Niki🪼

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other on the rubber floor mats, the freezing arena air biting at your cheeks. You had been standing here with your phone in your hand for far too long. But you stayed ready, camera open and prepped to ambush them the second they exited the locker room corridor.

You silently laughed to yourself, thinking of how you were going to torture them this time. ‘Do it for the fans,’ was your usual go-to when you had to encourage them to participate. It was a strategy that worked on 99% of the roster.

However, for Logan, that rule didn't apply. For him, it was only a soft, ‘do it for me,’ accompanied by a slight pout, that ever actually worked. You had a feeling you might need to put one of those on today.

The double doors finally swung open, and your first victim player walked up the tunnel to the rink.

“It’s content day!” You sang, intentionally stepping right into his path just before the ice gate. “I need five seconds of your time before you hit the ice. Do not look at me like that, Graham. I promise you’ll actually like this one.”

Garrett stopped dead in front of your lens, as he adjusted his helmet. He sighed heavily. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Garrett, I’m like two years older than you,” you laughed, holding the camera steady. “I’m not a ma’am.”

“Yes, boss,” Garrett teased. When you looked at him with an unimpressed look, he let out a loud chuckle. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. You know what you did.”

Memories of the last promotional video you’d edited flashed vividly in your head. To be fair to Garrett, you had slightly embarrassed him in the final cut.

“Okay, fair point,” you conceded with a shrug. “But today, I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

Technically, that wasn’t a lie. If Garrett ended up looking foolish in this video, it would be entirely by his own doing, not yours. Semantics mattered.

You lifted your phone, centring him in the frame. “Just a quick geography question for the away-game promo. We want to show off how incredibly smart our Briar boys are.”

“I feel like you’re baiting me, but I’ll bite. Hit me.” Garrett squared his broad shoulders, his game face instantly switching on as he leant in toward the lens.

“Garrett, how many miles do you think it is from Massachusetts to Johannesburg?”

Garrett blinked, his eyes darting upward. “Uh. Well, if you go from...” He started mumbling calculations to himself, genuinely trying to do the map math in his head. “Maybe like... 3500 miles? Give or take. Maybe.” He said eventually, offering a definitive nod.

You put on the best performance of your life, widening your eyes in surprise. “No way! That’s actually right!”

Garrett paused, looking back and forth between your face and the lens, completely bewildered. “Wait. Really?”

“Yeah, honestly,” you lied smoothly.

“You’re not having me on, are you?”

You were having him on. The actual distance was well over 7000 miles. But you just smiled brightly, giving him an encouraging nod. “No, Garrett. Seriously, good job.”

Garrett puffed his chest out, looking dead into the camera with newfound pride. “Well... I have always been pretty good at geography.”

“Clearly,” you smiled, waving him through.

Next up was Dean, who gladly jogged over the moment he saw you with your camera, a flirtatious smile already pulling at his lips.

“How do you want me?” Dean asked, striking a series of poses for the screen.

“Dean, focus,” you said, suppressing a snort. “How many miles from Massachusetts to Johannesburg?”

Dean smirked, “You've come to the right guy. I have an excellent sense of geography.”

“I’m sure you do,” you deadpanned.

“It's exactly twelve thousand miles,” Dean stated with unearned confidence.

You maintained a perfectly straight face, nodding in solemn agreement. “That is exactly right, Dean. Perfect answer. Spot on.”

Dean pumped his fist in the air. “I knew it! Spatial awareness, baby!”

He skated off onto the ice, completely oblivious to the fact that you were slowly losing the ability to breathe from holding in your laughter.

Birdie and Tucker came out next. You hit them with the exact same question, and they immediately stopped in their tracks, squabbling and throwing wild guesses back and forth. Finally, Tucker turned back to you.

“We’re going down the middle,” Tucker decided. “8500.”

“How did you know that?!” you gasped, feigning shock. “That’s the exact number.”

“Is it?” Birdie asked, his jaw dropping.

“Genuinely?” Tucker demanded at the exact same time.

“Yes! Spot on!” you encouraged, watching their competitive faces light up with pure excitement.

“Yes! Well done, Tucks!” Birdie beams, ruffling Tucker’s hair.

They skated away, thrilled with themselves.

You were still quietly giggling, resetting the recording length, when a shadow fell over your phone screen. You looked up and found yourself staring directly into a pair of dark, but soft, eyes.

“You need me?” Logan asked.

“I do need you,” you smiled softly. Neither of you spoke for a heavy moment, the quiet space between you filling up with a that unspoken heat as you just looked at each other. You cleared your throat, snapping yourself back into media-mode. “Oh, and I also need you for a video.”

You lifted the camera to line up the shot. “Stand there, please.”

“Fine,” Logan chuckled as he moved where you directed him. “Hit me.”

You tried your best to ignore the fact that he was looking directly at your face instead of looking at the camera lens.

“How many miles is it from Massachusetts to Johannesburg?”

Logan blinked, his eyes flicking down to your hands for a split second before returning to yours. “...Two hundred?”

You bit the inside of your cheek; did he even hear the question? “Yup! You’re spot on, Logan.”

Logan let out a low laugh. “Come on. I was way off, wasn’t I?”

“No!” you insisted, maintaining your best poker face. “That’s about right, genuinely.”

Logan’s eyes instantly crinkled at the corners. “That’s actually not fair. You distracted me.”

“I– what? I didn’t do anything!” you stuttered, your face growing hot as you completely lost your professional cool.

“You did! How am I supposed to think when...” he trailed off looking at your now trembling hands.

Before you could fully recover, Logan's hand reached out, wrapping securely around the top of your phone and gently pulling. “Give me that. I'm deleting the evidence.”

“Logan, no! Stop!” you shrieked playfully, causing a few of the guys on the ice to turn around and look over the boards.

“Nope, the public can't know this,” he laughed. He was inches away from you as you both wrestled over the handle, the camera recording a chaotic, blurry feed.

“Coach!” You called out mock-threateningly. “Logan is stealing media property!”

“Logan! Leave her alone and get on the ice!” Coach Jensen’s voice sailed across the rink.

“Snitch,” Logan murmured against your ear. He immediately let go of the camera with a soft chuckle, but he lingered for a second longer, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “You owe me for my hurt feelings.”

As he finally skated onto the ice, he glanced back over his shoulder once. It was just long enough for you to catch him smiling to himself. And you knew, without a doubt, that he had caught you smiling right back.

A week later, you were on the bus back with them. It was just past nine in the evening, and the three-hour trek back to campus felt twice as long following the frustrating away-game loss.

Up front, you sat alone in the fourth row, the soft glow of your laptop screen lighting up your face. Most of the overhead reading lights were off, leaving the bus in near darkness save for the passing flashes of the highway streetlights. Behind you, the hockey players were scattered across the reclining seats. Some snored softly, others staring silently out the windows, too exhausted and frustrated to sleep.

The mood on the team’s social media account needed to be resilient, but your brain was too fried. At this point, you had spent so much time with these boys, been to so many of their intense training sessions, that you knew exactly how much they put into this sport. Because of that, you felt the weight of the loss almost as heavily as they did.

But Coach Jensen wanted the post-game recap video live by tomorrow morning. So, you were here, desperately trying to get a head start on the editing despite your electronics slowly dying on you.

You finally hit save on your third draft just as your laptop screen faded to black, the battery drained.

Not thirty seconds later, a sudden shadow fell over your row as someone stood next to you in the aisle.

“Is that seat taken?” Logan whispered.

You looked up, meeting his eyes in the dim light. “Go ahead,” you said softly.

Logan slid into the empty seat next to you. “Thanks. I was going to sit here earlier, but I didn’t want to interrupt you while you were working.”

“Oh, so you were watching me?” you laughed quietly, turning your head to face him.

“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, leaning his head back against the headrest. “How do I say yes to that in a totally normal way?”

“It’s okay, I watch you too,” you supplied, a playful glint in your eyes. “I even take videos sometimes.”

Logan let out a low chuckle. “Nice. My own personal stalker.”

“I didn’t say you were the only one I watched,” you countered smoothly.

“But am I your favourite one? That’s the real question.”

“Hm.” You pretended to think about it, tapping your phone against your palm. “There’s no contest, actually.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

He exhaled a long, tired breath, as he sank deeper into the cushion, stretching his long legs out under the chair in front of him. For a few minutes, neither of you spoke, letting the steady hum of the bus engine fill the silence.

“Are you're still awake,” Logan whispered suddenly, though his eyes remained closed.

“Hard to sleep on these roads,” you replied, keeping your voice dropped low so it wouldn't carry past your row. You turned your head slightly on the headrest, studying his side profile in the dark. “Besides, I'm trying to figure something out.”

“Yeah? What's that?” He opened his eyes, turning his head on the cushion to meet your gaze. In the darkness of the cabin, his eyes looked incredibly dark.

“How you guys deal with frustrating losses,” you explained.

“We have our ways,” Logan laughed quietly.

“Does one of them include flirting?”

Logan’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You noticed?”

“Logan...” An amused huff slipping past your lips. “You volunteered for every single media interview these past few weeks. You invented ridiculous reasons just to walk me back to the media office. You literally sat through me editing raw footage for hours with the excuse of 'keeping me company.'“

When you laid it out like that, it was painfully obvious. The little hints he had been dropping over the past few months had all been noticed by you, and the fact that you were finally bringing it up now changed everything for him. He had been testing the waters, and you jumped right in.

“Okay, you caught me... does this mean I can stop pretending?”

“You were pretending?” you teased.

“I was pretending that I wasn’t going insane over you.”

You laughed softly. “You can stop pretending.”

“Why did it take you this long to call me on it if you knew?” he asked, his tone turning a little more serious.

“I wanted to see how long you'd keep trying.”

Not that you thought Logan was that type of guy, but you also wasn’t about to risk your career for a guy who just wanted you to be another notch on his bedpost.  

“And?” he asked, leaning an inch closer.

“You lasted longer than I expected,” you murmured.

Silence settled over the row again, but the air felt different now.

The bus let out a loud hiss from the brakes, slowing down as it finally pulled off of the highway and onto the familiar roads of the Briar campus.

“The guys are throwing a post-game thing at the house,” Logan murmured, his voice laced with anticipation. He turned his body toward you fully, placing his hand softly on your knee. The heat of his palm soaked straight through your jeans. “Come back to the house with me. Just hang out in my room. Away from the team.”

He said it casually. Too casually. It was a tempting invitation, but you knew there was no way you could do that. If Coach Jensen knew you were flirting with the players on a team bus, or if you crossed that line so publicly...

You met his eyes, holding his gaze as you slowly shook your head. “I can’t, Logan.”

Logan’s smile faded slightly, knowing the hesitation was strictly about your position with the team. “I'm not asking you to break any rules right now... just hang out.”

“Logan. If I walk into the hockey house with you at night...” You trailed off.

There were so many ways you could finish that sentence. Dean would never let either of you live it down. Garrett would feel compelled to give some sort of responsible team-captain lecture. The entire team would know by breakfast, and your personal boundaries with them would probably be broken.

“I like my job too much,” you finished gently instead.

A flicker of disappointment crossed his handsome features. “So, that's a no.”

“It is.”

He nodded slowly, swallowing his pride as he accepted your answer. His hand slipped off your knee, leaving a cold space where his warmth had just been. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I get it. Sorry, I didn't mean to press you.”

“But,” you whispered, a daring smile playing on your lips, “my apartment is off-campus.”

Logan froze mid-movement. He blinked, his dark eyes widening. “What?”

“If you’re not too tired, that is,” you murmured.

The heavy bus finally shuddered to a full stop in the arena parking lot.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and reached down to grab your backpack, putting your phone in the pocket.  

For a second, Logan just stared at you as the reality of what you were offering sank in. Then, the disappointment vanished, replaced by a burning desire.

“Give me five minutes to come up with an excuse,” Logan whispered, his voice incredibly thick and rough. “Don't leave the parking lot without me.”

All around you, the overhead lights clicked on with a harsh flash, and the players began standing up. They groaned as they stretched their sore muscles, grabbing their duffel bags from the overhead racks.

“I’ll wait around the corner,” you whispered as you slipped out of your seat, blending into the crowd of hockey players shuffling down the aisle. Stepping off the bus, the crisp night air hit you instantly, a welcome relief from the stuffy interior.

As the players crowded around the luggage compartment to grab their bags, you walked up to the group casually.

“Great effort tonight, boys,” you said with a warm smile, nodding to Garrett and Tucker. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get the win.”

“Thanks,” Garrett muttered, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “You have a good evening.”

You walked towards your car, quickly sliding in and driving around the corner of the athletic building, parking in the shadows where the bus headlights couldn't reach. Your heart was hammering against your ribs, the thrill of having a secret making this so much better.

It didn’t take Logan long to make his way to you. He walked with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the dark street until they landed on your car. He jogged over, opened the passenger door, and slid in.

“Smooth,” Logan murmured as he buckled his seatbelt. “Very professional.”

“I try my best,” you laughed softly, shifting into drive.

When you walked through your front door, you tossed your keys onto the entryway table and kicked off your shoes. Logan did the same, following you through your apartment as he took it all in for the first time.

“Can I get you something to drink?” you asked, walking toward the kitchen nook. You at least wanted to play good host before jumping his bones.

“Water is fine, thanks,” Logan said, walking over to the living room and sinking into your plush sofa.

You poured two glasses of water and walked back over, handing one to him. Instead of taking the armchair across from him, you sat down on the opposite end of the sofa.

“Thanks,” he murmured, taking a slow sip before setting the glass down on the coffee table. He shifted his weight, turning his body toward you and resting his arm along the back of the sofa.

“You look exhausted,” you said softly, pulling one leg up onto the cushion so you were facing him too.

“I was,” Logan admitted, his dark eyes fixed on your face. “But I'm feeling a lot better now.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

You placed your own glass down on the coffee table, before looking back at him. He usually looked at you in one of two ways. The first was when you laughed or spoke; he’d look with a soft expression. The second, like now, was when he’d basically be undressing you with his eyes.

“So...” you started, but you didn’t finish your trail of thought.

Logan watched you for a few beats longer, before blurting out, “Will you think less of me if I’m bold?”

You bit your lower lip, shaking your head. “No.”

“Good, then come here.” He leant forward, sticking out his hand.

When you took it, he pulled you towards him, he kept pulling until you were straddling his lap.

“Hi,” you breathed, looking down at him.

“Hi,” he said back.

He kept looking up at you expectantly, wanting to let you set the pace to this.

You leant forward and bit down on his earlobe. He signed and moaned as you sucked it into your mouth. Then, you moved to where his jaw met his neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin there.

“I’ve been waiting a while for this,” you confessed against the skin of his neck.

“Yeah?” He panted. “Me too.”

His lips slightly parted as you resumed your trail down across his neck, over his jaw, and then to his mouth.

The kiss started slow, almost cautious, as if he was still making sure he wasn’t dreaming. His lips were soft against yours, but the moment you breathed a sigh against his mouth and leant into his touch, the hesitation vanished. You found a rhythm together quickly, his tongue swiping across yours.

You pulled back to get some air and Logan followed you, his breath puffing against your mouth as he came to claim you in kisses once again. He tilted your head so that he could deepen the kiss.

He didn’t stop kissing you as his hands went under the hem of your shirt, warm, calloused hands sliding up your smooth back.  He stopped at the clasp of your bra, fingers moving smoothly over the clasp to undo it on the first attempt.

This time, it was Logan who pulled back, but only for a second so that he could tug your shirt up over your head and pull off your bra. The second you were bare; his lips were back on yours.

Pulling you flush against him, his hand snaked between your bodies and up to your chest. He kneaded your breasts, before focusing his attention on one nipple, softly pinching and rolling it between his fingers.

You moaned into his mouth as he flicked a finger over it, back and forth and back again.

Then, the pad of his thumb stroked firmly over your nipple, and another moan left your lips. He pulled his mouth away from yours, tracing down your throat. Burying his face in your beck, his teeth grazed your pulse point while his hands continued across your chest.  

“Don’t mark me,” you warned, you didn’t want to have to cover up at work.

“I won’t,” he groaned, his voice vibrating right against your skin. “I've pictured this every single day since the start of the season.”

You hadn’t realised how much you were grinding down into him until you begun to feel the rigid length of him beneath you, straining against the fabric. You desperately, purposely, moved your hips against him again, the friction coming from the fabric of your jeans and his length pressed up into you driving you insane.

He shuddered as he leant back against the armrest of the sofa, his hands sliding down to your hips as he looked up at you. his gaze was heavy and heated, roaming over the way you grinded into him, up to your bare chest, and finally to the look of ecstasy on your face. You felt exposed, but so powerful, as you watched his head loll back.

Slowly, you reached down, your fingers catching the hem of his top. “Your turn.”

It’s like your words revived him, he immediately sat up, pulling the top over his head and tossing it onto the floor. The sight of his tanned skin, the trail of hair leading down his body, and the sharp lines of his abs made your breath hitch. He had a few bruises from the game across his torso and it made him look even more attractive to you.

You leant forward, pressing your bare chest against his bare skin, as you captured his lips again, much hungrier this time. Your hands slid down his firm abdomen to the waistband of his sweatpants.

He bucked up to you, groaning into the kiss, as you wrapped your hand around his erection. You squeezed it tightly before dragging a nail along the throbbing vein at the underside of his dick.

Moving your attention to his leaking slit, your thumb traced over it, smearing the small amount of pre-cum around the head.

“Logan,” you purred as you made a ring with your fingers and worked his length.

“Hmm?”

“I’m really wet,” you said darkly, “and I need you to fuck me now, okay?”

Immediately jumping to action, his hands found the hem of your jeans and, together, you worked in a frantic and uncoordinated rush to get rid of the rest of the clothes. You slid off of his lap, your bare feet hitting the carpet as you pushed your jeans and underwear down your legs. Logan kicked off his sweatpants and boxers at the same time, freeing his thick length.

He slid to the floor, back resting against the base if the sofa.

When you looked down at him, he was watching you, mouth wide as he looked over your naked body.

“Come here,” he murmured, his voice rough.

You immediately straddled his lap, the direct skin-on-skin contact sending another bolt of ecstasy through you. he slipped a hand between your legs, collecting your arousal on his fingers before popping them into his mouth, sucking it clean off.

“I can’t wait to properly taste you,” he said.

“Next time,” you huffed as you rubbed your dripping pussy over his dick.

Tilting his pelvis up, he guided the head of his length to your entrance. He paused there for a second.

“Look at me,” he whispered, his eyes locking onto yours when you looked at him. He wanted to make sure you were ready.

You stared directly into his eyes, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you slowly lowered your hips, taking him inside you.

Logan’s head fell back against the sofa cushions, a low groan rumbling from his throat as you squeezed around him. He gripped your waist tighter than he probably realised he was.

For a long moment, he didn’t move, letting you both adjust to what was happening. His chest heaved as he stared up at you with unadulterated desire.

When he finally began to thrust into you, every stroke hit you deeply, and was perfectly aimed at the spot inside of you that had your toes curling. The room was silent save for the combined sounds of you both raggedly breathing and each slap of your ass against the tops of his thighs.

It had only taken a few bounces before Logan felt his orgasm approach.

“Oh– shit,” Logan called, as he was then suddenly shooting ropey cum up into you.

You leant back, hands resting on the floor behind you as you spread your legs wider. He was still buried inside you, so you opted your small rolls of your hips rather than bounces. His hand came to your clit, it throbbed under his thumb, and the tight coil built rapidly in your lower stomach.

One of your hands came to play with your nipples as he kept gently rubbing at your clit, not sure what kind of pressure you needed. Your orgasm crashed over you, pulling an undone cry from your lips.

He winced as your walls squeezed around his sensitive, and slightly softened, dick.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, turning pink as you came down from your orgasm. “Guess I’ve been holding that one in for too long.”

You were an adult, and knew that the reality was that sex wasn’t always a marathon. You didn’t mind a sprint every now and then, especially considering there was actual build up.

“You don’t need to apologise. I enjoyed it. Really enjoyed it. Did you?”

He nodded sheepishly.

“Then there’s no problem.” You leant in to give him a swift kiss. “Do you want to take a shower with me?”

“I do,” he said eagerly.

You stood up, wincing as you felt his release run down your inner thighs. Walking on shaky legs, you led the way into the bathroom, Logan following close behind. You turned the handle, waiting a moment for the water to warm up before stepping under the spray.

When Logan stepped in behind you and helped you to wash, it was incredibly sweet, feeling way more intimate than what you’d just done. The heat mostly washed away the worries you hadn’t realised you had, but a voice nagging in your head kept asking you what would happen now that you’d crossed that boundary with him.

The shower was over quickly, and you gave him the only pair of shorts you owed that you thought could fit him. You both walked back to the living room and sat on the sofa, putting on a movie, but the exhaustion of the long night was catching up fast.

“By the way,” he said. “I was thinking about what you said on the coach about wanting to see how long I would have kept trying.”

“Hmm,” you mumbled sleepily, shifting closer against him.

“I want you to know I would have kept trying until you rejected me,” Logan murmured, his arm tightening around your shoulders to pull you securely against him. “This isn’t a game to me. I’m serious about this.”

A soft smile pulled at your lips as you felt yourself drifting off.

The first time Logan called you a good girl, he did not mean to. Which was a problem in itself, if he had meant to, perhaps you could have prepared.

If there had been warning, if he had looked at you with that slow, dangerous little smile and said it deliberately, you might have had enough time to collect yourself. To decide what face to make. To arrange your dignity into something presentable before it abandoned you entirely.

It was still early enough that certain things between you and Logan felt like discoveries rather than habits. Not awkward anymore, luckily you were past the worst of that. Past the first trembling moments of figuring out where to put your hands, when to ask, how to say something without feeling like every word had been dragged from somewhere too exposed.

But it was new enough that he still watched you closely.

You were in his room at the hockey house, Logan had been sitting against the headboard and you had started by kissing him there, then somehow ended up between his legs on the mattress with your knees pressed into the sheets and your hair falling over one shoulder. His door was locked. The house was noisy enough downstairs that privacy felt possible, but not silent enough to be too intense. Somewhere beneath you, Dean was shouting about someone stealing his cereal, which meant the world was still irritatingly alive outside the room.

Inside, it was warm. Logan was warmer.

He had one hand in your hair, not gripping. Just resting there, fingers curved gently against the back of your head. His other hand was fisted loosely in the sheets beside his thigh, like he was trying very hard to keep it there.

You learnt quickly that you liked that. You liked seeing his restraint, even though you were not entirely sure what to do with it yet. You had done this before.

Not often enough to be casual. Not rarely enough to be nervous in the same way. There was a strange little space between those things, where you wanted badly to be good at it but did not want to look like you were trying too hard. Which was stupid, because trying was the point.. Trying was academically and socially defensible.

Unfortunately, none of that made you feel less exposed with your mouth on him and Logan breathing your name like a warning.

“Slow,” he murmured.

You paused just enough to look up.

His head was tipped back against the wall, eyes dark and fixed on you. His sweatshirt was shoved up his stomach, jeans open, hair a mess from your hands. He looked less composed than usual, which helped. A lot.

“Too much?” you asked.

His mouth parted.

“No,” his laugh came out rough, “God, no. Just—slow down a little.”

You blinked.

“I thought you liked—”

“I do.”

“That was not a complete sentence.”

He looked at you then, properly, and even in the heat of it his mouth twitched.

“You want notes?”

“Yes.”

His eyebrows lifted and you immediately regretted sounding so eager.

“Not like an evaluation,” you clarified.

“Cherry.”

“What?”

“You are between my legs asking for constructive feedback.”

Your face warmed, “Well, now you’re making it sound clinical.”

“It sounded clinical when you said notes.”

“I like being thorough.”

“I’m aware.”

You narrowed your eyes. He smiled, but the smile did not last long because your hand moved again and his breath caught hard enough to interrupt whatever smug thing he had been about to say.

There. You liked that too, that you could cut him off without using words.

You tried again, slower this time, paying attention to the way his stomach tightened and his fingers pressed into your hair before he remembered himself and loosened them. His breathing shifted. You watched his face, greedy for signs, for proof, for anything that told you you were doing it right.

Logan noticed.

Of course he noticed.

“You don’t have to think so hard,” he said, voice low.

You pulled back just enough to answer, one hand still wrapped around him.

“I am not thinking hard.”

“You’re concentrating.”

“I’m learning.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

His eyes darkened at that.

Something about the word changed him. Not much. Just enough for the hand in your hair to flex, thumb brushing near your temple.

“Okay,” he stroked your hair, “Then slower.”

You obeyed.

His jaw tightened as he sighed, “Use your hand too. Like— yeah. There.”

Your pulse jumped.

There.

Such a stupidly satisfying word.

You adjusted, following the rhythm he guided you into, letting him show you without pushing you, his hand careful in your hair and his voice rougher each time he gave you another tiny instruction. It should have made you embarrassed. It did. But there was something else underneath it, something warmer and more dangerous than embarrassment.

You liked being guided by him.

You liked that he could tell you what to do without making you feel small.

You liked the way his voice went uneven when you listened.

“Just like that,” he moaned softly.

Your eyes flicked up.

His head had fallen back again, throat exposed, lips parted. He looked wrecked enough that your pride bloomed in your chest, hot and pleased. You kept going, slower, better, more certain now.

Logan’s hand tightened in the sheets,“That’s it,” he murmured, almost to himself, “Good girl.”

Everything stopped.

Not outside.

Outside, Dean was still yelling about cereal justice. Someone laughed in the hallway. Music thudded faintly through the floor.

But in your body, everything stopped.

And Logan felt it.

His eyes opened, head lifting from the wall and gaze dropping to you with sharp, immediate attention. The hand in your hair stilled completely.

You were still between his legs, still touching him, still too close to pretend you had simply remembered an appointment.

His expression slowly shifted,“Oh?”

You pulled back, face already hot.

“No.”

His mouth curved.

“No?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Make that face.”

“What face?”

“The one where you learn something.”

Logan breathed out a laugh, but it came out too rough to be casual,“Baby.”

“No.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You said enough with your eyebrows.”

“My eyebrows?”

“Yes.”

“They’re involved now?”

“They’re very communicative.”

His smile widened, and the heat in your face became unbearable because he was still looking at you like that. Like he had found a drawer you had not known was unlocked. He lifted his hand from your hair and touched your jaw instead, gentle enough that you could have moved away without effort.

“You like that?”

“No.”

His thumb brushed once along your cheek,“No?”

You stared at him.

He waited.

That was the thing about Logan. He did not always fill silence when he knew it would do the work for him. He just waited, face warm and amused and careful, hand steady at your jaw.

“Maybe.”

His eyes darkened, “Colour?”

The question landed softly, grounding everything at once. 

“Green,” you said too quickly.

His smile changed, “Yeah?” His thumb moved under your chin, tilting your face up a fraction. “My good girl’s green?”

Your entire body reacted.

Logan noticed that too.

His breath shifted, and for one second he looked like he had forgotten what game he was playing.

Then he laughed, quiet and ruined, “Oh, Cherry.”

“You cannot say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re pleased with yourself.”

“I am pleased with myself.”

“That is not attractive.”

“It’s a little attractive.”

“It is not.”

“You’re still holding me.”

You looked down.

You were, hand still on him- not moving the entire time you had made the discovery. In fact, your grip had tightened

“Oh my God.”

“Yeah,” he replied, voice rougher now. “I know.”

You should have stopped. You considered stopping.

Not because you wanted to, but because it would have restored some kind of balance. You could have sat back, crossed your arms, accused him of misconduct in the field of vocabulary, and turned the whole thing into a joke before it became something he could use.

Instead, you looked at him; properly- studying his face, the flush on his cheekbones and the little stunned glint in his eye,like your reaction had done something to him too. Like he had said the words without thinking, watched you respond, and realised in real time that he had found a way to make you softer than either of you had been expecting.

That made you want to hear it again. Badly.

Which was inconvenient for your propriety, and humiliating for your ego- but unconventionally motivating for the rest of you.

You leaned back down.

Logan’s hand twitched, “Cherry.”

You ignored the warning in his voice, you knew exactly what you were doing now.

Mostly.

You took him into your mouth again. Slower at first, because he had said slower and you were suddenly, catastrophically invested in doing this correctly. His hand returned to your hair, fingers threading through carefully, then tightening when you used your hand the way he had shown you.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

That was very nice.

You did it again. His hips shifted, barely. He caught himself immediately, hand flattening against the mattress.

You looked up. His jaw was clenched, eyes fixed on you, and all the smugness had taken a significant hit. You hollowed your cheeks a little, using what you had learned, what he had told you, what his body was telling you now.

His head hit the wall, “Baby.”

You hummed in response, his whole body jerked in response.

“Jesus.”

You pulled back just enough to breathe, hand still moving, “Notes?”

He laughed, but there was no humour left in it. Only disbelief.

“You want notes right now?”

“Yes.”

His eyes dropped to your mouth.

Then back to your eyes.

“Slow again.”

You listened. His breathing turned ragged.

“Hand— yeah. Just like that.”

Warmth spread through your chest. In anticipation. You were waiting for the two words to reward your actions, and you hated it.

Logan’s  mouth parted, then curved with sudden understanding.

“Oh,” he said softly.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

His voice dropped, “You’re trying to get me to say it again.”

Your face burned.

“No.”

“No?”

You did not answer.

He shifted his hand in your hair, not pushing, not forcing, just holding enough to make your stomach tighten.

“Look at me.”

You did. It was a mistake for your resolve, everything was a mistake. 

His eyes were dark and bright at once, amusement tangled with want, want tangled with something softer because he understood exactly how new this was. Exactly how much you hated that he understood.

“If you want it,” he said, low, “you can have it.”

Your throat moved.

“But you’re gonna have to stop pretending you don’t.”

That was unfair.

You stared at him for one stubborn second. Then lowered your mouth again.

This time, you did not rush.

You did exactly what he had told you. Slower. Hand moving with your mouth. Eyes up. Breathing carefully. Not trying to impress him with force, not trying to hide behind performance. 

His grip tightened.

“That’s it,” he breathed.

You held his gaze.

His jaw flexed.

Then, rougher, “Good girl.”

There it was.

The words went through you like heat.

It was embarrassing how immediately they worked. Your focus sharpened. Your body seemed to understand them before your mind did, every nerve lighting up with pleased, greedy purpose. It was not even that you became softer, exactly.

You became determined. Dangerously determined.

Logan realised a second too late.

Because you went for it- properly. 

You didn’t rush and your moves hadn’t become clumsy, but you were suddenly much more committed to proving the praise deserved repeating. Your free hand slid to his thigh, fingers pressing into denim. Your mouth moved with more confidence now, following every broken sound he made, every shift in his breathing, every tightening of his hand in your hair.

His smugness vanished completely.

“Oh, fuck.”

You would have smiled if your mouth had been free.

It was not. So you did the next best thing.

You kept going.

Logan’s hand slammed against the mattress, fingers twisting in the sheet,“Cherry.”

It came out beautifully wrecked.

You looked up, and the sight of him nearly undid you. His head tipped back, throat working, chest rising hard, hair messy from your earlier hands, green sweatshirt shoved up over his stomach. He looked like someone had given you secret instructions and you had followed them too well.

That was, technically, what had happened.

“Baby,” he said, voice strained, “slow down.”

You immediately did.

His eyes opened. Logan’s expression softened for half a second before the heat swallowed it.

“Good,” he murmured, and then, because apparently he had no survival instinct left, “good girl.”

Your eyes fluttered.

His breath caught, “You really like that.”

You pulled back, mouth warm, face hotter.

“I am providing positive reinforcement.”

For one second, he stared at you and then he laughed, a rough, helpless sound that seemed to surprise him as much as it surprised you.

“Positive reinforcement?”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to call it that?”

“It’s accurate.”

“You’re the one being reinforced.”

You frowned, “That is not how I’m choosing to frame this.”

He sat up a little, hand still in your hair, eyes so dark you lost your next thought.

“No?”

“No.”

His thumb brushed your cheek.

“You sure?”

You swallowed.

Then, quieter, “Maybe it works both ways.”

That did something to him.

You saw it happen.

His amusement faded into something more intent, more affected. His hand slid from your hair to your jaw, thumb resting lightly near the corner of your mouth.

“Yeah?” he said.

You nodded once.

He looked at you for a long second and then kissed you.

It should have been too strange, considering where your mouth had been, but Logan did not seem to care. The kiss was deep and warm and messy enough to make your knees shift against the bedspread. His hand held your face like he was trying not to grip too hard, like he was reminding himself that this was still new, that you were still learning, that the softness he had found was not something to grab at carelessly.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.

“Still green?”

Your chest warmed, “Yes.”

“Good.”

You closed your eyes.

He laughed softly, “Not even the whole phrase.”

“Shut up.”

“You reacted to good.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“I am leaving.”

“You’re kneeling.”

“I am spiritually leaving.”

He kissed the side of your mouth,“Stay.”

You did.

Obviously.

You stayed because he asked softly, because his hand was warm at your face, because you liked how he sounded when you got it right. Because he had said good girl and the world had not ended, even though your dignity had suffered a temporary structural collapse.

You went back down again.

This time, Logan was less composed from the start. He still guided you, but his voice had rough edges now, the instructions broken up by breath and curses and your name. He told you when to slow down, when to use your hand, when to look at him, and every time you listened, he praised you for it.

Not every time with the words.

Sometimes it was good. Sometimes there. Sometimes just a low, wrecked yeah that made your thighs press together where you knelt. But when he did say it, when good girl slipped into the room again, you felt it everywhere.

And Logan knew and he was absolutely going to become unbearable about it. Later.

For now, he was too close to be smug.

His hand tightened gently in your hair, “Cherry.”

You looked up. He was breathing hard, eyes half-lidded, mouth parted like he was holding himself back with his teeth.

“I’m close.”

Your stomach flipped, “Do you want me to stop?”

His laugh sounded almost pained, “No.”

“Tell me,” you pleaded.

The words came out before you could make them prettier.

His expression changed.

His hand softened in your hair.

“Keep going,” he said, voice low, “Just like that. You’re doing so good.”

Your heart stuttered.

He came with your name in his mouth and one hand careful in your hair, his whole body tensing under you before he went loose against the headboard. You stayed close until he gently tugged you up, pulling you into his lap with the kind of urgency that was more emotional than physical.

He kissed you first.

Then your cheek.

Then your forehead.

Then, absurdly, the tip of your nose.

You blinked at him.

“What was that?”

“Gratitude.”

“You kissed my nose out of gratitude?”

“Yeah.”

“That is not standard protocol.”

“I’m improvising.”

“You should workshop it.”

His laugh was quiet against your skin.

You sat in his lap, slightly dazed and trying to recover your dignity while he looked at you like recovering your dignity was not a thing he had any interest in helping you do.

After a minute, his thumb brushed your lower lip.

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Too much?”

You shook your head.

“No.” Then, because honesty had already ruined enough of your evening, you added, “I liked it.”

His eyes softened.

“What part?”

You gave him a look.

“Do not fish.”

“I’m not.”

“You are absolutely fishing.”

“I’m asking.”

“You know.”

His mouth curved.

“Do I?”

You looked away.

“Logan.”

“Cherry.”

“You cannot call me that casually.”

His eyebrows lifted,“Cherry?”

You glared.

He grinned,“Oh.” His hand slid to your waist, “That.”

“Yes. That.”

“Good girl?”

Your whole body betrayed you. Immediately.

He saw and the grin faded into something slower,“There it is.”

“You are evil.”

“No,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple, “Just informed.”

“I hate informed men.”

“Since when?”

“Since now.”

“You want me to forget?”

You turned back to him.

He was teasing, but the question under it was real. Warm. Careful. Offering you the out before you had to ask for one.

Your expression softened despite yourself, “No.”

His hand moved gently over your back.

“No?”

“No.” You swallowed. “Just don’t be smug.”

“That might be hard.”

“Try.”

“For you?”

You nodded once.

His mouth brushed yours, “Okay.”

You did not believe him. Which was wise, because ten seconds later, when he handed you the water bottle from his nightstand and you took it automatically, he murmured, “Attagirl,” under his breath.

You stopped.

Slowly turned your head.

He was looking away.

Badly.

“Logan.”

“Hm?”

“I heard that.”

“Heard what?”

“You’re testing adjacent vocabulary.”

“I’m hydrating you.”

“You are conducting research.”

“Positive reinforcement,” he said solemnly.

You stared at him.

Then hit him in the chest with a pillow.

He laughed properly then, catching it before you could swing again, pulling you down with him until you were both lying half-sideways on the bed, your hair in his face, his sweatshirt still shoved up, the room warm and messy and ridiculous around you.

Downstairs, Dean yelled, “FOR THE LAST TIME, WHO TOOK MY CEREAL?”

You and Logan both went still.

Then Logan looked at you.

You looked back.

He whispered, “Wasn’t me.”

You whispered, “I think Allie took it for our dorm .”

He laughed again, quieter this time, and pulled you closer.

You tucked your face into his neck, still embarrassed, still warm, still buzzing faintly with the knowledge that something new had been found and carefully kept.

Logan’s hand moved slowly over your back.

A little while later, when you thought he might have fallen asleep, his voice came softly near your ear.

“You really were good, you know.”

Your heart squeezed and you lifted your head

He was watching you with tired, warm eyes.

“You can just say thank you,” you said.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

A pause.

Then, because you were you, “I still think your terminology caused unnecessary complications.”

His mouth curved.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Noted.”

“You’re going to do it again.”

“Probably.”

“At least be academically responsible.”

“What does that mean?”

“Controlled conditions. Clear variables. No surprise terminology.”

He brushed hair from your face, smiling like he could not help it.

“And if I say it accidentally?”

You narrowed your eyes.

“Then I suppose we’ll have to document the effects.”

Very slowly, his expression changed, “Positive reinforcement?”

You sighed into his chest.

“I have created a monster.”

Logan kissed the top of your head, “Good girl.”

You groaned.

He laughed so hard the bed shook.

Standing in your closet up to your ankles in clothes thrown to the floor, in your underwear, you held the little black skirt up to your waist again and batted your lashes. “I just think you’d pull it off, that’s all.”

Not one part of him was amused. “In what world,” he grumbled, leaning back against your bed post, kicking his knees up to press the pad to. 

Narrowing your eyes at how he focused down on his work, your smirk grew. “Jinnie?”

“Hm,” he hummed, not giving you a glance, pencil working over time. 

Dropping the black skirt to the floor along with everything you’ve shown him since he stretched over your bedroom carpet, you took your hands behind your back and unclasped your bra, tiptoeing toward him. Slipping it off your shoulders, you tossed it in his lap, over his drawing. 

He blinked. Taking it in his hand, he glanced up at you and sighed, stretching both legs out in front of him. “What are you-”

Sliding your hands into the lace of your panties, you slipped them down your hips and over your knees, letting them fall to your ankles. Stepping one foot out, you let the other flick the lace against his chest, panties falling to his lap, on top of your bra in his hand. Dropping everything, jaw hanging open, pushing it all to the floor, he sat forward and reached for you, but you spun on your toes and waltzed away, back toward your closet. 

“Now,” you said definitively, “I just think,” you bent over, snatching the black skirt from the floor, peering at him around your knees, holding in a giggle at how he had rolled over onto his knees with both of his hands on the floor, “This would look really cute on you.” Slipping it behind your back to cover your ass, you glanced over your shoulder and smiled.

Crawling toward you, licking his lips, he nodded. “Mhm.”

Perking a brow, you spun around and held up the skirt on one finger. “So, you agree? You think it’d look really cute on you?” Looking down at him, Hyunjin now at your feet, a gasp ripped through you as his hands grabbed onto your thighs and slid higher to your hips. His lips pressed to your skin, tongue leading in gentle flicks as he neared your center, teeth grazing over the soft plush of your thighs.

“I’ll wear the damn skirt, baby,” he mumbled, prying your legs apart, “Now let me have you.”

Music vibrated the walls, foggy smoke filled the air, bodies smushed into every possible corner— The party entirely packed with people you didn’t know, people who traveled far for this, people who went to school here. Monsters prowled the halls, vampires, witches, slutty mice, creepy masks and hoods, fake blood everywhere, even if you weren’t four drinks deep you wouldn’t be able to make out faces.

Except one.

Pushing through a pack of half dressed Cheetah Girls with two drinks in your hands, you step over a couple sitting on the floor in front of the sofa your group of friends took up. Both Felix and Changbin had their eyes fixated on his legs while Seungmin stood behind him and messed with his wavy hair. Your boyfriend, in that black skirt and a tight unbuttoned white top with a mesh tank beneath it, sat back and let his friends have their fun.

Hair tucked behind his ears, he flashed the silver hoops dangling from his lobes, matching the silver necklaces he wore, pairing well with the bracelets that jangled on his wrists. Appearing beside him in loose slacks, a lace bra, and one of his suit jackets too big for you, you danced the drink in front of his face and smiled when he looked up at you, tearing his eyes off of Felix. 

“I can’t get over this,” Seungmin shouted over the music. His pathetic excuse for a Halloween costume– a Dodgers jersey and a matching backwards cap. “You got him to wear a skirt!”

Squinting at him, you said, “He wanted to wear the skirt.”

“Are all the clothes yours?” Changbin asked you, gaze fighting to see through the black fabric that barely brushed the middle of Hyunjin’s thighs. Pure muscle on display for the entire party.

Smushing your lips together proud, eyeing your boyfriend as he sipped his drink, he winked at you and you melted. “All mine,” you sang, “Down to the hot pink panties underneath.”

Felix’s eyes bulged out of his head. “You’re lying,” he mumbled.

Hyunjin forced a finger under the waist of the skirt that squeezed him. Hooking his thumb out, blazing pink lace came with it, and Seungmin and Changbin lost their minds. Felix’s lips popped open, he hadn’t moved.

“Like what you see, Lixie?” you teased, sitting down on Hyunjin’s lap, one of his arms wrapping around your waist.

Clamping his jaw shut, he gulped and finally ripped his gaze from his friends legs he’s never seen so much of. “Yeah,” fell from his lips without a thought.

Pushing further into Hyunjin’s chest, sipping your drink, you shared a look with your boyfriend and hummed. Both of you thinking the same thing.

“Good to know,” you gave Felix a smile and pressed a kiss to Hyunjin’s cheek. “Oh, wait,” you mumbled, glancing at his lips. Reaching out a thumb, you licked the tip and smeared it below his bottom lip, touching up the deep red stain he painted on before leaving your bedroom. “There you go.”

He blinked up at you, deep chocolate igniting a fire in your chest. “Thank you,” he whispered, the liquor rendering it whining. “Did I do a good job?”

Nodding, you smiled. “Yeah, thanks for doing it.”

Lips parting, he breathed through them, gaze flickering back and forth from your lips, to your neck, to your eyes. “Did I really?” he asked again, brows flipping over ever so slightly.

“Yes, Jinnie,” you said, more sure this time, hoping to appease him.

His tongue dipped out over his lipstick. “Tell me.”

The whine.

Your stomach flipped. Your heart rate, it skyrocketed, your veins burning as you watched his typical steady, collected eyes go entirely blurry, soft, dazed. As if the scent of you alone turned his brain off.

“Y-You… You did a good job, Hyunjin,” you whispered to him and he gulped. 

“So you’re dressed up as each other?” Changbin asked, sipping his drink, leaning on Felix’s shoulder. 

Snapping you out of whatever Hyunjin was doing to you, you smiled, ruffling your boyfriend's long hair. “Kinda,” you said, “Something like that, right?” Looking back down at Hyunjin, you released the rest of your breath and narrowed your eyes.

He stared at you. Short breaths in through his nose and out through his barely parted pouting lips. “You tell them,” he mumbled, fixated on your face.

“Um,” you stammered, tearing your eyes off of him. Sucking in a deep breath, you shook your head and said, “I’m his, uh, boyfriend.” He nodded, small, gaze dropping to your lips, his wedging between his teeth. “And, he’s my…” 

The corners of his stained lips perked up. You swore he fluttered his mascara coated lashes, longer than ever. “I’m your girl,” he cooed, and you huffed a laugh, blinking a billion times, shaking your head at your friends.

“My girlfriend,” you said, definitively. Changbin hid his smile behind his cup, Felix still stared like he wanted a bite of his thighs. “It’s a joke, sort of.”

Seungmin slapped the top of the couch and nodded toward Changbin. “I need a drink.”

Catching his not subtle need for an exit, because what the hell was Hyunjin doing, Changbin raised his red cup. “I’m with you,” he sighed, slipping a hand under Felix’s arm, lifting him up with minimal effort, dragging him along to the kitchen like a ragdoll. Passing by you, eyeing your boyfriend, he whispered to you, “Sort of?”

Twisting into Hyunjin wearing a lazy smile, you muttered, “What are you doing?”

He poked his tongue between his lips. “What do you mean?” Shifting on the couch, lowering himself a bit, you felt his halfhard length press into your thigh. Gasping to yourself, he caught your widening eyes and giggled.

“Calm down, you’re in a skirt,” you whispered.

Tipping his head back a bit, you swore you heard him groan over the music. “I know.”

“You’ve never been into public shit, what is going on?”

He laid his back on the cushion and actually pouted this time. “I don’t know,” he whined quietly, shining eyes gazing up at you, the makeup feminizing his features, softening them. 

He was only supposed to wear the skirt. It really was supposed to be a joke, a boyfriend and girlfriend swapping clothes, and on anyone else it appeared hysterical. Until he pulled the skirt over his thighs and you couldn’t believe he didn’t look terrible. 

And he agreed. He spun around in the mirror twice, and then took his time picking out a top to match.

You offered up your lipstick as a joke.

He insisted on adding more.

Smoothing a hand over your chin, you took a deep breath.

You can’t believe you didn’t see this before.

Tucking a hand behind his head, toying with his hair, you picked him up off the cushion and brushed the tips of your lips over his. “Jinnie,” you whispered. His breath shook. “Are you my pretty girl?”

He whined. His eyes rolled back, they shut, and he whined.

“You are so getting off on this,” you muttered, and he cranked his eyes open, scared.

“No,” he gasped, shaking his head. “No, I’m not. Promise. I’m not.”

Your smile grew as his lips babbled, his voice broken and desperate, like he couldn’t catch his breath. “Yes the fuck you are. Look at you. You didn’t wanna wear the damn skirt in the first place, and now that you’ve got it on, you feel pretty.”

Mid-breath, he hushed, “Is that bad?”, while he sunk further down on the couch. 

You reached for his hair, tucking it behind his ear, tapping your finger on the earrings dangling from his lobe. Pursing your lips, you said, “Just funny… That’s all.”

He gulped, body jumping beneath you. “Funny, why?”

Pressing your hand to his cheek, you smoothed a thumb under his charcoal lashes and clicked your tongue. “Relax,” you sang, dipping your nose down to nudge his, “Just didn’t expect this, that’s all.”

He jolted under you again, trying to adjust himself or pull away from you. He spoke a mile a minute, “I don’t know why… I don’t know, okay? I’m sorry, I just, I can’t… You wanted me to wear it, it’s your fault, you did this, I didn’t want to-”

“Hyunjin,” you raised your voice, hand moving below his chin to grab his jaw that snapped shut. Submission swam in his irises. A new type of control burned beneath your skin. “Good girls speak when spoken to.”

Pushing a breath through his lips, he whimpered, “But, you-”

Giving his jaw a gentle shake, digging your fingers into his cheeks, he wrenched his lips closed. Searching his eyes and the pout of his lips for any indication that he did not want to do anything further, that he did not want to talk about this anymore, or acknowledge the fact that being called a good girl made his dick completely hard, you found nothing. 

One gentle grind over his thigh signified that you needed him too, that you needed to see what else he could do, what else he could say, how desperate he really felt, and if you could get him utterly pathetic.

Party carrying on around you, you’ve really only been here for over an hour. Whoever they had on drink duty in the kitchen poured heavy, without a doubt half the reason why Hyunjin tried to hold himself back from dry humping your thigh. There was no way you were getting behind the wheel of his car, nor would you allow him to do so either, especially not now that it seemed the only thought in his head was ‘Get dick wet, get dick wet, get dick wet…’

Pressing a soft kiss to his lips, squishing his cheeks some more, you whispered, “What do you want?”

Through a breath, he lost himself entirely, “To fuck you.”

“To fuck me?” Perking a brow, your stomach tightened at how he smiled. Lazy, proud. Dumb.

“Yeah,” he whispered, sucking in a deep breath, chest heaving, “To fuck you.”

“Such dirty words from such pretty lips,” you spoke softly, “Not very lady-like, huh?”

He popped his tongue out, licking the edge of his lips. Shaking his head, he said, “S’that wrong?”

Every exasperated breath to leave him thundered your heart along, the whine in his voice pooling heat between your legs like never before. 

You firmed your grip on his jaw. “Makes you a bad girl, Jinnie.”

He whimpered.

Your jaw went slack.

Watching his brows flip over, you maintained your composure, because if you broke it meant that he might too, and you were not about to lose this.

“You say you’re gonna fuck me,” you said, shifting on his lap, pressing your thigh between his legs, snickering as a moan caught in his throat. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

He sighed through parted, slick lips, eyes glistening. A smile teased his lips. “I am gonna fuck you.”

Narrowing your eyes, you said, “No you’re not.”

He smirked. “Yes, I am.”

Dropping your hand, making note that he looked disappointed, you spat through your teeth, “No, you’re not.”

Hyunjin sat forward, his tongue catching between his teeth. “Yes the fuck I am.”

“Oh,” you breathed, brows raising at once. He paused, his smile dropping, his hands pressing into the sofa under him. “I get it,” you whispered, and he gulped. “Pretty girl’s a fucking brat.”

Giving him no time to think, no time to even react, you grabbed him by the necklace hanging around his neck and leapt off the couch. Chugging the rest of your drink, tossing the red cup to the floor somewhere with a plethora of others, you drug him through the house, past a game of pong not being played on a table, through clumps of people grinding on top of one another, and making out in corners and on couches. 

Feeling him stumbling over his own feet trying to keep up with you, the smile you wore gave you away to passersby who glanced your way. Your stretch of a boyfriend, like a baby deer on ice, one hand fumbling to cover his junk, the other picking stray hairs out of his lipstick, you wouldn’t be surprised if his ankles caught onto one another and he went down.

Forgetting whose house you were in, you wandered through the kitchen, brown cabinets with granite tops covered with asses, bowls of food, bottles of beer, handles of liquor, searching for just one– Ah.

He glanced up at Hyunjin behind you and huffed, cheeks puffing out as he poured a drink. “Where are you two going?”

“Where’s the bathroom, Hanji?” With a smile, you tilted your head, and he nodded toward the hallway, not looking up from his cup. 

“Down the hall, last door on the left. If it’s full, there’s one in my room across from it.” Minho swooped up behind him, whiskers drawn on his cheeks in eyeliner, a pink nose painted on with lipstick. He hovered over Jisung’s shoulder, breathing down his neck. “It’s coming. Patience!”

Minho smiled with only the corners of his lips. Giving you a look through his lashes, he nipped his teeth at Jisung’s jaw and hurried back off from wherever he came from.

Jisung shook his head, and you asked, “He belong to you?”

Finishing the drink off, twisting the cap back on the bottle, he rolled his eyes and laughed. “Something like that, tonight I own him.” 

“Fitting,” you nodded, and he popped his brows, eyes pointing back at Hyunjin.

“What’s his problem?”

Glancing backward over your shoulder, he had his lips pulled in a tight line, tucked sideways. Brows pulling up in the center, he only looked at you, a pout seconds from forming. Pulling at the necklace you still held onto, you actively watched him hold in a whimper as he leaned toward you involuntarily.

Smiling at Jisung with a narrow of your eyes, you mumbled, “Princess has to go potty.” 

Gulping, the chill of your words affecting both of them, Jisung blinked a few times, shot a look at Hyunjin, then let out a sigh. “Good luck,” was all he could mutter to your boyfriend before he scurried off to find Minho in the sea of bad hair and shitty masks.

Turning into Hyunjin, giving him a smile of innocence, you wrapped your arms around his neck and let him put his anywhere on you, if he dared. 

He didn't.

Wandering down the hallway and out of the hoards of people, you preyed on the fear in his eyes that twisted with excitement. Bumping into you, the hall going darker than the rest of the house, you pushed him up against a wall and pushed your thigh between his legs. Bucking against you without constraint, he finally grabbed you, trying to kiss you, trying to start something right here where anyone could see you.

“Who said you could touch me,” you said, snatching his wrists, fingertips brushing over the silver metal that hung there. Hyunjin tipped his chin back, body going limp, like he’d melt into the wall if he could. Hips moving on their own, rutting into you, his tongue pushing out between his lips as he gazed down at you, you scoffed and shook your head. Throwing his hands away, stepping back from him, you cocked your head at the open door. “Get in there, slut.”

Tripping over his shoes, moving like his limbs didn’t know where to go, like every step made him dizzy, he clung to the doorframe, backing himself into the bathroom with his eyes on you, his tongue pushing out further, tasting his lipstick. 

Following him in, arms folding across your chest, across the front of his jacket, you shut the door with your elbow, pressing it shut with the toe of your boot. Raising a brow, glancing about the space, a horrible green shade to the ceramic, shag carpets in front of the tub with a baby blue curtain hanging on it, a candle flickering on the cabinet hanging over the toilet, you decided to keep the lights off. The cinnamon apple gave you enough glow to work with, the warmth flickering in Hyunjin’s wide eyes as you approached him and his trembling frame pressed to the lime colored walls. 

Keeping your arms folded tight, you took a long breath, one that kept him on his toes. His being hanging onto every word that fell from your lips, his own a mess, smudged lipstick and smeared with spit. “What’d you tell Hanji?”

He shuddered, hips reaching out to grind into you. You took a step back and he sighed heavily, throwing his head backward. “Didn’t tell him… Anything.”

“Liar,” you whispered, taking a hand to the hem of his skirt. Pulling it up, looking between you, you snickered and shook your head. Eight inches strained within the hot pink lace he’d usually tug to the side and fuck you in, tip just as pink, swollen, leaking. “You are a slut, look at you,” you laughed. Taking your other hand to the strap of the panties, you hooked one in and pulled, letting the band snap against his belly. 

With a yelp, he whined, “I am?”

Raising a brow, you gave him a look. “Are you, baby?”

Candlelight casting shadows over his soft skin, his wide eyes blown open with lust, he took the shakiest breath and pouted his lips. “No.”

Looking from his twitching cock to his pleading gaze, you laughed. “Yes, you are. You’re a slut, Hyunjin. You’re wearing my panties, you’re about to cum in my panties, you’re turned on ‘cause you’re wearing my panties… You’re a slut.”

His pout worsened, he bounced on his knees once, a whimper trapped in his throat. “No, M’not,” he whispered, screwing his eyes shut. “Don’t call me that.”

Smiling, you stepped closer to him and brushed a hand over his length, his entire body convulsing. “Hyunjin… Look at me.” Opening his eyes slowly, shining more than they have all night, he swallowed and clenched his jaw. Rising to your tip toes, you whispered through your teeth, “You’re a fucking slut.”

Hips thrusting forward into your palm, he whimpered and threw his head back against the awful green paint. Lips pulling into a frown, his eyebrows twisting up into a mess, he heaved a breath and sucked one in immediately. 

Then, you saw it.

A tear, one illuminated by candlelight, slipping down his cheek.

Grip loosening, feet hitting the floor, air filling your lungs, you whispered, “Are you crying?”

Hyunjin’s jaw fell open. Audibly taking a breath, he peeked down at you, tears falling, and whispered, “Don’t stop.”

A fire ignited within you. A whimpering mess stood in front of you, cowering against a friend’s bathroom wall, one that looked and sounded exactly like your boyfriend who took pride in bending you in half and claiming you as his. He couldn’t break out of wherever his brain took him, wherever he enjoyed being right now, the dom completely dormant.

It filled you with purpose, letting him take you, allowing him to do as he pleased, to harness control, to fit you where he wanted you– But, now… He offered himself up to you.

You’ve never felt more empty.

Smoothing your hands over his chest, up over his shoulders, feeling him intake a breath, you pressed yourself against him and tipped his head down. Kissing his cheek, brushing your lips over his tears, salty on your tongue, you whispered, “What do you want?”

Like you had asked on the couch, where this all started.

His answer, To fuck you.

His new answer, warped in a whine, punctuated with a quiet cry. “Want you to touch me.” Fluttering your lashes, your lips twisted. “Where’s your manners, Jinnie?”

Breathless, he whispered, “Please,” then, he shivered, “Please, touch me, mommy, please.”

A chill ran down your spine. 

A button had been pushed.

Gritting your teeth, you took your hands down his front and slipped them under his skirt. Catching his lips in a soft kiss with no end, you whispered, “Good girl,” and he moaned down your throat. Yanking the lace to his knees, you parted from him and dropped to yours in front of him, making him hold the skirt up himself. Rock hard, begging to be touched, you looked up at him from the floor and thought he’d cum on the spot. 

Sticking out your tongue, opening your mouth like Hyunjin opened his, mimicking you, you danced it underneath his tip, up over his slit, licking him clean. Hips twitching as you slicked your lips and wrapped them around his length, you hummed and glared up at him. A clear no.

His hands clawed at the fabric he held up. Staring down at you, short pants and a jumble of whines tumbling out of his mouth, utter nonsense, he let the skirt fall and grabbed your hair, thrusting himself further into your mouth. Filling you entirely, the weight of him on your tongue, in your mouth, against your cheeks, tip edging your throat, you moaned, eyes fluttering shut, but then grabbed onto his waist and pushed him back, his hips hitting the wall with a thud.

Spit dribbling down your chin, you blinked upward, met with pure joy, tears a thing of the past apparently… Until you stood up and grabbed him by his hair. 

“You think you’re funny?” Scoffing, you pulled him into you, nose to nose.

Hyunjin’s smile wiped clean off his face. Tucking his hands behind his back, he shook his head quickly. “No. No, not funny. M’sorry.”

“I give you what you want, and you take advantage of it, is that it?” Moving backward, you turned him around over the tile and pushed him back, nearly toppling over him into the tub, the shower curtain straining on the rings it hung on. 

“No,” he breathed, eyes welling up, “I didn’t mean to, was an accident, I was only-”

“Acting like a slut,” you spat, letting him go, releasing your tight grip on his waves. 

It bothered him, the word. Slut. Triggering him quickly, slipping him right back under where you wanted him, you snickered and rolled your eyes, the act making him quiver.

Nodding to the floor, you muttered, “Sit.”

And he did, fast.

Cocking your chin backward, you said, “Against the tub.”

And he moved, pushing himself back against the ceramic, his long legs sprawled in front of him like the very night you asked him if he wanted to wear the skirt he sat before you in. 

“Pick up your skirt, Jinnie,” you smiled, and when he did, you took one look at his cock and shook your head. “Look at yourself,” you whispered, and when he did, pathetic, you asked, “What… are you?”

A slut, you thought to yourself.

He blinked. He gulped and he looked up at you, innocent as ever, every inhibition released as he whispered, “Your pretty girl.”

Fuck.

Hands flying to the button on your pants, you pushed them down your hips and stepped over his legs. Fabric around your ankles, you dropped onto your knees straddling his hips and kissed him nasty, leaning him backward over the tub, all tongue, all spit, all moans and curses. 

“Can I touch you,” he whispered through huffs of air, “Please?”

Reaching for his hands, you put them on yourself. “Yes,” you mumbled, “You did so good for me, baby.” Moaning, he clung onto you tighter, hands slipping up and down every curve he could grab. “Wearing this skirt like I asked,” you whispered, slipping a hand between your bodies, lining him up with you. Sitting on his tip, you both groaned, foreheads pressing together. “Make mommy cum, baby, that’s all I want, gonna let you fuck me, okay?”

Body trembling, he forced himself to not thrust up into you. “Okay,” he whispered, digging his fingertips into your hips, his eyes locked on yours as you sank onto him, slowly, inch by inch.

“So good, so, so good,” you whispered, lips parting with too big a breath taken in as you circled your hips to fit him inside of you. Grabbing onto him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you kissed him and rolled your hips, both of your moans muffled by lips. “God, you feel so good,” you muttered, bouncing on him slow, letting him slide one arm around your waist and the other up your back, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck, keeping you pressed to him.

“For you,” he breathed, his words barely full, all a gust of air.

“Hm?” Humming, you ghosted his lips, speeding up on top of him. “Say it again, baby.”

“For you,” he said, “Good… for you.”

Eyeing his slack jaw and his hooded eyes, you smized, and asked, “Is that so?” He nodded loosely, and you scoffed, reaching behind him to hold onto the bathtub, chest to chest. “‘Cause I think you’ve been a little whore,” you grit your teeth. Hyunjin gasped, his hands losing their grip around you. Bouncing on top of him faster, knees pushing into the tile of the floor, hands grasping onto the tub for leverage, you laughed and nudged his nose with yours.

“Letting everyone look at you, wearing this slutty little skirt, making yourself all pretty,” you scolded, voice bouncing off the walls along with the sound of your hips smacking against his, Hyunjin's whimpers wrapped all up in it. “Attention-fucking-whore,” you laughed, your core squeezing, belly twisting. “Put up a fight, didn’t wanna wear the skirt, and look at what you get, your dick fucking wet.”

“M’sorry,” he whispered, voice broken.

Looking down at him, you laughed again, lobbing your tongue between your lips to lick at his tears that streamed down his cheeks. “No, you’re not,” you mumbled, pressing your nose to his. He pressed up into you, fighting so hard, being so good. “You’re not sorry, don’t give me that, you know exactly what you’re doing. Wanna tell me what you told Hanji?” He tucked his lips between his teeth, hooded eyes staring at you, head rocking with every bounce. “No?”

Shaking his head, you wrapped a hand around his jaw and tilted his head backward. “Where’d my good girl go?”

Hyunjin’s eyes rolled back for all of two seconds. Taking a breath in through his nose, his hips bucking upward once more, he muttered, “Said… M’your pretty girl… not… a good girl.”

Putting more pressure on his jaw, your wrist grazing over his throat, you clenched your jaw. “Tell me what you fucking told him.”

His lips dared to curl into the smallest smile. “No,” he whispered.

Pulling yourself off of him, the sound obscene, you hovered over him and grinned as his confidence flushed out of him and he writhed beneath you. “I’m not playing a fucking game, Jinnie, what did you tell him?”

He tried to slip back into you, hips punching off the floor, tip kissing your slick, he tried, and he failed. Whimpering, he let you shake him by the jaw. “If you were into this it means that he has to try Minho’s cat thing,” he whispered, thrusting upward again. 

Minho’s cat thing… Jisung had to try…

“Oh god,” you groaned. “You had this fucking planned?”

Eyes shining, he smiled up at you, a fucked out mess with a stray tear slipping down his cheek onto your thumb. “I’m a bad girl,” he whispered.

Rolling your eyes, you sunk back onto him without warning, laughing as he lost himself, sounds you’ve never heard before leaving his throat. “You’re a slut, I was right,” you said, leveraging yourself to bounce on top of him for your own satisfaction. Grabbing onto you for sanity probably, he couldn’t make words. “A pretty, dumb, fucking slut. Thinking with your pussy, huh, pretty?”

Unable to breathe deeper than the gasps he inhaled, your words took him out, brain shutting down, every thought behind his eyes, gone.

“It’s too bad I can’t fill you up, force you to walk around the party with my cum dripping out of you, into your pretty panties, making a mess for me.” Your walls squeezed him, he whimpered, tears gracing his cheeks yet again. “You’d like it though, wouldn’t you? Feeling full, a fucking cumdump? Is that all you wanna be fucking good for?”

“Yes,” he cried out, and you tightened around him. Hands grabbing you, holding onto you, fingers pressing into your skin, he threw his head backward. “For you, only for you, a mess for you… Only good for you, wanna be good for you, I’m your good girl, I’m your good girl…”

Your thighs squeezed him, body blushing with a warmth growing all too fast. He wouldn’t shut up, he kept going, chants and whines about you using him, how he’s yours, how you can take him how you want, how he’s good for you, so, so good for you…

Gripping his shoulders, arching into his chest, body toppling on top of his, your orgasm ripped through you unannounced. Releasing a breath you’d been holding, building up your high with, you shook on top of him, letting him grab onto your hips, holding you up, fucking up into you.

“Thank you,” he whispered, babbling endlessly, sending you straight into overstim, “Wanted you to cum, made you cum, you feel so good, so wet, fuck, thank you for letting me fuck you, wanna cum, can I cum, please, please, can’t hold it, can I? Can I?”

Endless pants, endless whines.

Grabbing his jaw, you tipped him back and drug your tongue over his lips. “Cum.” 

“Thank you,” he gasped, pushing you down onto his cock at the same time as he pushed up into you, so deep you could feel him in your throat. The desperate satisfaction in his moan almost made you cum twice, so did the dazed look in his eye. “Thank you,” he said, breathless, body relaxing after he pumped you full.

“Hyunjin?” Pushing his hair from his eyes, cleaning up his smeared lipstick with your sleeve, he blinked up at you in question. Leaning down to kiss him gently, you whispered, “You are a pretty girl.”

His smile told you everything.

Nibbling your bottom lip, you asked, “So… Can I be the one to tell Hanji?”

Hyunjin giggled, engulfing you in his arms. “Meow.”

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