considering it’s been a while since you rode with me,” Hop says again, Arabella shrugs her shoulders. Maybe under different circumstances, yeah.
“If I wasn’t being forced against my will, maybe.” She sighs, stretching her arms out in front of her. The bracelet her dad had gifted her rattled on her arm as she stretched, pulling her arms back into the crossed position on her chest again. “It’s like she couldn’t wait to get me gone.”
She slumped against the leather seat as Hopper chuckled, pulling into the cabin’s driveway. The cabin stood on rusty legs but did its job, a few steps lining up to the porch. He patted his niece's leg before looking at her, cutting the engine, and taking the keys out of the ignition. “She just wants what's best for you, Bella. Can you blame her after what happened?”
“S’not my fault she decided to work the day shift!” Arabella defends, putting her hands up in defense. Hopper gives her a pointed look, getting out of the cop car as Arabella follows. She opens the backdoor and slings her backpack over her shoulder and grabs her suitcase, Hopper grabbing the larger one.
“That’s not an excuse and you know it, kid.” He grunts, walking toward the stairs of the cabin. Arabella rolled her eyes and followed. She knew it wasn’t an excuse, but it had become routine for so long that it's what it honestly boiled down to. She realized that maybe coming home with a new tab on her tongue wasn’t the smartest, but the cop car had already given her state away before she could even make it up one step. “Look; your mother and I both agreed that whatever is going on,” Hopper gestured to where she stood, a disgusted look on her face, “ends now. Before you seriously end up hurt or worse, dead.” He pointed. She nodded at that comment, knowing better than to argue with him when it came to that. It seemed that loss was her uncle’s specialty at times.
“Doesn’t seem like it’ll be hard now.” She muttered one last time under her breath as Jim was too focused on unlocking the door. A push of the knee does it, both of them walking in as Hopper sets her suitcase down. “You have a singular chair in front of your TV?”
She asks, turning toward her uncle. The living room bleeds into the kitchen, most of hte furniture matching in a sort of weird too late for the sixties but earlier enough for the seventies type of way. The living room had a small TV, a recliner, and a loveseat that looked worn, but loved. He shrugs his shoulders as he lugs the suitcase into what she last knew as Sara’s room. “I’m a simple man.” He retorts, opening the door to reveal two beds instead of one. The room was small already, but the two beds and two dressers left no space to do really anything. The green wood paneling seems to be peeling in places, the one side of the wall is covered in pictures, posters, and notes as Hopper placed Arabella’s stuff on the bed with a red blanket. “You still like red, right?”
Hop asks, looking up at his niece. She nods, “Yeah, uh. Still like red.” Her face paled at the implication of sharing a room with her uncle. As if Hawkins wasn’t enough punishment. “Do you, uh,-” She started, turning to point to the bed with the colorful green, yellow, and pink crocheted blanket on. He clears his throat the, same horrid expression on his face.
“No, no. Jesus.” He says, a hand pulling at his beard as he breathes, “That’s where your cousin sleeps.”
Arabella looked at him with raised eyebrows, a puzzled expression written across the girl’s features. Cousin? Last Arabella was concerned, her cousin had died a long time ago from cancer. Besides, by the time Uncle Jim and her now estranged aunt Diane had moved away from the city after a messy divorce, Sara had been buried and Hopper lived alone.
“Oh!” Hopper says, “No, uh, you're adopted cousin. Name’s El. Big sweetheart.” Is all he gives away as Arabella stands and nods, trying to make sense of the fact she was whisked away to Hawkins for some sort of behavior treatment, and on top of that is sharing a room with a random cousin she’s never heard of. She stands there and nods slowly, Hopper taking that as his cue to leave. “I’ll let you settle in then chickadee.”
She shoots him a thumbs up, slinging her backpack onto the bed as she heads to the doorway. He turns around before calling out her name again. “Mhm?” She responds, turning to face him as he smiles softly.
“Even if it is not-so-great circumstances..”, he starts, nodding to her, “I’m still glad you’re here.”
~~~
After a few minutes of haphazardly spewing her items around, Arabella was finally unpacked. She had shoved her clothes in the small dresser, her shoes under the bed and the pack of smokes she was sure her uncle would confiscate if he caught a whiff of under her mattress, the room was starting to feel a little more like her.
As much, as it could, she supposed. The room door opened and Arabella turned over her shoulder, figuring it was probably her uncle coming to bother her again. She was met with a girl with short brown hair and brown eyes looking at her with a smile. Arabella made a face, she didn’t mean to, but she tended to wear her facial expressions freely. The girl sits down on the bed next to the dresser, watching as Arabella packs the rest of her stuff away. “Hi.”
The girl, who Araella had presumed was El, speaks. “You are.. Arabella?”, her words are spaced out and everything seems to be formatted like a question. Arabella doesn’t think anything of it, just nodding her head.
“Bella’s fine.” She mutters, turning around to sit on the floor. Her back was pressed against the dresser as she looked at El. “You’re El?” The two girls just stare at each other, not knowing really what to say next. Arballea decides to start the dreaded conversation. “How old are you?”
“I am fourteen.”, El says slowly, almost as if she doesn’t know her own birthday. Arabella draws her lips in a thin line and nods. “How old are you?”
“Depends on what state you’re in.” She chuckles to herself. El stares at her confused, not understanding the innuendo of having multiple IDs. Arabella waits for the girl to get it, but she doesn’t. “I’m eighteen. Have an early birthday.”
She lets out. She did have an early birthday, considering she’d be graduating high school at nineteen. El smiles, growing up in the lab she never really had anyone to look up to, and she was hopeful Arabella could be something of her sister. Arabella seemed cool, really, really cool. “Are.. are you staying here?”
El says, eager to learn more about Arabella. Arabella sits down on her bed across from El, looking at El as she sighs, leaning against the wall. “Seems like it, doesn’t it?”
El doesn’t pick up on Arabella’s melancholy tone, only the fact she would be staying here. The bright smile that shines on El’s face is an indicator enough. “We will have fun summer.”
Arabella wasn’t holding her breath. arabe
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