nikipom

Your eyes drifted back to the view beyond the large window of your apartment. The city looked gray, just as it always did, but today that gray felt heavier, as though the sky itself had grown tired. A faint redness lingered around your eyelids, and the dark circles you'd been carrying for days were more noticeable than ever. You had slept badly, once again, and your body reflected it. Your breathing still came in uneven waves, as if something inside you had broken and could no longer be put back together. The world outside felt distant, so distant that you hardly cared what happened beyond those windows anymore. Only you existed, sitting on that couch with your gaze lost in nothingness.

Your heart beat slowly, painfully slowly, as though it no longer had the strength to keep going. It was the heartbeat of someone waiting for something while already knowing, deep down, that disappointment was inevitable. Like waiting for a phone call that never comes or for words that are never spoken. That was how your chest felt—empty and unbearably heavy at the same time. You looked down at your phone again, the same one as always, its screen dark. With a gentle tap, it lit up, and there it was. That photograph you treasured like the most precious thing in the world, as though it were the last memory of something that no longer existed. You let out a long, deep sigh, your fingertips brushing lightly over the image.

It was him.

Of course it was always him.

"Come with me. Come on, we'll be in Metropolis. The Daily Planet is where you belong."

His voice echoed through your mind once again, just as powerfully as the first day you'd heard it. So clear. So certain. So convinced.

And you, as always, had followed that voice without asking a single question.

Because whenever he spoke, you listened.

Whenever he asked, you gave.

Whenever he smiled, you smiled too.

Now, though, that voice felt different, like an echo that no longer belonged to you.

You should have realized it from the very beginning.

That was all you were to him: a traveling companion, someone who happened to share the same place of birth among the stars, the same powers that made him extraordinary. But despite the Kryptonian blood running through your veins, Clark only ever saw a human woman before he saw you.

It had always been that way.

And you had always known it.

You had simply refused to accept it.

You squeezed your eyes shut until tiny stars danced behind your eyelids. Your brows furrowed, and another sigh escaped your lips.

Why were you doing this to yourself?

Why were you still holding on to something that had never been yours?

You had met him in college, back when everything still seemed possible. He was the quiet boy who always sat in the back of the classroom, the one who looked as though he were hiding something behind those glasses. And you, with your own secrets, knew exactly what it meant to hide who you truly were.

Everything changed during a history field trip, when the bus veered off course and chaos erupted. Your friend nearly flew out of the bus after fainting, and in that moment you didn't think—you simply acted. You activated your heat vision to push the bus back into place and used your strength to catch your friend before pulling her to safety.

Everything happened so quickly that you barely had time to process what you'd done.

But he saw it.

Clark told you one night, with that calmness that always defined him, as though it weren't a big deal. You barely spoke back then. You weren't even friends.

Then, all at once, he became your everything.

You felt seen.

Understood.

Like you finally weren't alone anymore.

That warmth inside your chest became something you never wanted to lose.

"People talked about you," you had told him that day, looking straight into his eyes.

"On other planets, Kal-El."

You called him by his true name with a smile that tried to hide just how much it meant to you to say it aloud.

"You're lucky you ended up on a planet that doesn't attract the attention of the people searching for you," you whispered, as though sharing a secret that only the two of you understood.

He smiled.

That smile.

The one that always unraveled you.

Then he nodded.

In that moment, everything made sense.

You had arrived on Earth when you were fifteen years old, alone and terrified, knowing nothing about this world. But the parents who took you in loved you as though you had always been their daughter. They taught you that humans weren't selfish, that they could be kind, compassionate, and generous.

And with Clark by your side, life felt right.

It felt as though everything had finally fallen into place.

Like you'd found something you'd been searching for without ever realizing it.

He convinced you to apply to the Daily Planet, and the two of you did it together, like a team. After living together in the same apartment for a year, you eventually found a place of your own directly across the hall from his.

It was routine.

Comfortable.

Safe.

You believed Clark would eventually see you as a woman instead of just his friend. He was so close, close enough to touch, close enough to dream about.

But time passed.

And he never took that step.

Then she appeared.

"No, it's just..." Clark said, his eyes shining with a light you'd never seen before. It was different, as though he had discovered something entirely new.

"God, I mean... Lois is... she knows so much."

He laughed softly, his cheeks turning pink like a boy talking about his very first love.

"Seriously," he repeated, almost as though he needed to convince himself.

"The woman you work with?" you asked, even though you already knew the answer.

Your voice sounded far calmer than you actually felt.

You had seen her countless times.

Not with Clark.

At the Planet.

She was everyone's favorite. The one who always received praise. The one everyone admired.

You thought it would pass.

That it wouldn't change anything.

That everything would stay the same.

But then you saw them.

Normally, you worked alongside Cat as both a photographer and a reporter, which kept you away from the office most of the time. That day, however, you came back early.

The moment you stepped into the building, you saw them.

Clark was holding two cups of coffee.

With a smile that shattered your heart, he offered one to Lois Lane.

They stood there together, close enough that the rest of the world seemed to disappear around them.

You froze.

Watching them from a distance.

Feeling something inside you splinter apart.

"They look good together, don't they?" Jimmy teased as he appeared beside you without you even noticing.

You forced one of those smiles.

The kind you wore whenever you wanted to hide what you truly felt.

"I already told Clark he should ask her out," Jimmy added enthusiastically, as though he were doing the greatest favor imaginable.

"I hope it's soon," you replied.

Your voice sounded so natural that it almost surprised even you.

Jimmy nodded before heading back to work, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The smile vanished from your face the moment he walked away.

You looked at Clark.

You could hear his heartbeat perfectly.

Fast.

Excited.

A rhythm you knew better than anyone.

Then you left.

Because they did look perfect together.

Like two puzzle pieces that had spent their entire lives searching for one another.

Like two magnets already pulled together, with only time separating them from becoming completely inseparable.

There was no place for you in that story.

And no matter how much it hurt...

You knew it.

But the real reason you now found yourself sitting silently on your couch with swollen eyes and smeared makeup was what had happened during that night out with your coworkers.

Everyone knew one another.

Including Lois.

Clark had already told her about you.

So she knew you as "Clark's friend."

The girl who was always by his side.

The one who shared his secrets.

The one who seemed to understand him without either of you needing to say a word.

You should have expected it.

You should have prepared yourself.

But when the music thundered through the room, when everyone else danced while you remained leaning against the bar, you saw Clark kiss Lois.

Your vision blurred instantly, as though someone had placed a sheet of fogged glass in front of your eyes.

Your hair fell loosely around your shoulders, the same hair you'd spent so much time carefully straightening, hoping he'd notice it and give you a compliment.

It became nothing more than another hairstyle.

He didn't notice.

He didn't notice that you were wearing the blouse he'd once told you looked beautiful on you, the one you'd carefully saved for a special occasion.

He noticed nothing.

Every bit of effort.

Every ounce of hope that maybe, just maybe, he would finally look at you differently...

Disappeared in a single second.

Your heart pounded so hard that you were certain everyone around you could hear it. But what shattered you the most wasn't the smile they shared after the kiss, or the blush spreading across Lois's cheeks, or even their fingers intertwined as though they were two perfect pieces of the same puzzle.

What truly broke you was when they walked over to you as though nothing had happened, as though you hadn't just watched your entire world collapse.

Then they laughed, and Lois said something while you picked up the glass of orange juice you'd ordered simply so you wouldn't have to drink alcohol.

"God, it must be awful not being able to get drunk. I guess alcohol tastes different for you," Lois said with an easy smile, as casually as if she were commenting on the weather.

You looked at her, confused at first. It took your mind a few seconds to process what she'd just said.

"What are you talking about?" you asked, your voice tighter than you intended.

"Oh, don't worry. His secret is perfectly safe with me. Besides, it's amazing knowing a woman can be just as strong as a man," Lois replied with a kind smile that somehow made you feel even worse. "But I won't pressure you to talk. Clark said it's only a matter of time before your warm personality comes out."

She let out a light laugh, as though it were some inside joke.

"I'll go get another drink," she said before walking away with the same confidence she'd arrived with.

You stood there frozen.

You looked at Clark, and he was watching Lois as though she were his entire world, as though the whole universe had narrowed down to her alone.

You pressed your lips together and swallowed the knot forming in your throat.

To anyone else, her comment had been harmless.

But to you, it carried years of ridiculous remarks, lingering stares, and whispered conversations that had filled you with insecurities.

Years of hearing you were too strong.

Too strange.

Too different.

Did Clark see you that way too?

Did he think that because you were so strong, you couldn't be fragile inside?

Did he really believe that just because you could lift a car with one hand, your heart couldn't break into a thousand pieces?

"Did you tell her your secret?" you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, nearly swallowed by the music.

He looked at you, and for a brief moment you caught something that resembled guilt in his eyes.

"Yeah... she figured it out. And I wanted her to trust me, so I told her who I really am," Clark said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"And while you were at it, you decided to tell your beloved my secret too?" you asked, unable to hide the sharp edge in your voice.

Clark looked at you again.

This time, he noticed you were angry.

"Lois is trustworthy," Clark said with the certainty he always seemed to have. "She won't tell anyone."

"It was my secret, Clark. I don't care if she found out about you. I..."

You stopped yourself.

The music kept pounding through the room, an irritating buzz echoing in your ears.

You stared at him, feeling anger and heartbreak twist together inside your chest.

"You've told her so much about me, haven't you? That's why she seems to know me almost as well as you do," you said, your voice trembling by the end.

He shook his head, though not with the confidence of someone who truly believed what he was saying.

"No, it's just..." Clark stopped, searching for the right words. "You're my best friend, and I thought... Lois likes me—I mean, I like Lois. I wanted to be honest with her."

Your eyes drifted toward Lois, who was already walking back with another drink in her hand.

Without thinking, you grabbed your purse.

You needed to leave.

You needed to breathe air that wasn't poisoned by the sight in front of you.

You hurried away, hearing your name being called behind you.

Clark tried to stop you, but you were already heading for the exit.

With your super hearing, you caught Lois saying something about "the noise must have overwhelmed her," followed by the sound of Clark's footsteps chasing after you.

Outside, the night air was freezing, slamming into your face with force.

You didn't care.

You didn't shiver like a human.

You couldn't feel the cold settling into your bones.

It did nothing to you.

The only thing you felt was anger.

Hot.

Bitter.

Rising through your throat like vomit you couldn't force out.

Knowing Clark had told Lois everything about you.

That everything the two of you had shared...

She now knew.

Your secrets were no longer yours and Clark's.

They belonged to Clark and Lois now.

There was nothing left that belonged only to the two of you.

You finally stopped when he continued following you.

The streets were empty, illuminated only by streetlights flickering as though they, too, were exhausted.

"I know... I was wrong," Clark said, using that gentle voice he always used whenever he wanted to fix things. "But you're important to me, and Lois deserved to know our story."

"Everyone has their own story," you said, your eyes burning as you looked at him. "Did you tell her where I came from? Did you tell her what happened to me on the other planet I lived on before I came here? Did you tell her all of that, Clark?"

Your voice broke on his name.

He looked at you with shame.

With that expression that confirmed everything you already knew.

"You stole my story!" you shouted, tears threatening to spill over. "You revealed things I only shared with you because you're so blinded by your love for her!"

"It wasn't like that... I just..." he tried to explain before stopping himself.

Maybe he had finally realized what he'd done.

Maybe, for just a second, he understood.

You didn't wait to find out.

You shot into the sky without caring who saw you.

You flew through the clouds, passing your apartment building with your purse still hanging from your shoulder.

Clark didn't follow you.

Because you knew he'd rather go back to Lois.

Because he wanted to protect her.

Because you were strong...

...and she wasn't.

Because you could send people flying with a single punch.

Because you could eliminate threats with the heat vision blazing from your eyes.

Lois Lane couldn't.

Lois was fragile.

Human.

She needed protection.

You didn't.

Tears filled your eyes as you flew, the icy wind crashing against your face but doing nothing to soothe the burning ache inside your chest.

You climbed higher and higher until you were above the city, watching its lights flicker below like tiny stars scattered across the earth.

Then you went home.

That was how you ended up curled up on your couch, your knees pulled tightly against your chest, your hair now a tangled mess after all the effort you'd put into straightening it earlier.

You slipped off your ankle boots with trembling hands, realizing that everything you'd done to look pretty had been for nothing.

Maybe that was the moment you finally understood.

Clark wasn't looking at you that way.

And he never would.

To him, you were the strong friend, the one who could always take care of herself. You had always been that way, even before arriving on Earth. And once you got here, nothing changed. You fought back against the people who tried to hurt you, against those who mocked you. You were strong by nature, by genetics. Hurting you was nearly impossible. With only the smallest fraction of your strength, you could knock down any man foolish enough to stand in your way.

"God, no one will ever want you. You're the man in the relationship," they used to tease before you even started middle school. The girls would laugh behind your back, whispering that you were too rough, too aggressive, that no boy would ever want someone who could break his bones with a hug.

"Don't wear skirts. You act more like a man," others would say, simply because you refused to let people walk all over you. Because whenever someone tried to hurt you, you fought back. Because you refused to stay quiet. Because you never lowered your head.

And so they called you manly, tomboy, freak.

Words that lodged themselves beneath your skin like tiny needles, one after another, until you taught yourself not to hear them anymore. Until you learned to smile and pretend none of it mattered.

You looked down at your hands.

The same hands that could crush steel as though it were nothing more than paper.

Kara loved her powers just as much as Clark loved his. She was proud of who she was, proud of everything she could do.

You weren't.

You wanted to be normal.

You wanted to blend into Earth.

To go unnoticed.

To avoid drawing attention to yourself.

That was why you didn't have a suit like theirs.

No cape.

No symbol across your chest.

You didn't fly around saving people like Clark or Kara did, unless someone happened to be within your reach.

You didn't use your powers.

You never used your strength.

At least not intentionally.

Sometimes, though, when Jimmy looked like he was about to throw his back out carrying heavy boxes, you'd pretend to be struggling even more than he was. Then, the moment he turned around, you'd lift every box effortlessly and stack them where they belonged.

Always carefully.

Always afraid someone might notice what you were capable of.

"Clark helped me."

That was always your answer.

A lie you repeated so often you had almost started believing it yourself.

But even then...

You had been exposed.

Lois knew.

And who knew how many other people did too?

Your feelings had to stay buried.

Your secrets weren't yours anymore.

Your identity had been revealed without your permission.

You wiped away your tears with the back of your hand, but they kept coming, as though someone had left a faucet running somewhere deep inside you.

"You're so strong. You don't need anyone."

"You can handle everything on your own. You always can."

But none of it was true.

You wanted someone to hold you too.

You wanted someone to tell you everything was going to be okay.

You wanted someone to see beyond your strength.

Beyond your powers.

You wanted Clark to see you as a woman.

Not as his strong friend.

Not as the girl who could handle everything on her own.

But maybe the world would never accept people like you.

Maybe Clark would never truly see you, because for him there was only Lois.

And nothing else.

You were merely another presence in his life.

A blurry memory he turned to whenever he needed something.

You remembered every single time you had held yourself together.

Every time you wanted to cry but couldn't because the strong one doesn't cry.

Every time you wanted to ask for help but stayed silent because you can do it on your own.

You had built yourself an armor made of strength.

But beneath it...

There was only a little girl who wanted to be loved.

And now, sitting on that couch with your makeup smeared and your heart shattered into pieces, you finally realized that armor had never protected you from anything.

It had only made you heavier.

You remembered the day, back in school, when a boy shoved you against a row of lockers and called you a freak.

You had simply looked at him, knowing you could have lifted him with one finger and slammed him into the ceiling.

But you didn't.

You stayed perfectly still.

Biting your tongue.

Swallowing every urge to show him what you were truly capable of.

Because if you did...

You would only prove everything they already believed about you.

And being different was already hard enough.

The memory slowly faded away.

You stood up from the couch and walked toward the hallway mirror.

You looked at yourself.

Your hair was a mess.

Your eyes were red and swollen.

The blouse you'd spent so much time choosing was now hopelessly wrinkled.

You stared at your own reflection.

At the girl who had always wanted someone to truly see her.

And for the first time, you wondered whether it was worth continuing to wait for someone to do it.

As soon as the sunlight slipped through the curtains, you slowly opened your eyes. The energy flowing through your body, the warmth radiating from the sun, almost made it seem as though nothing had happened. It was as if your skin and every cell within you were renewing themselves, as though emotional pain could heal as easily as your physical wounds always did.

But it couldn't.

No matter how rested your body felt, no matter how much strength the sunlight gave you, the weight in your chest remained exactly where it had been, unmoving, like a stone that refused to be lifted.

You sighed as you shifted beneath the covers.

It was Monday afternoon.

You hadn't stepped outside your apartment all weekend.

The blinds were still closed, silence filled every corner of the room, and you had done nothing but exist between your bedsheets and your thoughts.

You knew Clark was waiting for you to come out so he could talk to you.

You had heard him.

Of course you had.

Even when you didn't want to.

Your hearing always picked him up without your permission.

It was as though your body had been programmed to look for him, to find him, to know exactly where he was at every moment.

You had memorized the sound of his heartbeat.

Those slow, steady beats that had always filled you with peace whenever you listened to them.

Just as he had memorized Lois's heartbeat, you had memorized his.

It wasn't something you could control.

It was as natural as breathing.

As instinctive as blinking.

He was on the other side of the wall, inside his apartment, and you could feel him there.

His presence pulled at you like a magnet.

Now, more than ever, you wished it didn't.

"I know you can hear me," he had said on Saturday morning.

You heard his voice clearly, as though he were standing right beside you.

Your hearing always searched for him, like a storm searching for calm.

His voice was so gentle, so full of emotion, that it made you feel things you didn't want to feel.

Even his laugh, a sound that had once felt like music to you, had become nothing more than a reminder of everything you could never have.

Without meaning to, your hearing always tuned itself to the sound of his voice.

Now you wished it wouldn't.

You wished you could switch off that connection between the two of you, as though it were nothing more than a light you could turn off and forget.

"I'm sorry. I truly am."

Clark didn't have to raise his voice.

He knew that.

He could have looked through your walls with his X-ray vision if he'd wanted to.

But he never did.

It was one of those boundaries neither of you ever crossed, one you both respected because privacy mattered.

That morning, while he spoke from the other side of the wall, you remained silent, staring at the ceiling as tears once again slipped down your cheeks.

"I should've thought about it. I was only thinking about myself. You know how important you are to me. Please... just talk to me."

Then he waited.

But no answer ever came.

You couldn't speak.

You couldn't even move.

The words remained lodged in your throat like thorns that refused to come out.

So you stayed there, staring at the ceiling while tears silently rolled down your face.

You thought about every time you'd imagined a future with him.

Every morning you'd woken up hoping that day would finally be different.

You thought about all the ways you believed the two of you might someday become something more.

That Clark would look into your eyes and finally notice the way they always lit up whenever you looked at him.

That he'd notice how you searched the skies every time there was a battle, even though you hated using your powers.

But if he needed you...

You would have used them for him without hesitation.

That your smile always grew wider whenever he laughed, whenever those dimples appeared on his face.

That your heartbeat changed whenever he was close.

It sped up.

It raced.

It completely lost its rhythm.

If he had noticed...

If he'd only paid attention...

Maybe everything would have been different.

Sunday passed slowly, stretching endlessly like an hour that refused to end.

You knew eating wasn't necessary.

Your Kryptonian body didn't need food the way humans did to survive.

You enjoyed eating.

You simply didn't need it.

Back in college, you used to skip meals to save money.

It wasn't because you didn't have any.

You just didn't want to spend it on something you didn't actually need.

Until Clark said something to you one afternoon while the two of you were sharing a park bench.

"If you don't eat, then what's the point of living?" he had said that day, breaking his sandwich in half with his large hands.

His eyes looked so blue beneath the sunlight that you found yourself staring at them for a second longer than you should have.

You smiled.

You accepted the half he offered you.

For a moment, everything felt perfect.

He had managed to make something as simple as eating feel important.

Now that memory hurt far more than it should have.

Your thoughts were interrupted by your phone.

It wasn't ringing.

It wasn't vibrating.

But the screen lit up with Cat's name.

You hesitated for a moment, staring at it, feeling like you didn't have the strength to talk to anyone.

In the end, you picked it up and answered, clearing your throat so your voice would sound as normal as possible.

"Finally, you answered! Where are you? Do you have any idea how worried I've been? Are you okay?" Cat asked so quickly you could barely keep up.

"Yeah," you replied, your voice sounding far more fragile than you wanted it to. "I got sick, but everything for the article we worked on is already scheduled."

You wanted to change the subject.

You wanted her to know that, despite everything, you'd still done your job.

"Hey, that doesn't matter," Cat said, her voice softening. "I thought something had happened to you, especially after I saw Clark's little shadow asking whether it was true that you hadn't come in. And him asking is weird because out of everyone here, he's the only one who should know where you are."

Cat paused, as though waiting for you to say something.

You stayed silent.

"I'm home, Cat. Don't worry. I'll be back tomorrow," you said, your voice sounding steadier even though you still felt completely broken inside.

"You left the party early too, sweetheart. You might be able to fool everyone, even Kent, but we both know what you saw."

This time, Cat sounded more serious.

More understanding.

You couldn't answer.

There weren't any words capable of describing what you felt.

"It's okay. Get some rest. Just... remember how beautiful you are. He isn't the only man in the world. Someone will come along who truly sees you."

Her words lingered in the air after she said them.

A comfort that somehow never quite reached you.

"See you tomorrow," you said before ending the call.

You turned your phone off without reading the messages Cat, Jimmy, and Clark had already sent you.

You didn't want to see them.

You didn't want to read the apologies.

You didn't want to face the reality that everything had changed.

You simply sat there, your phone still in your hand, feeling as though the world kept moving forward while you had been left behind.

Tuesday arrived, and it was as though you had decided to erase everything that had happened.

You were the first to fly toward the sun, letting its rays wrap around you and replenish your body as you floated weightlessly through space, doing nothing except absorbing the energy you'd drained over the weekend.

It had become a ritual.

A moment that belonged only to you.

A chance to feel whole again without thinking about anything else.

But that morning, even the sun felt different.

Its warmth couldn't quite reach the hollow that had formed inside your chest.

The moment you returned to your apartment, you hurried to get dressed.

Nothing had changed.

Nothing made you feel any different.

You arrived at the Daily Planet and followed your usual routine, but something inside you had hardened.

You ignored Clark all day.

Whenever he walked toward your desk, you found an excuse to leave, pretending you needed to print something.

Whenever he tried to talk to you, you quietly changed directions, as though the two of you had become magnets that now pushed each other away.

Even when you had coffee with Jimmy, you always made sure more people joined you so you wouldn't have to be alone with Clark.

You smiled.

You pretended everything was fine.

Inside, though, every smile cost you a little more energy than the last.

When work was over, you would barely make it to the restroom before waiting a few minutes and using your super speed to race home in the blink of an eye, locking yourself inside your apartment.

That became your routine for weeks.

A routine built on avoidance.

On eyes that never met.

On conversations that never happened.

Clark kept trying to get close to you.

You had already built a wall between the two of you.

One that seemed impossible to tear down.

Then Perry called for you.

"My office," he said, pointing at you with his index finger.

You walked over slowly, already convinced something bad was about to happen.

The moment you stepped inside, you saw him.

Clark was already there, sitting in one of the chairs with the same expression he always wore whenever he wanted to fix something.

Apparently, not even superpowers could help you escape your boss's orders.

You sat in the chair farthest from him.

Clark looked at you and offered a small smile.

You never saw it.

You were too busy staring down at your fingernails as though they were the most fascinating thing in the world.

"Finally, everyone's here," Perry said.

You looked up just as Lois, Cat, and Jimmy walked in, greeting everyone with cheerful smiles.

You looked back at Perry, waiting for him to explain why he'd called all of you in.

"The annual Journalists and Photographers Convention is here again," he announced. "I want all of you there. It'll be held near the Metropolis History Museum. They gave us six passes, and I thought the six of you should represent the Planet."

You couldn't refuse.

You had already missed a day of work.

Even though you wanted to decline, you knew accepting was the least you could do for Perry.

So you nodded, gathered your things, and left the office first, hoping Clark wouldn't follow you.

He did.

"Can we talk?" he asked as he walked beside you with that steady confidence he always carried.

"No," you answered without looking at him.

He gently caught your arm, forcing you to stop.

You looked at him.

His blue eyes searched yours, and for just a moment you felt your resolve begin to waver.

"I'm sorry," Clark said, his voice softer than you'd expected. "You're the only person who understands what it's like to be born the way we were. I don't want to lose you."

You remained silent, feeling his words trying to force their way back into your heart.

"I was wrong. I said too much, and... I didn't realize how terrible of a friend I was being. I really... you have no idea how much I miss you."

For a split second...

You almost believed him.

Instead, you pulled your arm free, brushing his hand away with more force than you'd intended.

"My secrets are now shared with someone who isn't even my friend," you said, your voice colder than you meant it to be.

You glanced toward Lois, who was laughing with Cat as though nothing had happened.

"How am I supposed to trust you again when I know you'll tell her everything?" you asked.

Without waiting for an answer, you walked away.

"Want to grab lunch?" Cat called after you.

You turned and found her smiling at you with that warm smile that always managed to make you feel a little better.

"Sure," you replied.

This time, your smile was genuine.

Cat looped her arm through yours, and the two of you walked toward the exit together, leaving Clark behind.

The day of the convention arrived sooner than you'd expected.

Everyone traveled together in a company van.

You sat in the front passenger seat beside Jimmy.

As the van drove through the streets of Metropolis, you found yourself laughing at one of Jimmy's stories.

For a moment...

You almost forgot everything.

"It's not funny. I mean... how did I forget?" Jimmy said, shaking his head without taking his eyes off the road. "I planned two dates at the same restaurant. I felt like such a jerk, but I honestly don't remember agreeing to go out with the other girl."

The embarrassment in his voice only made you laugh harder.

"Well, Jimmy, that red mark on your cheek speaks for itself," you teased, laughing again as the lightness of the moment settled around you.

"You'll learn eventually, Jimmy," Cat said from the back.

"You will. And if you don't, start protecting your cheeks," Lois added.

Everyone laughed.

You smiled as you looked out the windshield.

For just a moment...

Everything felt like it used to.

When they arrived, you grabbed your purse and closed the van door behind you.

You could feel Clark's eyes on you.

Heavy.

Persistent.

You looked at him for only a second.

He tried to smile.

You immediately looked away, as though meeting his eyes would burn you.

"Come on, Jimmy," you called as you walked over to Cat.

Together, everyone made their way toward the auditorium, admiring the banners and digital displays announcing the convention.

You occasionally scribbled notes into your notebook, trying to keep your attention focused on work.

Everyone settled into their seats in silence, waiting for the presentation to begin.

When you looked up, you noticed that several university students had also been invited, most likely the winners of the annual journalism competition.

Your attention drifted toward two students sitting a few rows ahead.

A red-haired girl.

A blond boy wearing glasses.

They were speaking quietly, but every word reached your ears with perfect clarity.

"See? This is our world," the boy said.

A small, bittersweet smile appeared on your face before you even realized it.

"I know, Jack, but this world feels way too big for me," the girl admitted.

The insecurity in her voice felt painfully familiar.

"As long as it's the two of us, it'll feel small enough. We'll figure it out together," the boy replied as he adjusted his glasses with a gesture that somehow reminded you of Clark.

You lowered your gaze.

His words echoed inside you long after he'd finished speaking.

Then your phone vibrated.

Your chest tightened before you could stop it.

"Last time we came here as college students, and now we're journalists :)"

It was a text from Clark.

You locked the screen without replying and slipped your phone back into your purse.

Then you looked toward the stage again, your expression unreadable as you listened to the presentation and continued taking notes.

You weren't angry because he'd fallen in love with someone else.

As much as it hurt, you could understand that.

No one chooses who they fall in love with.

If Clark had found Lois, you were willing to accept it.

What you couldn't forgive was the betrayal.

The way he'd shattered your trust by revealing your secrets.

Those secrets had been your safe place.

The parts of yourself you'd shared only with him.

Now they belonged to someone else.

More than anything else, that was what broke you.

It wasn't unrequited love.

It was knowing he'd told someone else everything you were without ever asking for your permission.

You felt something before it happened.

It was like an electric current racing down your spine, a chill that had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with imminent danger. You lifted your gaze, searching through the crowd, trying to identify the source of that feeling. But everything seemed normal. People were listening attentively to the talk, students were taking notes, and camera flashes lit up the stage every now and then. You sighed, thinking maybe it was just your imagination, and turned your attention back to what the speaker was saying.

Then you felt it.

A vibration, deep and powerful, shook the ground beneath your feet. A massive explosion rocked the entire place, making the walls tremble and people scream as they grabbed onto whatever they could. The lights flickered, and for one second, everything became chaos. The main door burst open, and a man ran in, his face twisted with panic.

"They're attacking the place!" he shouted, his voice swallowed by the screams of the crowd.

You looked around, assessing the situation with the speed your years of training had given you. You spotted the emergency exit at the lower level, and you knew it was the only safe way out.

"Move!" you shouted, helping people to their feet and gently pushing them toward the exit.

Then you saw the two students in front of you, the blond boy and his red-haired friend. He was holding her by the arm, shielding her with his body while she trembled with fear.

"They're going to attack the emergency exits," you said, your voice sounding steadier than you expected.

Without thinking, you ran, leaping between the seats and moving with an agility you couldn't explain. You arrived just in time to stop them from opening the door. One second was enough for you to throw yourself over them, covering them with your body as the emergency door exploded in a rain of fragments. The students stared at you with wide, terrified eyes, unable to understand how you had gotten there so quickly.

"There," you whispered, pointing to the side as you stood up.

A sharp pain shot through your leg, and you looked down to see a shard of glass from a table embedded in your calf. Without hesitation, you pulled it out in one swift motion, and the wound began closing almost immediately. No one was looking at you. Everyone was too busy running.

Clark looked at you from across the room, and in his eyes, you saw a mixture of worry and gratitude. He used the explosion of one of the walls to slip away, and within seconds, he was dressed as Superman, ready to act. He got Cat and the others out, including Lois, then returned to face the attackers.

Meanwhile, you protected the two college students, guiding them toward the stairs.

"This way," you said, running toward the main exit.

When you reached the outside, the cold evening air struck your face, and you saw Clark fighting two strange figures. One of them was a woman whose body seemed to be made of silver nanobots, shifting and glowing like a swarm of fireflies. The other was a man completely covered in black, even his face, with strength that matched Superman's. You turned your head and saw strange soldiers aiming unfamiliar weapons at civilians. You knew they needed Superman. He was the only one who could stop them.

Taking advantage of the soldiers rushing toward the building, you aimed your heat vision at the roof. The beam of energy struck the structure, and the ceiling began collapsing in pieces, creating a curtain of smoke and debris. Superman flew out immediately, and his eyes met yours.

It lasted only an instant, barely a second, but something passed between you.

As though the broken trust still hung by a thread.

As though that wordless communication you had always shared still existed.

He understood.

You had used your powers so he could save the people.

But then the man in black lunged at you. His arms closed around your body with brutal strength, and before you could react, he was already dragging you backward, pulling you away from where you stood. The screams of the crowd multiplied, and you heard Cat shouting your name in desperation.

Clark tried to throw himself toward you, but the woman made of nanobots stepped into his path, striking him with enough force to send him flying several meters back.

"No!" you heard Clark shout, but his voice began fading as the man in black carried you farther and farther away, bursting through the roof of the building and out into the open air.

Everyone left below thought a human had been taken, an ordinary journalist.

They didn't know you weren't like them.

And maybe it was better that way.

The wind struck your face as you flew in your captor's arms. You clenched your fists, feeling rage gather in your chest. You weren't going to stay still. You weren't going to let him take you without a fight. Once you were far enough from the building, once you knew no one could see you anymore, you acted.

You broke free from his grip with a violent movement, using your strength to push yourself away from him. The man in black flew back several meters, surprised, and in that brief hesitation, you took your chance to hit him. Your fist slammed into his chest, and you felt the force of the impact travel up your arm.

But he didn't fall.

He stumbled, yes, but he recovered quickly.

He launched himself at you again, and you moved with agility, dodging his outstretched hands as he tried to grab you. An aerial dance began, with you retreating and him chasing you, both of you moving through the clouds as though the sky itself had become your battlefield. You found one moment of advantage, a single second where he lost his balance, and you struck him hard, feeling his body shift from the impact.

But he was fast.

Faster than you expected.

He recovered almost immediately and, instead of attacking you, changed his strategy. Instead of striking you, he grabbed you as though he wanted to shove you toward something.

Then both of you began to fall.

The wind whistled in your ears as you plummeted. The ground rushed closer and closer, and you couldn't stop the force he was using against you. Within seconds, the sky became a green blanket of trees, and the impact with the ground was brutal.

You landed in a forest, the crack of branches and dry leaves accompanying the heavy thud of your fall. You rolled several meters, feeling dirt cling to your clothes and hair. You lifted your head quickly, searching for your attacker among the undergrowth.

The man in black rose slowly.

So did you.

The two of you stood there, facing each other in the middle of the forest, surrounded by silence and the breeze moving through the treetops. There was no more movement, only your uneven breathing and the sound of leaves crunching beneath your feet.

You shifted into a defensive stance, ready for whatever came next.

You were no longer in the city.

You no longer had to hide who you were.

Here, in the middle of nature, you could use all your strength, all your powers.

You were breathless, your body still tense and your fists clenched, ready to charge at him again.

But the man in black didn't move.

He only stood there in the middle of the forest, his mask covering his face and his hands falling to his sides. The crunch of leaves beneath his feet was the only sound that broke the silence.

Then something small fell from his chest.

A metallic device that clinked when it hit the ground and rolled a few centimeters.

And from it, a voice came through. Human. Of course it was human, as though the device connected him to another place.

"There are malfunctions. He's... losing it."

Then, with one hand, he crushed it and looked at you.

Even though you couldn't see his face beneath the mask, you knew he was looking at you.

You blinked several times, confused, and he, the man in black, tilted his head like a curious animal watching you from a distance, analyzing you.

Then he spoke.

His voice was strange, broken, as though he wasn't used to using it. Every word seemed to cost him an immense effort, as though he had to remember how sounds were formed.

"You... here... better," he said.

What kind of joke was this?

This man had kidnapped you, dragged you through the sky, and slammed you into the middle of a forest, and now he was telling you that you would be better here. You let out a bitter laugh, one made more of disbelief than amusement.

"I don't have time for games," you said.

With one powerful impulse, you tried to fly.

But he was faster.

He grabbed your arm with a strength that startled you, and both of you crashed to the ground among branches and dirt. You rolled several meters before standing up, furious, feeling earth cling to your clothes while anger burned in your chest like a flame you couldn't put out.

"Who are you?" you shouted, your voice echoing through the trees, bouncing off the trunks like a sound that refused to disappear. "Tell me who you are and what you want from me!"

He stood slowly, in no hurry, as if he had all the time in the world. He said nothing. He only shook his head when you tried to move away again.

"You... not go," he said.

His voice sounded firmer this time, though it still carried that broken quality, like someone who hadn't spoken in a very long time, as though the words got stuck in his throat before they could come out.

"Why not?" you asked, your heart beating fast, so fast it felt like it might tear out of your chest. "What do you want? Why did you bring me here?"

He didn't answer right away.

Instead, he slowly lifted his hands and touched the edge of his mask. Without rushing, with movements that seemed calculated, as though every gesture had a purpose, he removed it completely.

And then you saw him.

Your breath caught in your throat.

It was Clark.

No.

It wasn't Clark.

He was identical to him, but different.

He was an imposing, rough, imperfect version of Superman, with rigid muscles that seemed carved out of stone instead of flesh. The difference was minimal, but it was enough for you to know it wasn't him. His features were slightly misaligned, as though someone had tried to copy a perfect face but failed to finish the final details. Unlike Clark's impeccable hairstyle, his dark hair was noticeably longer and unkempt, lacking the careful order Clark always maintained. His face was the same, but there was a hardness in his expression that Clark had never had, a cold and empty look that sent a chill down your spine.

"Ultraman," he said, pointing at himself with his thumb before gesturing to the U on his suit.

His voice was still broken, but now it carried a weight you hadn't noticed before.

"Kill... Superman."

You blinked, trying to process what you had just heard.

Ultraman.

The name was unfamiliar, but the intention behind it was clear.

This man, this twisted version of Clark, had come to kill Superman.

To kill Clark.

The same Clark who had broken your heart, yet you still couldn't fully hate. Despite everything, despite the lies and the secrets, he was still important to you.

You stood there in silence for a moment.

Then, without thinking, you moved closer to him.

His eyes followed you with that empty stare, without expression, without emotion, as if he were looking through you instead of at you.

You stopped a few steps away from him, your chest tight and your head full of questions you didn't know how to ask.

"Are you going to kill me too?" you asked, your voice softer than you intended, almost a whisper lost among the leaves.

He shook his head, and his fingers pointed toward the broken device on the ground.

"People... from here," he said, clumsily touching his chest where the device had been removed, the one that had seemed to give him orders. "Not know... about you."

He repeated the words as though he wanted to make sure you understood, as if every syllable were a brick building an explanation that could barely stand.

"Why did you bring me here? I'm Superman's friend, the man you're planning to kill," you said, still unable to believe what your eyes were seeing. "I don't understand."

He tilted his head like a dog hearing a new sound, and his forehead furrowed slightly, as though he were trying to process your words.

You assumed he didn't understand, because he seemed to want to speak but kept stopping, as if the words slipped away from him just as he was about to say them.

Then he sighed.

A deep sound that seemed to come from somewhere far inside him.

"Energy... yours... draw me... protect you," he said, each word sounding like an effort, as though he were pulling strength from some dark place within himself.

Then he flew away with force, moving so fast you could barely see him.

You rose into the air with super speed and, using your vision, realized he had left with the other soldiers and the woman who had attacked.

But you didn't know who they were.

You didn't know where they came from or what they truly wanted.

You descended carefully, touching the ground as your legs trembled slightly, and sighed, releasing all the air you had been holding.

You took out your phone.

Clark was calling.

You answered.

"Where are you? I'm still in the suit. I can attack him and..." Clark said, his voice worried and rushed, as though he were about to fly straight to you.

"I'm fine. I'll fly back to the apartment. Just act like Superman rescued me," you said sharply, feeling the words leave your mouth with an edge you couldn't soften.

Before hanging up, you added, "Clark, do you have any idea who they were?"

You swallowed, feeling the knot in your throat.

"I have no idea," he admitted, then sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion. "But I feel like Luthor is involved."

You nodded, even though he couldn't see you, feeling the name resonate inside you like the toll of a bell.

"Fine," you said, and hung up without another word.

You stayed there in the middle of the forest, phone in hand and your head full of questions with no answers.

Ultraman.

Luthor.

The broken device.

The energy that had drawn him to you.

None of it made sense.

You flew back, feeling the cold night air cling to your skin as you approached your apartment.

When you arrived, you called back everyone who had been trying to reach you, making sure they knew Superman had saved you and brought you home, that you were fine and only wanted to rest.

But the truth was, you couldn't rest.

You paced back and forth across the living room, arms crossed, your mind spinning like a carousel that refused to stop.

The face of that man, that Ultraman, made you go pale every time you remembered it.

He was identical to Clark, and yet so different at the same time.

Had they made a clone of Clark?

Or was it something else?

Questions piled up in your head like a storm you couldn't calm.

And then another question arose.

Why was he interested in you?

What reason did he have to pull you away from the area he seemed to consider dangerous?

But you didn’t look intimidated by his stature at all. If anything, you just seemed a bit shy asking him for permission to lay hands on his bike. So with a nod, he gave you the okay. In real time, he saw the sheepish expression on your face melt away and in its stead witnessed a spark of excitement light up in your eyes.

He watched you attentively as you took a few steps closer to his bike, and reached over to the handle. You were about to twist it expectantly, when Jason stopped you with a chuckle. Eyes lifting to look at the attractive stranger, you were worried that you had done something wrong already without noticing it.

“Not like that. You need to twist it towards you, all right?” Your cheeks warmed up in embarrassment, but his gloved hand simply came to rest over yours.

When he guided it in the right direction now, the bike’s engine roared to life loudly. The vibrations of the motor sent your heart tumbling into a frantic rush. To say you were impressed would have been nothing less than a blatant understatement. Jason could practically see stars form in your eyes. “You’re a fan of bikes, huh?” He huffed in amusement. His gaze drifted over your side profile as you nodded. You were pretty. Really pretty.

“Y’want to go for a ride?” The question left his mouth before his brain could catch up with what he was suggesting. It was unlike Jason to make an offer like this to someone he didn’t even know. He did it anyway, so that had to mean something, surely. Lifting his visor, he peered straight into your soul now—no kind of glass acting as a form of separation between you two.

You turned your head to look at him, and for a moment, you were just staring at him—soft lips parted. Clearly, you were as taken aback by his offer as he was. And also by those uniquely vibrant green eyes, but hopefully that wasn’t something the dark-haired biker would know.

Stranger danger should have stopped you from agreeing to something so reckless, especially in a crazy place like Gotham City, but much like Jason, you weren’t acting like yourself at the moment. “I… I mean, if you have the time.” Luckily for you, he had an extra helmet with him.

After Jason explained the basics of what you needed to know, you found yourself on the back of his bike. When he sensed that you hesitated to hold onto him, unsure of where to put your hands without crossing some sort of line, one of Jason’s hands reached backwards to grab yours and place it around his midriff.

“Hold on tight, sweetheart,” he ordered, but his voice was terribly kind. Then he snapped his visor back down, and you were off onto the road.

It was exhilarating; hearing the raucous vrooming sound of the engine, feeling the wind whip past your bodies.

You felt more alive than you ever had before. A thrilled little laugh came from you as you allowed yourself to enjoy the ride. Only now did you realize that you didn’t even know this stranger’s name yet. You had been too caught up in your inner monologue panicking over how bad of an idea this probably was.

When Jason sped up to overtake a car, you closed your eyes momentarily and rested your head against his back. Oh my god, this was as terrifying as it was fun.

The longer you two drove, the more your nerves began to ease into pure, unfiltered joy. You were growing more comfortable by the minute—your hands traveling along his abdomen and holding onto him tighter. At one point, your hand was pressed against his pectoral, and if you hadn’t been so swept up in the moment, you would’ve been able to feel the rapid, thumping beat of his heart.

Once you two stopped at a red light, the man you’d been clinging onto turned his head so that you could hear him better. “You good?” You might not know much about this stranger, but one thing you knew for sure: he was painfully considerate.

Jason started out driving not too fast, paid attention to your body language the whole ride through, and only began speeding up upon noticing that you had relaxed a bit. In other words, he made sure you felt comfortable the whole time, and now he was also checking in on you verbally. You were surprised by how well this was going considering how unsure you’d been about this choice.

“Yeah, I’m fine!” you spoke loudly in the hope of your voice carrying over the cacophony of traffic noise around you. With a growing grin, you added, “More than fine, actually. This is crazy!” Jason was thinking of a reply when the stoplight turned green, effectively interrupting your conversation.

Butterflies swarmed your stomach as you leaned into him, arms wrapped around him securely. Hands holding onto his front, you took notice of the warmth that seeped through the material of his black compression shirt. You couldn’t help but wonder how many days a week this man must have gone to work out to be this fucking ripped. Even from afar, it had been impossible to miss his size, but actually feeling the hard planes of muscle hidden beneath his clothes gave you a different kind of impression on just how built this man was.

Time flew by quickly. When Jason eventually dropped you off at the same gas station that he met you—he felt like it would be creepy to ask you where you lived, and your car was parked there anyway—the adrenaline was still pumping through your veins like a river of ecstasy.

Your breath was erratic as you warned him that you would get off the back of his bike now, just as he had told you to. Communication was key between the driver and backpacker. You wouldn’t want him to lose balance and let the bike fall to the ground. He likely wouldn’t have made a fuss about it, even if you did, though.

Standing on your own two feet after the addictive feeling of speeding through the streets with him felt weird. Your shaky fingers began fumbling with your helmet, and mere seconds later, Jason stood right in front of you. Noticing your struggle, he silently helped you. Your blown eyes were locked on him the entire time as he slipped it off your head. With him this close, you could smell the dizzying scent of his cologne: leather, musk, and something irresistibly warm that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. It smelled almost like gunpowder, but you doubted that with how sweet this man had been to you. Either way, he smelled absolutely to die for.

You ran your fingers through your hair to fix it, and Jason watched you closely. The corners of his mouth tugged up into an amused smirk. Fuck, you were too cute.

“Thank you. That was the most fun I’ve had in a while.” You sounded so gentle, so sincere in your gratitude. It wasn’t even a big deal, really, nothing that demanded much effort on his part. Still, it clearly made you happy, and he found himself feeling unreasonably accomplished by that, which was stupid, because he didn’t know you.

Jason should have reminded himself of that. He didn’t.

After he took off his own helmet, you could finally take a good look at the entirety of his face, and it was actually embarrassing how affected you were by it. The gorgeous green eyes you had seen before, but his dark, perfectly disheveled hair alongside the faint, jagged scar on his face piqued your interest in the man.

He was gorgeous, undeniably so.

You wanted to find out more about Jason, wanted to see if he had other scars or birthmarks hidden beneath the fabric of his protective gear, wanted to ride with him again. Of course, the more debauched side of your brain couldn’t help but think of wanting to ride him too, but that unfitting thought was quickly banished into the back of your traitorous mind. Even briefly imagining that with him right in front of you, fuck, that was a horrible idea, worse than climbing onto a stranger’s motorcycle.

“Any time…” Jason trailed off, a subtle inquiry of your name. Snapping out of your thoughts, you giggled at his smoothness. The man, who had died and come back to life, swore he felt something that he’d never felt before. An odd sensation of warmth spread through his chest. Illogical. Entirely unfounded. What was up with him?

You told him your name softly, and Jason repeated it back to you like he was testing the way it sounded rolling off his tongue. “Jason.” The curt response would have seemed aloof, if it weren’t for the evident interest shining in those emerald depths of his. “Well, thank you then, Jason,” you said with a sweet smile. Your heart was pounding wildly against your ribcage, and you knew that that wasn’t just the aftershocks of residual adrenaline.

Internally, you wondered if you should ask him for his number. Then you cringed at how awkward it would be if he told you no, if he said that he had a girlfriend and this was just him trying to be nice earlier. “Okay, I should—” You didn’t even finish your sentence, because he spoke up at the same time as you did, “Could I—” The air between you seemed static as you nodded at Jason to say what he wanted to first. “Could I get your number?” All right, girlfriend theory debunked then, you guessed.

He cleared his throat, trying to tamp down the tension he had created with the intense, deep timbre of his voice. Jason licked his lips before adding, “So we could… do this again, you know. If you’d like.” Wait, was he shy?

Jason didn’t want to come on too strong or make you feel like this was him expecting your number in return for his favor. It wasn’t like you owed him anything! He wasn’t an asshole like that. But you didn’t think that anyway.

The smile on your face broadened into an even more radiant one, and Jason had an inkling that he would grow to love this grin of yours. “Sure, I would love that. Maybe we could go to the library next time.” You inclined your head downward and chuckled bashfully, realizing how unspectacular of a place that sounded like. Leave it to you to suggest to the hot biker you met to go to the freaking library of all places. “I mean, if you don’t find that too boring. My aunt runs a library. I help out every once in a while, so I like the quiet there.”

Jason might have just found the woman of his dreams.

“No, no, I don’t find that boring at all,” he said, and when you lifted your head, you could tell by the look on his face alone that he meant what he said. Your eyes darted across his pretty face, teeth tugging at your bottom lip like that could contain your giddiness.

Jason might have been the man of your dreams too.

He gave you his phone, and you couldn’t believe that this was actually happening to you, as you typed your number into the phone of the handsome biker you met only today. The owner of the prettiest green eyes and the most attractive voice you ever had the pleasure of beholding. And he liked to read, apparently. It was like this man had stumbled right out of a romance novel.

Handing his phone back to him, you looked up at Jason through your eyelashes. “Call me.” Such bold words, yet coming out of the mouth of a sweet thing like you, they didn’t sound half as provocative as they should have.

Oh, Jason was definitely going to call you.

em’s masterlist | jason todd masterlist wc: 2.2k request: no

˙⋆✮ a/n: this was inspired by sth that happened to me this week lol. lowk don’t like ts, but i’ll post it anyway, bc i don’t want to scrap the fic. and also again, this is a drabble that turned into a one-shot. like, ugh, guys, i cannot write short stuff for the life of me 😭😭 this isn’t even acc long to me, but it’s definitely also not drabble-kinda short ykwim

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jason todd works: nobody here yet…

“hold on,” the guy says, squinting at the photo. “who is that?”

armin looks up from his computer, casual. “my wife.”

silence.

“…your what?”

“my wife,” armin repeats, slower this time, like maybe he misheard him the first time.

the guy laughs. actually laughs. “yeah, okay. good one.”

armin frowns. “i’m serious.”

“no way,” another co-worker chimes in, rolling their chair over. “armin, be real. that’s not your wife.”

“why wouldn’t she be?” armin asks, already defensive.

“because,” the guy gestures at the picture, “look at her. you’re telling me she married you?”

armin blinks. “…yes?”

they all stare at him like he just told the funniest joke in the world.

“bro,” the first guy says, shaking his head, “that’s either a celebrity, a model, or ai-generated.”

“she’s not ai,” armin snaps. “she’s real. she’s literally my wife.”

“then where is she?” someone asks.

“at home,” armin says.

“so you’re telling me,” the first one says, pointing at the picture, “you pulled that?”

armin frowns. “what is that supposed to mean.”

“It means,” the guy shrugs, “she looks fake. like influencer fake. like ‘she doesn’t belong with you’ fake.”

armin’s eye twitches. “she’s literally my wife.”

“okay,” someone else chimes in, “but have we ever seen her?”

armin opens his mouth. closes it. “she doesn’t work here?”

“exactly,” the guy nods like he just solved a mystery. “so how do we know she’s real.”

armin sighs, rubbing his temples. “because i have a wedding ring. because i talk about her. because i go home to her.”

“could be a very elaborate lie,” another one says.

armin looks around the room, genuinely offended now. “why would i lie about being married.”

they all shrug.

“listen,” armin says, grabbing his phone and unlocking it, “i can literally show you—”

“pictures can be edited,” someone cuts him off.

“she could be ai,” another adds.

armin stares at them. deadpan. “you people are insane.”

and from that moment on, it becomes a thing. every day it’s—

“how’s your wife, armin?”

“tell your imaginary girl i said hi.”

“did you photoshop that picture yourself?”

no matter how many photos he shows, no matter how many times he says wife, married, legally, they still look at him like he’s joking.

and that’s when armin decides.

fine.

if they don’t believe you exist now, they will soon.

after that whole interaction armin comes home looking all pouty, bag slung over his shoulder a little harder than usual. you’re on the couch, half paying attention to whatever’s on tv when he drops down next to you with the biggest sigh ever.

“can you believe that,” he starts immediately, running a hand through his hair, “they don’t think i’m married to you.”

you turn your head slowly to look at him. “…what?”

“they think i’m lying,” he says, genuinely offended. “like i just made you up. one of them literally said, ‘armin, be serious.’”

you blink. then you laugh. like, actually laugh.

“armin,” you say, smiling, “you come home to me every night. i sleep in your bed. i wear your shirts. i steal your hoodies. how am i not real?”

he groans, leaning back against the couch. “that’s what i’m saying. i showed them your picture and they were like, ‘no way.’”

you crawl a little closer, resting your head on his shoulder. “so basically… they don’t believe you pulled me.”

he doesn’t answer right away, which tells you everything.

“…yeah,” he admits quietly.

you laugh again, softer this time, pressing a kiss to his arm. “aww. poor baby. must be so hard being married to someone so hot.”

he looks down at you, still pouting but clearly feeling a little better. “it’s not funny.”

“it is a little funny,” you tease. “but hey, who cares what they think? you know i’m real. i know i’m real.”

he hums, eyes softening. “yeah… i guess.”

you tilt your head, smiling like you’re up to something. “i mean,” you say casually, “i might know a way to make you feel better.”

his eyebrows lift immediately. “yeah?”

you nod, innocent. “mhmm.”

and just like that, the pout is gone.

you might wonder why everyone’s in such disbelief that you exist. honestly? it’s probably because you’re that fine. too fine. unreal beauty. and to armin’s co-workers, there’s just no way armin managed to pull a woman that looks like you. so clearly, in their minds, you’re either a stock photo, a model he googled, or a very elaborate lie.

so when armin casually mentions that the company christmas party is coming up and that he’ll be bringing his wife, the reactions are… loud.

armin leans back in his chair, annoyed. “she’s coming to the christmas party.”

that shuts them up.

“oh?” the guy raises an eyebrow. “so she’s finally leaving the witness protection program?”

“oh yeah? she finally gonna leave canada and show up?” one guy laughs.

“nah, she’s real but she goes to another company,” another one adds, snickering.

“armin, just say you’re single. it’s okay,” someone else says, patting his shoulder like they pity him.

armin’s eye twitches.

“she’s coming,” he says, a little firmer this time.

they all look at each other.

“sure,” one of them says slowly. “and i’m bringing rihanna.”

another chimes in, “what’s her excuse gonna be this time? food poisoning? ‘model schedule’ too busy?”

armin’s ears turn red. “she’s real,” he insists. “she’s my wife.”

“prove it,” someone laughs. “no photoshop this time.”

the thing is, armin doesn’t even argue back anymore. he just smiles to himself, already knowing what they don’t.

because in a few weeks, he’s walking into that party with you on his arm.

and suddenly, no one’s gonna be laughing.

the day is finally here and armin has been a lil too excited for today. like… suspiciously excited. right now you’re in your little element, sitting at your vanity, music low, doing your makeup. lashes on, gloss perfect. you already know you’re about to eat.

you get dressed, slipping into a simple black mini dress—nothing too crazy, but it hugs you right. your hair falls in soft black waves over one shoulder, shiny and bouncy, exactly how you like it. you grab your bag, slide into your red bottom heels, and do a little final look in the mirror. yeah. you snapped.

when you walk out, armin looks up and freezes.

like actually freezes.

“…oh,” he says. then blinks. then stares again. “oh wow.”

you laugh. “what?”

he stands there for a second too long, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “i—” he exhales, shaking his head. “how did i pull you?”

you burst out laughing. “armin?”

“no, seriously,” he says, eyes dragging over you again, half in disbelief. “this feels illegal. like i tricked the system or something.”

you walk up to him, fixing his collar, smiling. “you’re married to me. relax.”

he laughs nervously. “i know, i know, it just—” he gestures at you. “you look insane. my coworkers are gonna think i paid an actress.”

you peck his lips. “ready to shock your coworkers?”

he nods, still staring. “yeah,” then quietly adds, “i’m never gonna hear the end of this.”

you grin. mission accomplished.

you both finally get to the party and you can immediately tell.

the pauses.

the way conversations literally stop mid-sentence.

the way people blink like they’re buffering.

armin squeezes your hand, already smiling because yeah… he sees it too.

“uh— hey guys,” he says, a little proud, a little nervous. “this is my wife.”

silence.

actual silence.

the guy who’s been talking the most at work just stares at you, then at armin, then back at you again like he’s checking for a glitch.

“…wife?”

“as in… married married?”

“like… legally?”

you smile sweetly, giving a little wave. “hi.”

another coworker leans forward squinting. “wait. you’re real?”

“unfortunately,” you say, deadpan. “i exist full-time.”

someone actually laughs nervously. “nah because this is crazy. armin, you said your wife was hot but—”

“but you thought i was lying?” armin cuts in, offended but also clearly enjoying himself.

a girl whispers a little too loud, “oh my god… that’s her?”

another one goes, “the desk picture girl???”

the same dude from before shakes his head slowly. “bro… i owe you an apology. i really thought that was a stock photo.”

you gasp dramatically. “a stock photo???”

armin groans. “see what i deal with?”

someone else adds, “so you’re telling me you come home to that every night?”

armin shrugs, smug now. “yeah.”

“that’s sick,” another coworker mutters. “that’s actually sick.”

you lean into armin, smiling up at him. “you okay? you look like you just won an argument you’ve been having for months.”

he whispers back, “i feel so vindicated.”

by the time he finishes introducing you, people are still staring, still whispering, still clearly trying to figure out how.

and honestly?

you kinda love it.

you smile politely, playing nice, but inside you’re eating it up just a little. whispers start floating around, heads leaning together, people suddenly a lot more interested in small talk. armin stays glued to your side, hand resting on your lower back like he’s been waiting for this moment forever. you can feel his pride, the way his chest sits a little higher now.

one of his coworkers clears his throat awkwardly.

“…so, uh—hi. i’m thomas.”

you smile. “hi, thomas.”

he blinks. once. twice. then looks at armin.

“she—she talks.”

another coworker chimes in, wine glass frozen halfway to her mouth.

“wait. she’s real real?”

armin sighs like he’s been fighting this battle all year. “i told you she was real.”

someone mutters, “i thought that picture was ai.”

“or a model,” another adds.

“or a prank,” someone else says.

you tilt your head, sweet as ever. “wow. should i be offended or flattered?”

the group laughs nervously. armin squeezes your waist.

“see?” he says, a little smug now. “wife. married. legally.”

you lean in close, voice low so only he can hear.

“so…” you murmur, eyes sparkling, “you happy now? finally proved you weren’t lying?”

armin lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“you have no idea,” he whispers back. “i feel like i just won a lifelong argument.”

“mm,” you tease, pretending to look around. “all that stress over me? crazy.”

he opens his mouth to reply, but then you feel it his hand tightens just slightly at your back. before you can say another word, he turns you toward him and kisses you. not rushed, deliberate. confident. like he’s been waiting all night to do it.

the room goes dead quiet.

someone actually gasps.

“OH.”

“nah.”

“that’s crazy.”

“he’s winning.”

you pull back, smiling up at armin. “better?”

he’s stunned, cheeks pink, absolutely glowing. “yeah,” he says softly. “much better.”

from across the room someone mutters, “i owe him twenty bucks.”

and of course armin felt a lot of pride knowing he proved all his co workers wrong he flaunted you all over the scene, making sure it’s known you are his wife and you you’re definitely loving the attention feeling yourself.

now you are definitely enjoying this party a little too much. free liquor, free food, good music? yeah, you’re winning. you’re on your third drink, cheeks warm, laugh a little louder than usual, body swaying happily to whatever song just came on. armin, meanwhile, is in full panic-but-trying-to-be-cool mode.

his hand finds your waist as you lean into him, drink in hand.

“okayyy,” he says gently, voice low near your ear, “maybe… slow down a little?”

you look up at him with big innocent eyes. “slow down? armin this is basically a work hazard.”

he sighs. “you’ve had three.”

“three is a friendly number.”

“it’s not a friendly number when you’re dancing on me in front of my boss.”

you giggle, immediately proving his point by grinding your hips just a little more. armin freezes, eyes darting around the room. “baby— please—”

“what?” you grin. “i’m supporting my husband.”

someone walks by and gives them a look. armin tightens his grip on you. “you’re gonna get me fired.”

“mm,” you hum, taking another sip, “worth it.”

he gently takes the glass from your hand, replacing it with water like a man diffusing a bomb. “drink this. just for a bit.”

you squint at the cup. “this is not vodka.”

“exactly.”

you pout dramatically. “you’re no fun.”

he smiles despite himself, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “i’m having fun. i just need you to still be standing when we get home.”

you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck. “you’re stressed.”

“because my insanely hot wife is tipsy and everyone here is watching.”

you kiss his cheek, loud and exaggerated. “let them watch.”

he groans softly, resting his forehead against yours. “i knew bringing you was a bad idea.”

“liar,” you say sweetly. “you love this.”

he exhales, defeated, but smiling. “yeah,” he admits. “i really do.”

and just like that, he pulls you closer, one arm firm around your waist, keeping you steady while you sway together armin half-stressed, half-proud, already knowing he’s not winning this one.

you finally end up leaving with everyone shouting goodbyes, a few of his coworkers yelling your name like you’re a celebrity now. armin’s hand is firm on your waist as he guides you toward the car because you are definitely past tipsy.

“okay, okay—slow down,” he laughs, trying to keep you from tripping in your heels.

“i’m fine,” you giggle, immediately proving you are not.

he opens the passenger door and you just stand there smiling at him.

“…why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.

“you’re handsome,” you say very seriously.

he sighs, smiling anyway. “this is my fault. i should’ve never let you get past drink two.”

“drink three was important,” you argue as he gently buckles you in. “for morale.”

“for chaos,” he corrects, tapping your nose before closing the door.

the drive home is chill, city lights passing by, armin relaxed again now that you’re safely seated. then partition comes on.

“ohhhh my god,” you gasp like it’s the greatest moment of your life. “this my soooong.”

“oh no,” armin mutters under his breath.

you turn the volume up anyway.

“driver roll up the partition pleeease”

your words are slurred, half-sung, half-mumbled, completely off beat.

“baby—”

“i don’t need yooou seein’ yonce on her kneeees”

you’re swaying in your seat, hand dramatically pressed to your chest like you’re performing for a sold-out crowd. armin tries so hard to keep a straight face, gripping the steering wheel, but he’s already smiling.

“you’re drunk,” he says, amused and stressed at the same time.

“took forty-five minutes to get all dressed up

and we ain’t even gonna make it to the clu—”you pause, squinting. “—club.”

armin lets out a laugh despite himself. “wow. beautiful vocals.”

you grin at him, slow and mischievous, eyes heavy-lidded. then you shift in your seat.

and suddenly—

something lands softly in his lap.

he feels it before he even looks.

he glances down for half a second.

your thong.

he looks down.

then at you.

you’re already watching him, chin tilted, eyes heavy-lidded, innocent little smile like you didn’t just start a war

he doesn’t say a word.

doesn’t react.

Tuesday was supposed to be ordinary.

The kind of day that disappeared as quickly as it arrived. You finished your morning lecture, replied to a few student emails, stopped by the grocery store on your way home because you'd promised to cook dinner. Nothing remarkable. Nothing that hinted your life was quietly approaching a fault line.

The apartment was supposed to be empty.

You remembered that detail clearly later. He'd told you that morning, half asleep, mumbling something about a meeting running until six. You had the whole afternoon to yourself, or so you'd thought, planning the pasta you'd make, the wine you'd open, the ordinary comfort of a Tuesday night at home. 

You unlocked the front door as quietly as always, balancing a paper bag of groceries against your hip. Then you heard laughter. A woman's laugh, low and familiar, drifting down the hallway like something out of a memory you couldn't quite place. For one suspended heartbeat, your mind simply refused to process it 

Then it did. Your best friend.

You took another step down the hallway. The bedroom door wasn't completely closed. It didn't need to be. Some truths don't ask to be witnessed completely. You already understood, before your conscious mind caught up, that whatever was happening in that apartment wasn't meant for your ears. 

The quiet intimacy of two people who had forgotten the rest of the world existed. Neither of them heard it. Or maybe they did. You didn't stay long enough to find out. There were no questions. No tears. No dramatic confrontation worthy of a movie scene. Because what explanation could possibly undo what you'd already seen?. You turned around before they could notice you. The front door clicked shut behind you with barely a sound. 

Two years of engagement, gone.

Two years of wedding plans scattered across your dining table. Two years of apartment hunting, shared grocery lists, lazy Sunday mornings, and conversations about children you thought you'd have someday. 

You don’t remember the walk to your car. You remember sitting behind the steering wheel with the keys in your hand and staring blankly at the windshield as the city morphed into streaks of bright light. It was just a blur of street lamps, head lights, and everything moving around you while your world was standing still. For a brief moment, you noticed that your hands weren’t shaking. You thought that was strange too. The way that your body had just suddenly gone still and cold and you were just as motionless as your body, like a state of shock had frozen you just outside of the situation.

You couldn’t say how long it was, but what you knew was that you suddenly found yourself standing in front of your closet. Your eyes were drawn to what was at the very back and hidden from view, your black dress. You hadn’t seen it for years.

"It's a little too much," he'd once said with an easy laugh.

"Too short."

"Too noticeable."

You remembered smiling then, folding the dress away because it hadn't seemed important enough to argue about.

You pulled it from the closet and let it fall over your body, the fabric cool and unfamiliar against your skin, hugging you in ways you'd forgotten you were allowed to be seen. It felt like putting on a stranger. Someone who wasn't trying to be agreeable anymore. Someone who had nothing left to protect and nothing left to lose.  You left the engagement ring where it was.

After leaving your phone in your purse, you grabbed your keys for the second time and stepped into the dark. You had no idea where you were headed but felt a certainty in your chest about leaving the life you had. You felt like you could not spend one more moment inside the life that no longer felt like it belonged to you.  

.

.

.

Tuesday hadn't given him any warning either.

Jungwon's shift had ended late. A delivery that ran longer than expected, hours stretched thin by complications that weren't anyone's fault, just the unpredictable nature of the job. By the time he clocked out, his scrubs still smelled faintly of antiseptic, his feet aching in a way that had become so routine he barely registered it anymore. All he wanted was his own bed, maybe food he didn't have to think about. 

He let himself into her apartment with the key she'd given him two years ago, the metal worn smooth from years in his pocket, attached to a keychain shaped like a tiny stethoscope. A joke gift from early in their relationship, something she'd laughed about giving him, something he'd kept clipped to his keys ever since without really thinking about why. 

The shower was running. Her tablet was face up on the kitchen counter, screen still lit from a notification. He hadn't meant to look. He told himself that for weeks afterward, though it stopped mattering fairly quickly whether he'd meant to or not.

A name he recognized. A string of messages that didn't need much context. Photos that answered questions he hadn't known to ask. He stood there in his work clothes, badge still clipped to his coat pocket, and read enough to understand that ‘residency's exhausting’ had been covering for something else entirely for months, maybe longer.

He didn't move at all, actually, just stood there in the kitchen with his hands loose at his sides, feeling something inside his chest go very still and cold. He didn't throw the tablet. 

She stepped out of the bathroom in a towel, damp hair pushed back, and stopped short in the doorway when she saw Jungwon standing there. Badge still clipped to his coat pocket, tablet lying face up on the counter exactly where she'd left it. Something in his stillness told her immediately that the evening wasn't going to go the way she'd planned.

"Jungwon?" Her voice came out careful, testing. "You're back early."

He didn't answer right away. He just looked at her, and she followed his gaze to the tablet, and whatever color was left in her face drained out of it in an instant.

"How long," he said. Not a question. A statement in the shape of a question.

"I—" She pulled the towel tighter around herself, a reflexive gesture, like modesty mattered now, of all moments. "Jungwon, it's not—"

"Don't." His voice remained quiet and level, the same tone he used when he had to tell a patient's family something they didn't want to hear. "Don't tell me it's not what it looks like. I read enough."

Her mouth opened, then closed. For a long moment, the only sound in the apartment was water still dripping somewhere in the bathroom behind her.

"How long," he said again.

She sat down slowly on the arm of the couch, like her legs had stopped being reliable. "Since spring," she said quietly. "Maybe a little before that."

"Spring." He turned the word over like he was checking it for a fracture. "Daeun, that's eight months."

"I didn't plan for it to happen." Her voice cracked slightly, and he almost hated how convincing it sounded, how rehearsed and unrehearsed all at once. "We were just–we started as friends, and then residency got so heavy, and you were always working, and he was just there, and I don't know, it just…"

"I was working," he repeated flatly. "Right. Because I have a job that saves lives, and that's the excuse."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" His voice finally rose. "Because from where I'm standing, you've had eight months to tell me. Eight months of me asking if you were okay, if something was wrong, and you telling me it was just residency. Eight months of me believing you."

She didn't answer that. There wasn't an answer that would have helped her.

"Six years," he said, quieter now, almost to himself. "Six years, and I find out like this. Off a notification on your tablet."

"I was going to tell you." Her eyes were wet now, genuinely, and some old, tired part of him almost felt sorry for her, which made him angrier at himself than at her. "I've been trying to figure out how, for weeks, I swear—"

"Don't," he said again, softer this time, because he didn't have the energy left to argue about her intentions. "It doesn't matter anymore. You could've told me in June. You could've told me in September. You didn't." He stopped, pressed the heel of his hand briefly against his eyes, then dropped it. "That's the part that matters."

"Jungwon…"

"I have to go." He was already reaching for his coat.

"Can we at least talk about this properly? Please. Don't just walk out,"

He paused at the door, hand on the frame, and looked back at her.  Tear streaked, still somehow looking for a version of this conversation that ended somewhere softer than where it actually was.

"There isn't a version of this where I stay, and we talk it through.”

"So that's it?" Her voice cracked properly now. "Six years, and you're just leaving? No fighting for it?"

He almost laughed, though nothing about it felt funny. "You didn't fight for it either," he said quietly. "Not for eight months."

He didn't wait for her response. The door closed behind him just shut, quiet and final, the same way the whole relationship seemed to be ending: without the drama it probably deserved, just a soft, ordinary sound marking something enormous coming apart.

He drove without any destination in mind, the radio off, the city sliding past in a blur of red lights, he stopped out of habit rather than attention. Six years. He kept circling back to the number like it might rearrange itself into something smaller, something easier to hold.

He ended up parking outside a bar he'd never been to. Not his usual place near the hospital, where someone always seemed to know his face even without the coat. Tonight, he didn't want to be recognized. He didn't want to be Dr. Yang, careful and composed, the boy faced physician everyone had to double take before trusting. He just wanted to sit somewhere dark and stop being anyone in particular for a while.

He loosened his tie in the car before he went in. Small, useless gesture. It didn't make him feel any less, as something had just been quietly taken from him.

.

.

.

The bar was louder than you expected for a Tuesday, but you didn't care. Noise was better than silence. Silence gave you room to think, and thinking was the last thing you wanted tonight.

By the time the bartender slid your fourth glass across the counter, the sharp edges of the evening had softened. The ache in your chest hadn't disappeared; it had simply become distant, like hearing thunder several miles away.  You shifted on the barstool, crossing one leg over the other. The black dress rode a little higher against your thigh, and for the first time in years, you didn't bother tugging it back down.

He would've hated that. The thought came uninvited. You emptied the rest of your drink before it could linger. 

That's when he sat down beside you. Close enough that you noticed before you even looked. He was handsome. That was your first thought. Your second was that he looked far too young to be sitting alone in a place like this. His white dress shirt was neatly pressed except for the loosened tie hanging around his neck, as though he'd started the evening trying to hold himself together and abandoned the effort somewhere along the way. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms, exposing tired hands wrapped loosely around a glass he barely touched.

His gaze remained fixed on the amber liquid, unfocused, like he expected answers to settle at the bottom if he waited long enough. There was something strangely familiar about the way sadness sat on him. You almost didn't say anything. Almost.

You looked away. It wasn't your business. You weren't here to notice strangers. You were here to forget yourself. A minute passed, or maybe two. The bartender asked if either of you wanted another round. Neither of you answered. Without thinking, you let out a quiet breath.

"You look like you got dumped."

The words escaped before you could decide whether to keep them. Your voice came out flatter than you'd intended, stripped of humor, carrying more exhaustion than wit.

He turned toward you. Not offended, just surprised. For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. His eyes searched your face, lingering there with quiet curiosity, as though he couldn't decide if you were teasing him or speaking from experience. Then his gaze drifted lower to the diamond still resting on your left hand. A ring that caught the warm bar lights just enough to betray you. One corner of his mouth lifted into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"You still have your ring on," he said softly.

You followed his gaze, staring at the diamond as though you'd forgotten it was there. For a long moment, you simply twisted it around your finger.

"I forgot to take it off."

It wasn't entirely true. You hadn't forgotten. You just hadn't found the courage. His eyes met yours again.

"You look like you got dumped too."

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

"I did."

He gave a slow nod.

"So did I."

The words settled between you with the quiet understanding that only strangers could sometimes share. Neither of you asked for details or explanations. For tonight, it was enough to know that the person sitting beside you understood exactly what heartbreak looked like.

He glanced at your empty glass. "Another?"

You shook your head. "I think I've had enough of pretending a drink is going to fix anything."

Something about that made him almost smile, the first real one you'd seen from him all night, small and tired but genuine. "Yeah,me too."

The bartender came by again, and this time Jungwon was the one who waved him off, reaching instead for his wallet. You didn't argue when he paid for both of you. Some nights, you didn't have the energy left to insist on independence.

Outside, the air was cooler than you expected, sharp enough to cut through the haze just slightly. Neither of you moved toward a taxi right away. You just stood there for a moment under the bar's dim sign, the city noise a distant hum around you, both of you clearly aware that the night hadn't decided yet what it wanted to become.

"I don't usually do this," you said, not quite looking at him.

"Do what?"

"Any of this. Bars. Strangers. Standing outside at midnight, not knowing what I'm doing."

"Neither do I," he said. Then, after a pause, quieter, "I don't want to go home yet, though."

You understood exactly what he meant, because you felt the same thing sitting heavy in your chest. Home wasn't home anymore. Home was an apartment with echoes you couldn't bear to hear. Home meant seeing the engagement ring still circling your finger. Home meant admitting that tomorrow would arrive whether you wanted it to or not. For the first time that evening, you really looked at him.

He couldn't have been much younger than thirty, though his face carried an unmistakable softness that made him seem younger than he probably was. His tie still hung loose around his neck, his hair slightly disheveled, exhaustion written plainly across features that were almost unfairly handsome. 

He looked as though someone had reached into his life that morning and quietly removed the future he'd expected. That may be why he looked familiar.

"There's a hotel two blocks from here," you said.

He didn't ask if you were sure. He just nodded, like he'd been waiting for someone to say it first.

Neither of you filled the silence with questions about names, jobs, or the people who had broken your hearts. Some things felt strangely unimportant. Inside the elevator, your shoulders brushed for the first time. Neither of you moved away. 

The door had barely clicked shut before the tension that had been simmering between you in the elevator boiled over. There was no slow buildup, no romantic preamble; there was only a desperate, starving need to feel something other than the hollow ache in your chests.

Jungwon turned to you, his face flushed from the alcohol and the heat of the moment. He looked so young, almost innocent, but the look in his eyes was raw and hungry. He reached out, his hand cupping the back of your neck and pulling you into a kiss that tasted of whiskey and grief. It was a collision, teeth clashing, breaths hitching as you both clung to each other like survivors of a shipwreck.

You groaned into his mouth, your hands sliding up his chest to grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until there wasn't a sliver of air between your bodies. He backed you up against the door, the thud of your back hitting the wood echoing in the quiet room. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming your mouth with an urgency that made your toes curl.

"Please," you whispered against his lips, though you weren't even sure what you were asking for.

He didn't answer with words. His hands slid down to your hips, lifting you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your skirt riding up to your hips as he carried you toward the bed. He dropped you onto the white linens, his body following immediately, pinning you down with a weight that felt grounding and necessary.

Jungwon’s hands were frantic, stripping away the barriers of clothing. He pulled your dress over your head and tossed it aside, his eyes scanning your naked body with a mixture of awe and desperation. When he stripped off his own clothes, you saw the lean, toned muscles of a man who didn't look his age, his cock already hard and pulsing, straining against the air.

He didn't waste time. He moved between your thighs, his fingers sliding down to find your pussy. You were already soaking, the friction of the night and the emotional turmoil making you ache for him. He slid two fingers inside you, stretching you open, while his thumb worked your clit in a rhythmic, punishing pace. You arched your back, a loud moan escaping you as you neared the edge.

"Look at me," he murmured.

You opened your eyes to see him watching you, his expression a mask of longing. He positioned the head of his cock at your entrance, pausing for a heartbeat before thrusting deep inside you in one heavy, seamless motion.

You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you completely. The sensation was overwhelming. The stretch, the heat, the sudden fullness that silenced the noise in your head. He began to move, his thrusts deep and rhythmic, driving into you with a primal intensity. Each hit of his pelvis against your ass sounded like a wet slap in the quiet room.

"Fuck," he groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "You feel so good… shit, so tight…"

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down for another bruising kiss as he picked up the pace. He wasn't being gentle; he was fucking you with a desperation that mirrored your own, as if by driving himself into you, he could push out the memory of the woman who had betrayed him. You met every thrust, tilting your pelvis up to take him deeper, wanting to feel every inch of him.

The friction built, a coil of tension tightening in your lower belly. Jungwon’s movements became shorter, faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He shifted his grip, grabbing your thighs and pinning them back toward your chest to open you up even more. The angle allowed him to hit your cervix with every plunge, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your spine.

"I'm close—" he choked out, his muscles straining.

You felt your own climax rushing toward you, a tidal wave of release. You gripped his biceps, your voice breaking into a series of high-pitched whimpers. As you peaked, your pussy walls clamping tight around him in rhythmic spasms, Jungwon let out a low, guttural growl. He gave one final, deep thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and shuddered violently as he came.

You felt the hot, thick jets of his cum pumping deep inside you, filling your womb with a warmth that felt almost spiritual in its intensity. He stayed buried inside you for a long time, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting, your hearts beating in a synchronized, frantic rhythm.

As the adrenaline faded, the silence returned, but it was different now. The loneliness was still there, but it had been blunted. Jungwon slowly withdrew, the wet sound of his cock leaving your body echoing in the room. He didn't pull away completely; he rolled onto his side and pulled you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin.

Neither of you spoke. There were no names exchanged, no promises of a second meeting. You just lay there in the dim light of the hotel room, two broken strangers sharing a bed, clinging to the fleeting comfort of a night that neither of you would ever forget.

.

.

.

A month passed by.

Long enough for the memory of that night to start to blur at the edges. Sometimes you thought you invented some of it.

You remembered the warmth of whiskey better than you remembered his face. His tie, loosened. How he’d just listened, without asking questions. A pair of tired eyes that had looked at you as if they knew something that nobody else knew.

All else had blurred, melting into the sort of memory that belonged to another version of you. You never came back to the bar. If he did, you wouldn't know it. And if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have known that either. That was maybe how it was always supposed to be. Life went on, as indifferent as ever. 

Life had moved on, in its own stubborn manner. You got out of the apartment. You’d gone and blocked your ex-fiancée’s number. You weren't going to speak to your ex-bestfriend, and you hadn't. It was a mercy in itself. Your students didn't know that anything was different. They looked at you like you were just their lecturer. Untroubled. Unbreakable.

You could almost pretend your life hadn’t fallen apart. For three hours at a time. That was enough. Until it wasn’t. It began on a Thursday. Not with nausea or vertigo. Only a date. 

You were standing in your kitchen, waiting on the coffee machine to finish brewing, when the thought came unbidden. Your monthly. Your brow wrinkled. You counted backwards, almost absentmindedly. Then you counted again. The answer was the same. It's late.

This was not normal.

Your body was always predictable, almost stubbornly so. Even in college, when your roommates complained about irregular cycles and surprise cramps, yours came like clockwork, and you didn’t bother tracking it anymore. You put your coffee mug down, untouched. 

"It's the stress," you whispered to the empty apartment. It must have been. 

It made sense, didn't it? The breakup, the move, months of your nervous system running on fumes. Bodies did strange things under pressure. You'd read that somewhere, or maybe you just wanted to have read it somewhere. 

You gave it a few more days. Then a week. The coffee you'd started craving black suddenly turned your stomach. Smells you'd never noticed before. The neighbor's cooking, the detergent in your own laundry, sent you running for air that didn't feel like it was choking you. 

One day a co-worker came into your office with take out. The smell alone would have you running for the nearest bathroom. You said it was the flu. Food poisoning.  Anything.  All of it. Except for that one possibility that’s silently trailing you from room to room.

By the time you found yourself standing in the pharmacy aisle staring at a shelf of boxes you never had reason to buy before, some quiet part of you, dreading, already knew. 

You stood in front of the shelf longer than you needed to. So many different brands. Different promises. Different prices. As though any of them could deliver a different answer. You bought two.

As soon as you were home, you didn't wait long to do. Sat on the side of the bathtub, phone timer ticking away before you began to look at your hands and realise they weren't even yours.

Two lines. Then two more.

You sat there for a long time after that, the tile cold beneath you, your mind doing the math it didn't want to do.  The date, the timeline, the one night that had blurred into something you'd tried hard to forget. There was only one night it could have been.

Your heartbeat stumbled.

"No..."

The word escaped before you realized you'd spoken aloud.

You remained there for what felt like hours, staring at the tests resting in your hands as though they belonged to someone else. 

There was only one person. One night. One stranger, with tired eyes and a loosened tie and a sadness that had looked so much like your own it hadn't frightened you. You didn't even remember his name. You didn't know his address. What was his work. If you'd ever see him again.  You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes. A man who existed in your memory as nothing more than tired eyes and a loosened tie, and you look like you got dumped, too.

You didn't know how to find him even if you'd wanted to.

A baby.

The words refused to settle. They hovered somewhere just beyond understanding, too large to fit into the quiet routine you'd been stitching back together over the last month. You were thirty two. Recently single. Still learning how to sleep in an apartment that echoed because there was no one else in it.

You'd spent years building a career you loved, teaching future educators how to nurture children with patience, consistency, and kindness. Ironically, you'd never decided whether motherhood belonged in your own future. You always assumed there would be time to figure it out.

You thought you had more time to decide that. You thought, if it ever happened, it would happen with someone you trusted, someone who'd chosen it with you, not a stranger from a bar whose last name you didn't even know. 

You thought about how easy it would be to end it before anyone had to know it happened at all. No one would ask questions. No one would even know there was something to ask about. You could keep moving forward exactly the way you'd planned, pick your life back up, untangled, unremarkable, the way it was supposed to look after a breakup like this. Clean. Simple.

You sat with that thought for a while, testing its weight, waiting to feel relief.

It didn't come.

Instead, you found yourself thinking about your own mother, who used to tell you that she'd never once regretted having you. Even though your father had left before you turned three. Hardest thing I ever did alone, she'd said once, and still the only decision I never doubted. You'd never fully understood what she meant by that until this exact moment, sitting on a bathroom floor with a truth in your hands you hadn't asked for.

You thought about the years you'd spent in classrooms full of small kids who trusted easily, loved easily, hadn't yet learned that people could hollow you out from the inside without warning. You'd built a career around believing children deserved good beginnings. You wondered, cruelly, whether you were about to fail that belief the moment it became personal.

Then you thought about the alternative. The quiet, empty version of your future you'd have to live with either way. A yes, you might regret, or a no, you were fairly sure you would.

You pressed a hand flat against your stomach, feeling nothing yet, nothing you could point to, and still somehow feeling everything.

A slow breath escaped you.

"I don't need him."

The words were barely louder than a whisper. You said them again.

"I don't."

You weren't trying to convince yourself. You already knew they were true. You didn't need a husband. You didn't need a wedding. You didn't need promises made by someone else to make this decision for you. If this child entered the world, it would be because you chose them. Not because of guilt.

You knew exactly what waited beyond this bathroom door. Questions, whispers and mostly it would be judgment. Forms with blank spaces labeled Father. A future that would be more difficult than the one you'd imagined for yourself. None of that disappeared simply because you'd made a decision. But neither did your resolve.

For the first time since walking into that apartment on Tuesday afternoon, you realized your future no longer felt defined by something that had been taken from you. It was being shaped by something you had chosen. You slowly pushed yourself to your feet and looked at your reflection in the mirror. You looked exhausted. Your eyes were swollen, your hair a mess, your expression still carrying traces of the woman who'd had her heart broken.

But beneath all of that, there was something new. Resolve. You rested your hand over your stomach once more.

"Okay," you whispered to the tiny life only you knew existed.

A faint smile tugged at your lips despite everything.

"It's you and me now."

The words sounded impossibly small in the quiet apartment. Yet,  somehow, they were enough.

.

.

.

The dream came to him three nights in a row.  Always the same, dissolving the moment he woke, leaving only fragments behind the way real dreams rarely do.

In it, he stood in a garden he didn't recognize, thick with fruit trees heavy enough that their branches bent low toward the ground. A woman he couldn't see clearly handed him a single peach, round and impossibly ripe, still warm like it had just been pulled from sunlight rather than a branch. 

He always woke up right after that. Nothing more happened. It didn't need to.

He didn't think much of it, not really. After all, dreams rarely made sense, and he'd learned a long time ago not to chase meaning where there probably wasn't any. Still, on the fourth morning, he found himself mentioning it to Sunoo over coffee in the hospital break room, mostly out of the strange, itching need to say it out loud to someone.

"I keep having this dream," he said, staring into his cup. "Same one, a few nights now. There's a garden, and someone hands me a peach. That's it. That's the whole dream."

Sunoo lowered his own cup slowly, staring at him with an expression somewhere between disbelief and barely contained excitement. "A peach?"

"Yeah."

"Ripe? Whole? Someone handed it to you directly?"

Jungwon blinked at him. "Yes? Why does that matter?"

Sunoo set his coffee down entirely now, leaning forward like Jungwon had just handed him the best gossip of the year. "Do you seriously not know what that is?"

"It's a dream about fruit?"

Honestly, Sunoo never wanted to face palmed himself, but hearing the dumb answer Jungwon gave him got him a reason to. 

"It's a taemong." When Jungwon only stared blankly back at him, Sunoo let out a groan of disbelief. "A conception dream. My grandmother used to talk about these constantly. Fruit, animals, sometimes fire or water, show up in a dream right before someone in the family finds out they're having a baby. Whole ripe fruit like that, handed directly to you? That's about as classic as it gets."

Jungwon huffed, unimpressed, turning his cup slowly between his hands. "You can't be serious."

"I'm completely serious. It's not just some old wives' thing.  Half the moms I know still swear by it. My cousin dreamed about catching a fish barehanded, and two weeks later, she found out she was pregnant. My aunt dreamed about a dragon curling around her arm and had twins."

"That's confirmation bias," Jungwon said flatly. "People remember the dreams that match and forget the ones that don't."

"Sure, sure, very scientific of you, Dr. Yang." Sunoo waved a hand, entirely unbothered by the skepticism. "But you're not the one who usually has these dreams, that's the funny part. It's not always the mother. Sometimes it's the father, or a grandparent, sometimes even a close friend if the dream's strong enough. But if it's the father dreaming it..." He trailed off, grinning now, clearly enjoying himself far too much. "That usually means it's already happened. The universe is just running a little behind on paperwork."

Jungwon rolled his eyes, though something in his chest had gone strangely tight at the words, an unease he couldn't quite explain rationally. "I don't believe in that stuff."

"You don't have to believe in it for it to be true," Sunoo said, entirely too pleased with himself. "That's kind of the whole point of a folktale, isn’t it?"

Jungwon didn't have a response for that. He just sat there, turning his coffee cup slowly in his hands, telling himself it was nothing. Probably just stress, exhaustion, and an overactive mind conjuring strange images after too many back to back shifts. He didn't have a girlfriend anymore. There was no one in his life the dream could reasonably be about.

He didn't let himself finish that thought all the way through.

"It's nothing," he said again, mostly to convince himself. "Just a weird dream."

Sunoo shrugged, tossing his empty cup toward the trash with practiced ease, clearly unconvinced but willing to let it go. "Sure. Just a weird dream."

Jungwon didn't think much more of it after that. Not consciously, anyway. But the image stayed with him regardless, lingering somewhere quiet at the edges of his following days.  A garden, a peach, and a stranger's hands offering him something he hadn't known, yet, that he was already holding.

.

.

.

The clinic wasn't one you'd been to before.

A coworker had recommended it months ago, so excited about the obstetrics department that you'd written the name down without a second thought. It was near campus, near enough to squeeze in an appointment between lectures without sacrificing half your day to traffic.

You wish. That was it. Comfort. Distance from your former life. A doctor who didn’t know your story. Somebody who would see one more first time patient. That's all.

You sat, one leg bouncing under your chair, fingertips tracing the edge of the bracelet wrapped loosely about your wrist. You'd practiced the appointment on the drive over. If they asked about the father, you would tell them as you have been rehearsing it in your mind. 

We're not together.

If they pressed further, then—

I'd rather not discuss it.

Simple.

"Y/L/N?"

A nurse called your name, and you followed her down a hallway that smelled like antiseptic and lavender hand soap, into a small exam room with a poster of a fetal development chart on the wall that you deliberately didn't look at too long.

"Dr. Yang will be with you in just a moment," the nurse said, and left you there with your paper gown and your racing thoughts.

You didn't think anything of the name. Yang wasn't uncommon. You sat on the edge of the exam table, hands folded in your lap, running through the questions you wanted to ask — due dates, next steps, whether the exhaustion you'd been feeling was normal or something to worry about.

Then the door opened.

"Good afternoon, I'm Dr. Yang Jung—"

The sentence didn't finish. It just stopped, cut clean in half, the way a record scratches when the needle's yanked away too fast.

You looked up. And your whole body went cold.

He remained frozen in the doorway, one hand still curled around the handle like he'd forgotten how to let go of it. The patient chart in his other hand slipped slightly in his grip, not enough to fall, just enough that you noticed his fingers had momentarily stopped remembering their one job. Recognition moved across his face almost instantly, undisguised, unrehearsed, nothing like the practiced composure a doctor was supposed to walk into a room with.

The overhead lights were full on him now. Clinical, unfriendly, not like the dim gold haze of that bar a month ago. No booze to take the edge off. No shadows to hide the details And you couldn’t miss him. Same face. Same eyes that witnessed you break against a hotel room door. Quiet and searching, in a way that had seemed to him that night the only honest thing left in the world. Except the face was on a man in a white coat. A stethoscope draped around his neck. His name stitched in careful navy thread over his heart.

Yang Jungwon.

Neither of you said anything. The seconds stretched, thin and unbearable, the fluorescent hum of the room suddenly deafening in the silence. As if hoping he was mistaken. He wasn't.

"...You?"

It barely qualified as a word. More breath than voice. Your mouth had gone completely dry. The sentence never got a chance to finish. Neither of you needed it to.

You weren't doing much better. Your hands had grown cold, and sat in your lap, fingers pressed together hard enough to leave imprints. The paper gown crackled a little with each too-quick breath. You’d spent a month talking yourself into believing that night belonged to some other you, reckless and grieving and gone by morning. And here he was, a white coat, a stethoscope around his neck, his name stitched over his heart, undeniably real, undeniably the same man.

Neither of you said anything. 

His gaze dropped. Not to the chart. To your left hand. The engagement ring was gone. Then, almost involuntarily, his eyes moved lower. To the file tucked beneath his arm. He looked at your name. Gestational age. Estimated conception date. The room became impossibly quiet. His jaw tightened. Not because he was calculating. Because he already had. He didn't need the dates. He remembered the night. The chart simply confirmed what he already knew.

And now you’re naked between them, covered in marks you don’t even remember getting, and your body is still humming from whatever the hell the three of you did.

“Morning already?” Shoko’s voice is raspy, sleepy, right against your ear. She doesn’t move her head, just presses a lazy kiss to the side of your neck like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “You were so cute last night. All whiny and desperate.”

Your face burns. “Shut up,” you mutter, you try to sit up, only for Hange’s arm to tighten around you.

Hange makes a pleased sound and nuzzles closer, lips brushing your shoulder. “Mmm, don’t move yet. You feel too good right here.” Their hand slides up, palm cupping one of your breasts like they own it, thumb lazily circling your already hard nipple. “God, you were loud. Kept begging for more even when you were shaking.”

You shove at their wrist, but there’s no real force behind it. Your body still remembers the feeling too clearly: hands everywhere, mouths on your skin, the way they worked together like they’d done this before. The way you came so hard you saw stars and probably screamed both their names.

“I don’t… I don’t remember much,” you admit, hating how small you sound. “Just that it felt… really fucking good.”

Shoko chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your neck. She lifts her head just enough to look at you, brown eyes half-lidded and amused. “Of course it did. You came three times on Hange’s fingers alone before I even got my mouth on you. Then you rode my face like you were trying to break the bed.” She smirks. “You hate us so much, but your pussy didn’t get the memo.”

Hange laughs, bright and loud even though it’s barely morning. They prop themselves up on one elbow, messy hair falling into their face as they grin down at you. “She kept saying ‘I hate you both’ right until she was crying from how good it felt. It was adorable.” Their free hand trails down your stomach, fingertips brushing the sensitive skin just above where you’re still sore. “Want me to remind you? I can be gentle this time.”

You slap their hand away, but your thighs press together on instinct. “Don’t. This was a mistake. I was drunk, you two are… you two.”

Shoko just hums, nipping at your earlobe. “Drunk enough to beg us to fuck you together, but not drunk enough to forget how many times you said ‘please’.” She shifts, pressing her body flush against your side, one hand sliding down to rest on your hip. “And look at you now. Still wet just thinking about it.”

You hate that she’s right. Your body is already reacting again, nipples tight, pussy soaked despite the headache and the mortification.

Hange leans in, kissing the corner of your mouth, voice dropping into something softer but still teasing. “We can pretend it never happened if you want. Or…” Their fingers trace lazy circles on your thigh. “We can do it again while you’re sober. See if you still hate us when I eat you out and Shoko’s sitting on your face.”

Your breath catches, you should push them both off, you should grab your clothes (wherever they are) and get the hell out of here. But the way they’re both touching you, the memories flickering back in flashes: Hange’s eager mouth between your legs while Shoko kissed you stupid, the way they laughed when you came so hard you couldn’t speak…

“I… I need a minute,” you whisper, voice shaky.

Shoko smiles against your skin. “Take all the minutes you need, baby. We’re not going anywhere.”

Hange just grins wider, pressing another kiss to your shoulder. “Yeah. And next time you wake up between us, maybe you’ll remember every single second of how good we made you feel.”

You close your eyes, trying to ignore how your body is already betraying you again, thighs slick and heart racing. You hate them. You really, really do. But you don’t get up, before you can think if it’s a good decision or not, you lean into Hange’s touch, letting their hand roam your body, testing how your body reacts to them. 

“You’re sensitive, right?” Hange asks, pinching your poor nipple before soothing the pain with her tongue. You whimper in response, nodding a little and turning your face to Shoko, who’s just watching the scene. “It’s alright, we’ll be gentle.”

“Talk about you,” Shoko adds. “I love seeing her dumb and fucked out. Look, can’t even pretend she hates it.”

You try to glare at her, but it comes out more like a pathetic little pout. “Shut up, Shoko…”

She just smirks and grabs your chin with two fingers, forcing you to look at her. “Make me.”

Before you can snap back, Hange’s hand slides down between your legs. Their fingers are careful, tracing through your folds like they’re memorizing every inch. You’re embarrassingly wet already and Hange lets out a delighted sound when they feel it.

“So slick for us,” Hange whispers, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. Two fingers slide inside you slowly, stretching you just right. They curl gently, stroking that spot that makes your thighs shake. “That’s it… just relax for me.”

You moan before you can stop it, back arching a little into their touch. Hange keeps the pace slow and sweet, fucking you with steady thrusts while their thumb brushes your clit in lazy circles.

Shoko watches for a second longer, then leans in close. “Open your mouth.”

You hesitate, breath hitching. She narrows her eyes. “I said open.”

Your lips part on instinct. Shoko pushes two fingers past them, pressing down on your tongue. She slides them deeper, to the back of your throat and you gag softly around them.

“Good girl,” she says, voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Suck.”

“Mmph!” You do, hollowing your cheeks, tongue swirling around her fingers while Hange keeps fingering you. The contrast is dizzying. Hange’s touch is so soft and caring, crooning quiet praises against your neck. “You’re doing so well, darling… taking my fingers so nicely. Feel how wet you are? All for us.”

Shoko twists her fingers in your mouth, pushing them in and out slowly. “Look at you. Hating us all year and now you’re drooling on my fingers like a desperate slut.” She pulls them out for a second, strings of spit connecting them to your lips, then spits directly into your open mouth. The warm spit lands on your tongue and she immediately pushes her fingers back in, spreading it around. “Swallow.”

You do, whimpering around her digits. The humiliation burns hot in your chest, but it only makes you wetter. Hange feels it and moans softly, speeding up their fingers just a little.

“She likes that,” Hange says happily, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “Her pussy just clenched so hard around me.”

“Of course she does,” Shoko sneers, spitting into your mouth again before feeding you her fingers once more. “She acts all tough but she’s just a needy hole who wants to be used by the girls she pretends to hate.”

Hange nuzzles your neck, still fingering you with that gentle, perfect rhythm. “Don’t listen to her too much, okay? You’re so pretty like this… so good for us.” Their thumb keeps rubbing your clit in soft circles, building the pleasure higher and higher while Shoko keeps fucking your mouth with her fingers, occasionally pulling back to spit on your tongue again.

“F-fuck, Hange… Hange please nghh” 

You’re shaking between them, moans muffled around Shoko’s digits, hips rocking weakly to meet Hange’s hand. Every time Shoko spits, you feel yourself clench harder around Hange’s fingers. The mix of Hange’s soft care and Shoko’s mean words is driving you insane.

Hange kisses your cheek tenderly. “You can come whenever you want, sweetheart. We’ve got you.”

Shoko laughs low and cruel, pushing her fingers deeper into your throat. “Yeah. Come on our fingers like the pathetic little bitch you are. We both know you’re dying to.”

Your eyes water, but you can’t stop the building heat. Hange’s fingers curl just right, Shoko’s spit-slick fingers keep sliding over your tongue and you’re trapped between soft praise and sharp degradation. You hate them. You hate how good it feels.

“M’close! S’close ah!” You’re shaking hard, back arched off the bed as the orgasm crashes closer. Your hand weakly pushes at Hange’s wrist, but they just keep going, fingers curling deep inside you with that same gentle but steady rhythm.

“Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” Hange murmurs right against your ear, voice so soft and sweet it makes your pussy ache. “You’re doing so good for me. I’ve got you, I promise.”

Before you can even catch your breath, Shoko yanks her fingers out of your mouth with a wet pop, strings of spit dripping down your chin. She wipes them on your cheek like it’s nothing, then suddenly moves, shoving one of your legs up and out of the way.

“Enough of that soft shit,” she says. “My turn.”

She climbs between your thighs fast, lining her wet pussy right up against yours. The second her slick folds slide against you, you gasp. Shoko doesn’t wait. She grabs your hips hard, nails digging in and starts scissoring you with rough rolls of her hips. The friction is brutal and perfect at the same time. Her clit drags hard against yours with every snap, wet sounds filling the room as she grinds down without mercy. It’s so much harder than Hange’s gentle fingers.

“F-fuck… Ah! Shoko!” you cry out.

“Yeah? That’s what I thought,” Shoko sneers, hips slamming against you harder. “Look at you, this sloppy little cunt is dripping all over me.” She grinds in tight circles, making sure your clits rub together with every move. “Bet you’ve been fantasizing about this while you were busy hating us, huh?”

Hange stays right by your side, one arm wrapped around your shoulders to keep you close. Their free hand cups your breast, squeezing gently before rolling your nipple between their fingers. “You’re so beautiful right now… taking everything she gives you. Such a good girl.”

You moan loudly, the mix of Shoko’s rough scissoring and Hange’s sweet touches making your head spin. Hange leans in and kisses you, tongue sliding against yours while their thumb keeps playing with your nipple, pinching and tugging just enough to make you whimper into their mouth.

Shoko laughs breathlessly, never slowing down. She fucks you harder, hips snapping so the wet slap of skin on skin echoes. “Fuck, you’re soaking me. Feel that? That’s how much your body wants this even if your stupid mouth keeps saying you hate us.”

Hange pulls back from the kiss just enough to speak, lips brushing yours. “You’re doing amazing, darling. Look how pretty you sound when you moan like that.” They kiss you again, softer this time, while their hand keeps massaging your tits, switching from one to the other, thumbs brushing over your hard nipples in slow circles.

You can’t think straight. Shoko is scissoring you so hard it almost hurts, her clit grinding relentlessly against yours, sending sharp sparks of pleasure through your whole body with every rough thrust. Your hips jerk up to meet her on instinct, chasing more of that brutal friction.

“Shit, too much, t-too much ah!” you gasp, but your legs spread wider anyway.

“Too much?” Shoko mocks, leaning down to bite your shoulder. “Then why are you fucking yourself back on me like a desperate whore?” She speeds up even more, grinding down with mean snaps of her hips that make your clit throb.

Hange kisses your cheek, then your jaw, then down to your neck. “It’s okay if it’s a lot, sweetheart. You can take it, mm? You’re so strong and so pretty when you let go for us.” Their mouth finds your nipple again, sucking gently while their fingers keep playing with the other one, soft and loving like they’re trying to balance out Shoko’s roughness.

You’re crying out with every hard grind from Shoko, body trembling between them. The pleasure is building so fast it scares you. Hange’s gentle kisses and praises keep melting you while Shoko’s mean words and brutal scissoring push you right to the edge.

“Come on,” Shoko growls, hips slamming harder. “Cum for me, you pathetic slut. Make a mess all over my pussy.”

Hange nuzzles your temple, voice warm and encouraging. “Whenever you’re ready, baby.”

Your whole body locks up, a broken moan ripping from your throat as the orgasm hits you like a wave. You shake violently between them, pussy pulsing hard against Shoko’s as you cum, slick coating both of you.

Shoko doesn’t stop scissoring you through it, riding out every twitch and whimper with that same rough pace. “That’s it. Good little bitch. Look at you soaking the sheets.”

Hange keeps kissing you through the whole thing, soft little pecks on your lips, your cheeks and your forehead, while their hands stay gentle on your tits. “There you go… such a good girl. I’m so proud of you. You did so well.”

You’re panting and wrecked when it finally starts to fade, body limp and trembling. Shoko slows her hips but doesn’t pull away completely, still grinding slow and lazy against your oversensitive clit.

Hange smiles down at you, brushing sweaty hair from your face. “See? You’re okay. We’ve got you.”

Shoko smirks, voice still mean but a little breathless. “Pathetic how fast you came. But cute.”

You can only whimper, caught between hating them and already wanting more. Your whole body feels heavy and way too sensitive. Shoko finally slows her hips, giving one last lazy grind against your soaked pussy before she pulls back with a wet sound that makes your face burn.

“Fuck… that was messy,” she mutters, but her voice isn’t as sharp as before. She flops down on your other side, chest rising and falling fast with a thin sheen of sweat on her skin.

Hange is already moving, gentle as ever. They press soft kisses all over your face, little pecks on your forehead and the tip of your nose. “You did so good, sweetheart,” they whisper. “So pretty when you let go like that. I’m really proud of you.”

You whimper quietly, eyes still half-closed. Your thighs are trembling and sticky, and the ache between your legs is deep now, but in a good way. Hange notices right away. They reach over to the nightstand and grab a bottle of water that must have been left there last night.

“Here, drink a little,” they say softly, helping you lift your head. You take small sips, the cool water soothing your dry throat. Hange wipes the corner of your mouth with their thumb when a drop escapes. “Good girl. Just like that.”

Shoko watches the whole thing with that lazy smirk, but she doesn’t say anything mean this time. Instead she rolls onto her side and reaches for the blanket that got kicked to the foot of the bed. She pulls it up over the three of you, tucking it around your shoulders with surprising care.

“Don’t get used to this soft shit,” she says, but there’s no bite in it. She scoots closer anyway, pressing her body against your back so you’re sandwiched between them again, this time all warm and safe. 

Hange smiles at her over your shoulder, then turns back to you. “You okay? Not too sore?” Their hand slides down gently, not between your legs, just resting on your hip, thumb rubbing slow circles into your skin. “If anything hurts, tell me. I can get a warm cloth or something.”

You shake your head a little. “I’m… fine. Just tired. And kinda embarrassed still.”

Shoko snorts softly against the back of your neck. “Embarrassed? After you came so hard you almost cried? Cute.” But then she presses a kiss right below your ear, surprisingly gentle. “You were hot though. Really hot.”

Hange chuckles quietly and leans in to kiss your lips, no tongue this time. “Don’t be embarrassed, darling. We loved every second, you were perfect.” They pull back and brush your sweaty hair away from your face. “Want me to rub your back a little? Or just cuddle? Whatever you need.”

The warm and safe feeling from a minute ago is already slipping away. Your skin feels sticky and used, your thighs still slick and every little ache between your legs reminds you exactly what just happened. You feel dirty. Really dirty. Like you let the two people you’ve spent months complaining about turn you into something pathetic and needy. Your stomach twists. You shift uncomfortably under the blanket, trying to pull away a little, but Hange’s arm is still draped over you and Shoko’s body is pressed close against your back.

“I… I feel gross,” you whisper, voice cracking. You can’t even look at them. “This was so stupid. I let you both… and now I just feel dirty. Like I shouldn’t have done any of that.”

The words hang in the air for a second. Hange sits up a bit, their messy hair falling into their eyes as they look down at you with a worried expression. “Hey, hey, no. Come here, sweetheart.” They gently pull you closer, wrapping both arms around you so your head rests against their chest. Their hand strokes your hair in soothing motions. “You’re not dirty at all. Not even a little. You were beautiful. You let yourself feel good, that’s all. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

You shake your head against their skin, eyes stinging. “But it’s you two. I’ve hated you both for so long and then I just… spread my legs and let you fuck me like that. I feel cheap.”

Shoko lets out a quiet sigh from behind you. She doesn’t move away. Instead she slides her arm tighter around your waist, her chin resting on your shoulder. Her voice is still a little raspy, but the mean edge is gone. 

“You’re not cheap. Stop that shit right now.” She presses a kiss to the side of your neck, surprisingly soft. “Yeah, we’ve been assholes to each other all year. But last night? This morning? That wasn’t you being pathetic. That was you finally letting go with people who wanted you just as bad.”

You sniffle, still feeling that gross twist in your chest. “I came so hard I couldn’t even think straight… while you were calling me a slut and spitting in my mouth. God, I let you do all that.”

Hange cups your face with both hands, tilting it up so you have to look at them. Their eyes are warm and serious, no teasing grin this time. “Listen to me, okay? You didn’t ‘let’ us do anything you didn’t want. Every moan, every time you pushed back against us, every ‘please’… that was you choosing it. And it was hot as hell, but more than that, it was honest. You’re allowed to want things that feel dirty. It doesn’t make you bad or gross. It just makes you human.”

Shoko’s fingers trace slow circles on your stomach under the blanket. “And for the record,” she says quietly, “I only call you that stuff because I know you like it. Not because I think less of you. If it ever stops feeling good, I’ll shut up. But don’t lie there feeling ashamed like you did something wrong. You looked fucking incredible falling apart between us.”

You bite your lip, tears threatening to spill. “I just… I don’t know how to feel normal after this. My body still feels all… used.”

Hange kisses your forehead, then your temple, then the corner of your eye where a tear almost falls. “Then let us help you feel clean again. We can take a shower together if you want. Or I can run a bath. Shoko’ll wash your hair and I’ll massage your shoulders, whatever you need. We want to take care of you.”

Shoko nods against your shoulder. “You’re not gross, idiot. You’re just a girl who came really hard with two people who are crazy about her. That’s not dirty. That’s lucky.”

Hange smiles gently and presses another kiss to your lips. “We’ve got you. Both of us. You don’t have to figure everything out right now. Just let us hold you a little longer, okay? You’re safe here. And you’re wanted exactly like this.”

You stay quiet for a moment, letting their words sink in. The gross feeling is still there, but it’s smaller now, pushed back by Hange’s warm hands in your hair and Shoko’s steady arm around your waist.

“…Okay,” you finally mumble, voice small. “Maybe the shower sounds nice.”

Hange’s face lights up with that bright, gentle smile. “Yeah? Then let’s go. I’ll make the water just how you like it.”

Shoko gives your waist one last squeeze before sitting up. “I’ll change the sheets so you have something clean to come back to. We can talk about it more later, or fuck it out, whatever you prefer.”

You let out a watery laugh despite yourself. Hange helps you sit up, keeping an arm around you the whole time and Shoko leans in to press a surprisingly tender kiss to your cheek.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ─────

      Sweaty bodies clashed and ground into one another, the air palpable and damp. The scent of cheap liquor and salty sweat covered foreheads filled your nose. You had no idea how you wound up in the middle of a packed dance floor, your friends had practically drug you out of your bed to get you here. When they got the invite for an infamous ‘Yeager party’, they made it pretty much impossible for you to say no. Telling you how it was gonna be the “craziest night of your life”

“You’re fucking insane if you don’t go”.

“Y/n you really need to loosen up more”.

blah blah blah. 

    As much as you loved your friends, the idea of drinking in a frat house with bodies cluttered mindlessly over each other made your stomach dip in the worst way imaginable. You’d much rather stay home and delve head first into the fictional worlds you indulged in through your favorite books, your almost comically large t-shirt on and a glass of wine filled far too close to the brim on your nightstand. You never judged them for their interests in partying and finding a decently not ugly guy to hook up with for the night. You had no room to judge. You stayed home and read books about gay fairies fucking each other, you and your friends were just two opposite sides of the same wanting coin. 

     You wished you had their confidence, their ability to talk freely to even the furthest of strangers. Maybe it was liquor induced, or maybe it was a concept just beyond your grasp of understanding. Regardless, you found yourself shuffling around Eren Yeager’s crowded living room anyways, the music so loud you could feel the bass in your toes through the rubber soles of your shoes. You’d lost sight of your friends, the unfamiliarity of the faces around you making your heart rate quicken and your vision feel slightly disoriented. 

    You caught a glimpse of the kitchen just beyond the sea of bodies, looking significantly less inhabited than the living room. You made a break for it, quickly ducking under raised arms and squeezing in between dancing pairs. The flickering light of the poorly hung neon sign that was for some reason in the kitchen, felt like a light at the end of a tunnel of agony. You finally broke through the crowd, the air that wafted around you significantly cooler than the air just feet prior. You made it to the entryway of the kitchen, and in your rushed desperation, you didn’t notice the person you were about to hurl yourself into until it was too late. 

     Your nose slammed into their rigid chest, their arms reaching out instinctively to steady you. You looked up to see the person you’ve fully embarrassed yourself in front of, your stomach twisted even harder when your gaze landed on him. Armin Arlert. The lanky, quiet best friend of Eren Yeager. 

Now, just because you didn’t go to these parties, doesn’t mean you didn’t know who he was. Of course you did, his essays had been published over and over in the student papers, his academic status seemingly the complete opposite of his best friend. You actually found yourself a fan of his writing style, which made this interaction all the more gut wrenching. 

     “Shit, you okay?” He asked, his hands still wrapped around your biceps, his fingers so long the tips of them met with room to spare. You nodded and grasped at your nose, having felt something wet hit the palm of your hand. You already knew it was blood from the way you could feel your pulse throbbing between your nostrils.

     “No yeah, I'm good. Sorry…” you rushed out. Your unsteady legs carried you over to the kitchen counter to grab a fistful of paper towels to press to your nose. He turned around to watch you, his eyes widening in a panic as he saw the red drip down your wrist. He rushed over and grabbed a few paper towels himself, dabbing the blood trailing down onto your forearm. His movements were so gentle you could barely feel them, his voice earnest and clearly concerned. “Holy shit, no you’re not….fuck—did I break your nose?”

     You shook your head quickly, still applying pressure with the paper towels. Your voice coming out muffled and nasally and deeply embarrassed. “No, no. I don't think so…seriously, it's fine.” 

     He continued to dab and wipe at the remnants of blood on your arm, letting out a troubled huff at your words and gently shaking his head in protest. He glanced down the hallway attached to the kitchen for a moment, and then returned his gaze to you, his pupils so dilated you could barely see the pale blue that sat there. He placed one of his hands on the small of your back, sweeping you gently towards the hallway. You could feel his fingers trembling.

 “Here, at least let me help you fix this. I think we might have something in the bathroom that will help….maybe…” he said anxiously, using his body as some kind of shield as you weaved your way through the people that walked freely through the house as if it were their own. 

    The two of you made your way to the bathroom. You sat on the closed seat of the toilet, still clutching the now red stained paper towels to your nose firmly as he closed the bathroom door behind him. Your shoulders dropped a little at the way the loud music became significantly muffled, the loudest sound in the room became Armin frantically rummaging through the medicine cabinet above the sink. “Tilt your head up…” he said softly as he grabbed an instant ice pack from the cabinet, his eyes flooded with unease as he hesitantly pattered over to you. 

   You tilted your head up, grimacing at the feeling of clotted blood sliding down the back of your throat. Armin took the cold pack in his hands, cracking it swiftly for the chemical reaction to take effect. Despite your mind having been quite preoccupied with the burning ache of your nose, you still couldn’t help but notice the way the tendons in his hand flexed when he cracked the ice pack. You cursed yourself for being even the slightest bit perverted while he’s damn near having an anxiety attack. 

The ice pack soon began to freeze, and Armin placed it gently on the bridge of your nose, the soothing sensation dulling the burning pulse. “Keep that there with your head tilted up, try and pinch it in place.” He said quickly before he turned  around to grab you a wad of clean toilet paper to replace your dampening handful of paper towel.

 You couldn’t even speak, too horrified by your own fuck up. You just nodded silently, pinching the ice pack against the bridge of your nose. Armin handed you the toilet paper and you brought it to your bleeding nostrils, tossing the old paper towel into the trash can next to the toilet. 

Armin sat down on the edge of the bathtub next to the toilet, his long legs made his knees come up to his chest from sitting so low to the ground. He ran a hand through his well kept hair, dropping his forehead to his palm. “Leave it to me to break someone’s nose without even trying…” he said softly, a self-deprecating tone laced in his words. 

You continued to hold the ice pack to your bridge, your head tilted upwards so you’re not able to make eye contact with him as you spoke. Not that you’d’ve been able to anyways. “I seriously don’t think it's broken, the ice pack is helping.” You breathed out. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye and watched the way his shoulders visibly relaxed at your reassurance. “Good, good. I’m really sorry.” He muttered quietly, his voice forced itself into a kind tone despite the inefficiency he felt humming in his chest. 

You shook your head as much as you could with the ice pack still pressed to your bridge. “It’s not your fault, i was the one who ran into you at full speed like a fucking lunatic.” 

Armin let out a breath of a laugh, shaking his head back softly in protest. “I mean you were clearly on a mission, it's my fault for standing there.” He said with the slightest curl of a smile forming. You let out a nasally giggle back, cringing at the way you feel a small gush of blood come out of your left nostril. You tried to think of something lighthearted to say to ease the stress that pooled in the air, but Armin spoke up again. “I’m uh… I’m Armin. I don't think I’ve ever seen you here before…”

You nodded your head softly, leaning your head forward a little bit now to get the last drops of blood out of your nose, the bleeding subsiding. “Yeah, I know.” You spit out, rebuking yourself for sounding so eager. 

You prayed that he took it as you acknowledging the way he’s never seen you instead of you admitting you knew his name already. “I um, yeah I’ve never been here before. My friends were invited and kinda insisted I tag along…” you said in an attempt to recover, trying to make your tone more nonchalant. 

Armin's eyes widened as you spoke. “Oh, were you looking for them? Should we go try and find them for you?” He asked, genuine concern in his tone. You quickly shook your head, waving your hand lazily in protest. You desperately tried to ignore the way your stomach warmed simply from him saying ‘we’. God, you seriously cannot be this down and out. 

“No, no. I mean, I don't know where they are…but I wasn’t looking for them, I'm sure they’re making themselves at home.” You began, a huff escaping you at the end. “I was actually trying to get into the kitchen to get some air. Crowded parties aren't necessarily my thing, if you couldn’t tell…” You said jokingly, motioning your hands over yourself in the state you were in. Armin let out a friendly chuckle, nodding his head in agreement. “I feel that, I don’t think I’d go to these things if they weren't in my literal house—how’s your nose?” He cut himself off to ask.

You took the ice pack off of your nose and set it on the edge of the sink. The wad of toilet paper he’d handed you was barely stained in comparison to the paper towels you’d had previously. The ache in between your eyes had seemed to subside for the most part, your head finding its way back to its resting state. 

You blinked a few times, wiggling your face a little to see if there’s any pain. That elicited a snort from Armin, a nauseously sweet smile creeping onto his face. “It’s fine….I think. Definitely the most interesting thing that’ll happen to me tonight, that's for sure. Maybe even the most interesting thing to happen during this party as a whole. ” 

Armin let out a humorous groan as he stretched his arms above his head. The way he was sitting on the edge of the bathtub was undoubtedly straining his back. “They’re so boring, aren’t they? I mean, it's just the same shit over and over. The same songs every time, same drinks, same people hooking up in the same corners.” He said with undisputed authenticity, an intrigued smile flashing on your face for a moment. 

You let out a hum of understanding, leaning back slightly against the back of the toilet. You were unable to help the way your thoughts started to spill out of you. “I know right? I read this one book a few years back, and it made the mundane cycles of human life almost painfully obvious..the way we all tend to relive the same moments over and over again…”

Armin sat and watched you speak, his eyes flashed with excitement when he realized that you must be well read. He noticed the way your throat bobbed when you’d pause mid sentence, the way you spoke with real intention and poise. He soaked in every word, digesting them like the most comforting of meals, tasting your sincerity on his own tongue.

 After a while, you realized that you’d been basically vomiting your opinions of the human experience all over someone who just wanted to help you with a bloody nose. An insecure twinge budded in between your ribs, making you look around the bathroom for anything to exchange small talk about instead. Armin wasn’t interested in that in the slightest, your eloquently spoken words oozed with merit, the depth of the conversation felt almost sacred to him. 

Like you, he didn’t experience conversations like this often. I mean, he lived in a frat house for fucks sake. The deepest conversation he’d get here is an argument over what liquor is the easiest to drink copious amounts of without ending your night in a hospital, or community bitching about a certain professor's excruciating deadlines. 

Your gaze was snapped back to him when he began to speak, reflecting the same passion you had in your tone back to you. The most full-hearted of smiles present when he did. “No you’re so right, it does change something in you once you see it. I’m just…I hope I don't come across offensive when I say this, but I wasn’t expecting that. I can’t say that I’ve ever had a conversation at any of these parties that was anything below surface level, it's…..nice. Nice to feel like someone else is speaking a language that I actually understand.” 

Your gaze shifted to the way he used his hands to speak alongside his voice, the clear zeal he felt while talking about his interests made your eyes brighten at him. The somewhat stiff and jittery conversation quickly transformed into something thoroughly fruitful, despite it taking place under the eerily flickering light of the shivery bathroom. Your voices colliding made the space warm and inviting nonetheless.

 You talked about psychology, poetry, fiction, beaming at each other over your shared interests. The conversation flowed so organically that you completely forgot why you even came to the bathroom to begin with, the barely there throb of your nose not even beginning to cross your mind. It’d been very congenial thus far, Armin was far too scared to ruin the depth he felt by attempting to flirt with you poorly. Although, he did want to. Very badly, actually. 

Your ability to remain completely open-minded, the syrupy warmth you have when you laugh. The way you began to reflect his own thoughts back to him before he even got to speak them himself. All of these being things he found painfully attractive. He found himself having to rip his gaze from your bottom lip while you were pondering a question he’d ask, not wanting to seem too forward by keeping it there. He didn't want to be delusional, he didn't want to assume anything. But what he absolutely did want was to continue to talk to you in that bathroom for as long as you’d allow him to, that he knew very clearly. 

And it's not like the attraction was one-sided. No, not at all. You found yourself drawn deep into the way he spoke, the attention to detail he had when describing something. His words breathed life into every topic. He was clearly deeply intelligent, but mind blowingly humble at the same time. Not a single word rolling off of his tongue with pompous intention. You felt your stomach pool with a sort of dramatic nervousness when he would lean his chin on his hand while you spoke, his thumb toying under his bottom lip while he drank your words in completely. 

You couldn’t help but wonder if the way you felt glued to your seat was reciprocated, if his fingers twitched at the thought of running them against the skin of your knuckles like yours did for him.

 You felt crazy for wondering those things since you’d only just met him tonight. You told yourself that you clearly have been reading far too many romance novels, that those fictional scenes were fictional for a reason. Despite the doubt, you didn't try to ignore the magnetism you felt. You let your bones hum from him moving any part of himself even slightly closer to you. You knew the feeling would be fleeting anyways, you weren’t gonna ruin the blip of time where it’s present just to forsake yourself. 

The two of you tumbled between topics for what felt like brief hours, the essay he had recently published in the newspaper being one of them. You had to pretend that you hadn’t already read it, your eyebrows raising a little as a facade when he’d explained it to you. “That must’ve taken you a long time, no? I know if it were me I'd have a million rough drafts before I trusted my abilities enough to actually publish anything.” 

Armin let out a heavy chuckle, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “You wanna see something crazy?”

His question was met with your quickly nodding head and he swiftly stood up from the edge of the bathtub, stretching his legs out a little. He waved his hand towards himself, motioning for you to follow him. Excitement pooled in your gut as you stood up from your spot in the bathroom that the two of you had made into some kind of absurd sanctuary over the past two hours. You followed him as he walked deeper down the length of the hallway, grabbing the knob of the very last door on the right and turning it.

You walked into the room that you quickly realized was his bedroom, a schoolgirl-esque giddiness arose in you at the mere thought of being there. You quickly scanned the room, noticing the way his bed was neatly made. A plethora of soft blankets laid out across the comforter in a way that made the bed look just as inviting as he seemed to be. Your eyes flickered to the bookshelf that leaned up against the wall next to the desk in the corner, the shelves of it blooming with literature. The only light in the room comes from a large overhead lamp. It stood over his desk that was littered with piles and piles of copy paper printed top to bottom with various sized paragraphs. Each stack stood at least an inch thick, some even double that. Armin let out a breathy chuff as he pointed at the papers all over the desk. “Those are all of my rough drafts. Every last paper on that desk is me trying to prepare for that essay.” 

You walked over to the desk and ran your thumb up the side of one of the stacks, the sound of the papers fluttering against each lasting for at least 10 full seconds. Your chest warmed at the visual representation of his dedication, though his passion was clear even before. Armin walked over to the end of his bed and plopped down, a sigh escaping him as he landed. He watched you examine his room, noticing how your eyes almost glowed when you ran your forefinger over the spines of his books that sat neatly on his shelf.

 You had recognized a good chunk of the titles, although he was unfortunately missing the borderline pornographic fantasy books that ran rampant on your shelf at home. You wondered to yourself if he had any romance novels hidden under his bed like the average man's playboy magazine,  the idea made you giggle under your breath. 

“What’s the laugh about? Is my collection not impressive enough for you?” He teased, his fingers tapping nervously at his knees as he watched you walk around his room like you should’ve always been there. You shook your head as you turned around to face him, not making direct eye contact but still noticing the way his eyes trailed even your smallest of movements. “It’s very impressive, actually…” you said honestly, a candied smile on your lips. 

You walked over to the edge of the bed and sat down next to him, leaving an arms length of space between the two of you so you didn’t come off presuming. You let out a deep sigh, closing your eyes and letting the cozy silence of his room soothe you into the ease you’d been craving since the moment you stepped foot in the house. “Why would someone ever pick that over this…” you said softly as you nodded your head once towards the door, referencing the party that began to thump down the hallway. Armin cocked a brow, smiling boyishly at you. “What’s this?” 

You let out a breathy chuckle, keeping your eyes closed as you spoke. “Silence….ease. Meaningful conversation that doesn’t have any destination.” You began, subconsciously leaning back and laying your spine flat against the plush of his blanket covered mattress. Your eyes remained closed as you continued to talk, the loss of the sense making it easier to speak in the way you’d  wanted to. “I mean, don't get me wrong… I enjoy getting drunk as much as the next college student. I’d never frown upon anyone who really loves the energy out there, I'm sure it brings the right people a sense of community almost…”. A deep breath.

 “All anyone wants at the end of the day is to be seen without reprimand, to be accepted down to their bones. If dancing your heart out next to someone you’ll maybe never see again makes them feel that, having that glimpse of each other's most raw forms… then all the power to you.”

Armin gazed at you in an almost awe-like state as you spoke, eyeing the way your hair pooled effortlessly around you as you laid back onto his bed. He found himself physically having to sit on his hand to keep himself from reaching out and running his fingers through it. Your honeyed voice thrummed through the realest parts of him. He was completely unable to tear his eyes away from the soft swells of your cheeks or the long lines of your neck, his eyes glimmered as they drank in your presence. He cursed himself for having such a beautiful breath of a woman in his bed but still being too self-loathing to do anything about it. He hummed in understanding as he laid back against the bed next to you, still an arms length apart. 

“I think that’s a pretty beautiful observation to make…you’re— um, you’re very well spoken. I'll have to consult with you for my next essay instead of creating another shit show like whatever that is” he choked out as he aimlessly pointed towards his desk.

 He’d hoped cracking a joke would lead you away from the way he’d almost said something that could possibly make you uncomfortable. You were none the wiser, your eyes finally fluttered open as you turned your head to look at him. “You got it.” 

He had to wipe his hands on his sweatpants to get rid of the film of sweat that grew there the moment you peeked out at him under the curls of your lashes. 

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻

Two weeks have passed since that night, and you hate how it seemed to always present itself in the forefront of your mind. Armin’s soft gaze and the way his words reflected your inner monologue when he spoke hung heavy in you, just around every corner. You felt completely delusional, the way the night had ended made you sure of your former idea of it just being a fleeting moment. He didn't kiss you, or ask for your number, nothing of the sort was even mentioned. 

You two had spent the entire night talking, laughing, spilling your guts out to each other and not thinking twice about how strange it was to do that with someone you had just met. It was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. You remember having to leave abruptly when you noticed the sun rising beyond his curtained windows, neither of you noticing how the bass had stopped humming between the floorboards of the house a few hours prior, or how heavy your lids hung over your eyes as the time went on. 

You had spent the past two weeks dissecting every part of the conversation that you could remember, scrounging for some reason that would lead you to believe he felt the same pull you did. He had taken over, staking his claim during the night and causing you to clench your thighs together when you’d remember the way the soft features of his face looked as he laughed. You felt perverted and overly crass, sure that you’d never be able to show your face to him ever again after the countless fantasies you’d had.

 You had imagined what his lips would look like covered in you, what his fingers would surely be able to accomplish due to the length of them. You wondered if he was a passionate lover, slow and deliberate. Or was he the opposite, grabby and rushed to touch you in as many places as he could like a man starved. It didn’t matter what type he really was, you’d imagined him in every possible way already. No version of him could be a shock to you. 

And despite the embarrassment that swallowed you whole when you actually imagined seeing him face to face again, you found yourself walking into the house he shared with his fraternity brothers anyways. 

Your friends had received another invite to Eren’s next party, the invite being extended to you this time even though you and Eren had never met. You had told yourself that if you did see him, you’d just put an end to the warm torture he’d instilled upon you. You’d be unable to embarrass yourself any further at that point. If you didn’t see him, your plan b was to get as drunk as you could off of drinks that you didn't pay for to try and dull the thoughts of him, even a little would be enough. 

You and your friends entered the party and began to mingle, the heavy blow of thickened air choking you already. You scanned the room over and over again for a glimpse of him, a deep twinge in your gut every time you came up short.

 You quickly made your way to the kitchen, pouring an obscene amount of vodka into a cheap plastic cup and mindlessly splashing some orange juice in it like it'd even out somehow. It felt like your actions were coming before your thoughts, uncontrollable and erratic in a way that made you unrecognizable to yourself. 

You were always in control, always centered. That night with Armin threw you completely off kilter. You knew you were acting out of pocket. You really didn’t care. You just needed some relief.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆

Armin’s POV:

Armin let out a choked groan, cum ribboning into the air as his hips jutted forward desperately into his own wanting hand. He rested his forehead against the cold tile wall of the shower, his breathing rapid and his legs trembling in aftershock. All it took was a very small handful of thoughts about you in this exact bathroom two weeks ago to unravel him completely.

 He physically could not get you out of his mind since he’d met you. The way you said his name, the shine of your hair as it splayed over his bed when you laid on it. The way you’d looked at him that night as if you saw the rawest parts of him. He couldn’t help himself, despite how disrespectful and deeply disappointed in himself he felt about jerking off to the thought of a woman he’d met only once.

And this wasn’t the first instance, no no. He found himself crumpling paper after paper into his trashcan when he would sit down at his desk, the only thing written on any of them being some type of saccharine fifth grade love letter to you. He’d wind up with nothing to show for the hours he’d spent sitting there other than a painful boner suffocating itself in his pants.

 His first waking thought was you, the way you walked around his room like some kind of enchantress, your movements slow and enticing. He’d rub the sleep out of his eyes with his dick pressed firm against his stomach, his slender hand reaching down to relieve himself with the image of your head bobbing on him whirling recklessly in his mind. 

He really felt like he was going insane, to be honest. Sure, he was a normal human with urges like anyone else. But this was different. He had never, never behaved like this before. You had completely captivated him. 

And it wasn't just some creepy sexual obsession, his thoughts seemed to find a way to reel back to you in everything he did. Every mindless conversation he had with a peer or coworker, he’d imagine how much better it would be if you were a part of it. He doesn’t ever remember being able to hold a conversation with anyone for even an hour without finding himself wanting to retreat to solitary, but he felt like the many hours that the two of you shared talking wasn't nearly enough. He would’ve stayed there on that bed until the room surrounding the two of you dissolved back into the earth, and even then he would probably still have another question to ask.

 You ripped past barriers in him in one night that took his closest friends years. And yet, he still didn't even muster up the courage to ask you for your number. He had explained his darkest days to you, and what scents made him the most nostalgic, but asking for your number would surely be too much. 

When Eren mentioned throwing another party this weekend, Armin had asked to put you and your friends on the invite list again. Doing so obviously elicited a wild smirk and rushing fist bumps from him, which Armin hated. He’d play into the douchey frat antics as much as he needed to if it meant you’d show up again. 

He finished getting ready, listening to the party begin to swell through the house as he combed his fingers through his hair over and over again, as if you’d notice a stray hair out of place and run away. He knew getting an invite to you had the chance of being a lost cause due to your disinterest in parties, but he’d hoped that your friends would drag you here again, that they would bring you back to him. 

He walked out of his room and down the long hallway, the beat of the nauseatingly familiar song (that would surely play at least six more times tonight) getting louder with each step. He made his way out to the kitchen, eyes gazing over the ever growing crowd of people to find you. He bit anxiously at his cheek when he toyed with the idea of you not showing up. He almost turned on his heels to go back to his room when he saw a blink of you, gone just as fast as you appeared. 

He tried to trail your movements, walking deeper into the kitchen and leaning against the counter to get a better look. He started to actually believe he’d gone insane, there’s no way he’s beginning to hallucinate your presence now. He scoffed at himself under his breath, in disbelief that he was so desperate to see you that he resorted to playing pretend. 

But then, his eyes snapped to your familiar form. Your smile hesitant but there nonetheless. He squinted his eyes slightly to get a better look at you, his jaw instinctively tightening when he saw the man standing behind you. Jean Kirstein. One of his fellow frat brothers, with his arm drunkenly slung over your shoulder, his mouth inches away from your ear. Armin despised the way his teeth grinded and the way his eyebrows lowered at the sight, jealousy not being a feeling he’s necessarily used to. Regardless of whether it's a familiar feeling or not, he found it crawling its way into every rift of him as he watched you from across the house. 

He watched the way your smile waivered, your movements looking a little too loose to be those of a sober person. When his gaze landed on Jean’s hand placed strategically on your hip, he felt his nostrils flare and his heartbeat thrash wildly in his chest. He thought about approaching you, saying something or maybe just grabbing you and whisking you away from Jean. But he couldn’t. His feet were unmoving and cowardly, self-contempt bubbling deep in his stomach. 

Armin turned to grab a bottle of whiskey from the counter, pouring himself a shot and throwing it back hastily, grimacing at the burn that slid down his throat and landed hard in his chest. He’s decided that he’s just going to take the whole bottle back to his room, drink himself into a slumber so deep he’ll hopefully wake up tomorrow with no recollection of tonight as a whole.

He grabbed the neck of the bottle and turned back to walk down to his room, his grip on it loosened as he glanced back at the sea of bodies and realized you aren’t where you were just moments ago… neither is Jean. 

He let out a disappointed huff, his footsteps heavy against the hard wood of the hallway. You deserved someone who wasn't so cowardly, he can’t even fault you for choosing Jean. He oozed a certain kind of confidence that Armin couldn’t even fathom, his tone always charming and smooth. Armin opened the door to his bedroom, and his self-deprecating tantrum was cut short when he saw you sitting on the ground next to the foot of his bed, your head buried into your knees. 

“Y/n?”

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻

Your pulse rose into your throat when you felt Jean’s sweaty hand find its way to your hip. He rested it there as if he was claiming his territory like some kind of pissing dog. You had clearly drank too much, you would’ve never gotten yourself into this miserable position if you hadn’t. 

To your credit though, the drinking had made Armin’s silhouette stop flashing behind your eyes every time you’d blink. You were thankful for that, you were beginning to seriously concern yourself with the grasp he had on you. 

You tried your hardest to sway your hips to the music, but your movements just came out forced and rigid no matter how fluid the liquor made you feel. You felt lost, stranded, and also on the verge of projectile vomiting. Whether it was from the alcohol or the way Jeans thumb started to rub small circles on your hip, it didn't matter. You needed to find a way out. 

Jean's head leaned into the crook of your neck, his breath torrid and sticky against your ear as he spoke. The scent of his damp, sweat slicked hair wafted into your nostrils. You were absolutely sure you were going to puke now. 

He said something about letting him take you home, you couldn’t really make out exactly what he was saying. Your hearing was deafened from the music blasting through the speaker on your other side. You also didn’t care enough to know exactly what was said, too focused on how your vision warped in a way that felt like your head was stuck on sideways. 

You forced out a compliant smile, your eyes void of anything at all. You leaned in to tell him that you had to go to the bathroom, the smell of his plasticy cologne glueing your nose shut. He said something about coming with you, but you were gone from his line of vision before the sentence could be finished. 

The tile of the kitchen swirled and pulsed as you practically sprinted over it. You drunkenly bounced your shoulder off of someone’s back as you started for the hallway, too confused to even be able to apologize. You grabbed at the door handle, missing it completely on your first try. The door shut behind you and you sank to the floor as soon as the noise became distant and stifled, closing your eyes and tucking your forehead to your knees. 

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, the concept of time becoming far too complex to even begin to think about. But what wasn't complex was sloshing around in your inebriated mind, fast and loose. You had been acting so fucking stupid. One night with someone you’d enjoyed your time with and all the sudden you're acting like a ludicrous middle schooler. 

Except, it wasn't just that. It never was. It was something you couldn’t explain, couldn't understand no matter how many times you replayed it in your head. The way you’d felt that night with Armin was absorbing in every way. You felt so fucking stupid. 

A soft voice ripped you away from your conviction, your head heavy as you hesitantly lifted it from your knees. 

“Y/n?”

You were sure you’d croak any second now, the feeling in your body indescribable. The lights were off and the cold flatness of the ground beneath you had felt like it made sense enough to be the bathroom that you’d wanted to find. The light that spilled in through the newly opened door made you realize you were absolutely not in the room that you thought. You flickered your gaze between the edge of the bed next to you and the desk that was still littered with papers, a lot of them crumpled now.

You finished with your eyes landing on the silhouette of Armin standing in the doorway, the light of the hallway behind him made the edges of him glow like some kind of heavenly liberator. 

Your mouth went dry as he gently shut the door behind him. He hurriedly switched on the lamp above the desk and crouched down next to you, his expression clear with concern.  “Are you okay? How’d you get in here?” 

The ability to speak was amnestic, your voice coming out babbled and lost. “I don’t know…I thought I was in the bathroom. I— god, I’m sorry.” 

You found your way to your feet, your legs wobbly and your head sharply throbbing from the change in pressure. You were sure that the embarrassment you’d subjected yourself to tonight would replace any fleeting fantasies that arose in the future. And you were certain he’d hope to never see you again after this.

As you began to stumble your way out of his room, Armin's lanky arm shot out in front of you. He held you steady with his hands in a very similar way to your first interaction. You felt the edge of the bed press against the back of your calves and you uncontrollably dropped down onto the plush mattress once again. The contrast between this moment and the last time you’d sat on his bed like this made you want to claw at your chest. 

“Just… let me at least get you some water or something. Jesus, how much did you drink?” He said, his tone still able to remain kind in its bones somehow. The way he felt the need to help you regardless of the way you invaded his personal space made you want to bang your forehead into your fists. Your drunken stupor didn’t erase his humility. Of course it didn’t.

Armin reached into the small fridge that sat behind his desk, a handful of water bottles in it as well as the premade iced coffees he’d drink to get him through the copious late nights he’d spend dumping his mind onto paper. He grabbed one of the waters and walked over to hand it to you. 

You reached out weakly to grab it. The cap twisted off and your sip slowly turned into a chug as you felt the coolness of it wash down your throat, soothing the burn you felt in every corner of yourself. Your voice came out a timid jumble, your words slurring together slightly. “I don't know… a lot. Way too much, obviously.” You paused to take another drink. “I was trying to uh… get away from that guy—“

”Jean.” 

“Sure, I don't remember.” You answered defeatedly, not even questioning why Armin knew who you were referring to. He sat next to you on the bed in the same way he did two weeks ago, the same arms length between the two of you. “He said something about coming home with him or whatever so I just dipped. I seriously thought I was in the bathroom…” you admitted, still trying to rack your brain and figure out how you made such a severe misjudgment.

”I’m glad you're not…”

His words come out so quiet that you're not sure what he just said. “Huh?”

Armin cleared his throat, fixing his posture so he sat up a little taller next to your crumpled form. “I— uh… said that sounds about right.” he stuttered out before he continued. “Jean is kinda…forward, I guess. I’m sorry if he made you uncomfortable.”

He felt the need to apologize for his fraternity brother’s behavior, despite the way he would prefer to never bring him up again in front of you. You wave your hand lazily towards him, brushing off the apology. 

“It’s not your fault, you apologize too much.” You spit out, your inhibition making you speak before your conscience even has a chance to stop you. Armin lets out a struggled chuff, his shoulders dropping a little in defeat. You’re right, he did apologize too much. Of course you saw that. 

“He wasn’t being overly creepy or anything anyways… I just wasn't interested.” You continued, Armin's eyes sparking with something you couldn’t quite place.

”Why not?” He asked. His question came out casual enough, a facade of mindless curiosity. You shrugged your shoulders, a nervous giggle as you speak. “Just not my type I guess.” 

Armin felt like he was going to explode. His heart lurched when he saw you sat on his floor, disoriented and filled with guilt. All he wanted was to see you again tonight, to feel your presence. Now that he had it, he felt like he was gonna be sick. His stomach dipped with every different expression you flashed at him. His legs physically ached from how badly he wanted to brush his knee up against yours. Why would you dance with Jean if he wasn't your type? He continues to beat the horse that’s been dead for at least a week now, wondering if you felt the same urge he did.

He can’t keep you here for hours again and not say anything about the thing he felt shattering every bone. You're drunk. His shame had layers now. 

Armin chuckled under his breath. He’s the first one to lay back on the bed this time, feeling as though he might pass out if he stayed upright. He lets his toes bounce lightly against the floor, the back of his calves moving against the flat edge of the bed. “So what’s your type then?” 

You felt every ounce of blood in your body seem to still from his question. As much as you tried not to, you couldn’t help but read into it front to back. You’d begun to fiddle with the loose threads of the blanket you sit on. Eye contact wasn’t even in the question. Shock began to sober you a little, your easy answers slipping away.  ”What do you mean?”

Maybe the clueless drunk girl thing will work. You knew he was too insightful for it to work. 

“Well… I don't know. Jean’s an attractive guy. He’s decently popular with women so he must be funny and nice enough to talk to.” Armin's hands rested intertwined on his chest, his thumbs circling each other.

”True… there’s just something missing.” You said as you thought through the maze that presented itself when you tried to think of the right thing to say without exposing yourself too much. 

Armin shifted a little. His teeth picked and bit at his cheek and he tasted metal. He could feel his heart thumping in between his shoulder blades. “What’s missing?”

You let out a sigh as you laid back messily onto the bed, your body language beginning to show the bits of frustration that brewed in you. You assumed this is just one of his genuine curiosities, him wanting to know for his own archives of the human mind. You wanted him to let it go and pick something else so you could take a full breath. 

”Does that really matter?”

”If it didn't you would’ve gone home with him.” 

“I wouldn’t have.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because… he’s not who I want to go home with.” You felt like you were going to choke. Armin shifted again, turning onto his side. His eyes were on you and you knew it without looking to check. You were choking. 

“So there was someone you wanted to go home with?”  Armin didn’t even know what he was saying. He was trying to test the waters in his own beat around the bush way. He wanted you to say something that he could bend into perceived rejection, but each answer of yours seemed to confuse him further. 

“I didn't say that.” 

“So what were you trying to say then?”

You shifted yourself to face him, both of you laying on your sides on the bed. His elbow was propped up so he can hold himself up, you mirrored him. You felt like you were going insane. 

His eyes flashed and whirled with something you couldn’t place, his tone was almost painful. You felt like he was holding something back, but the way his eyes and his words seemed to clash made you want to scream into the mattress and kick like a child. 

You told yourself that if you did see him again tonight, you were one hundred percent going to say something. You were going to end the borderline obsession you’d formed one way or another. Yet here you were, face to face with the man you’d spent the last two weeks ogling over, and you’re dodging and ducking. ”What are you trying to say?”

Armin felt a ball of apprehension in the back of his throat, swallowing hard to try and get it down. He was at his breaking point, a place he can't say he’d ever been before in this context. Uncharted territory. As the two of you went back and forth, his eyes darted down the side of your body. Saliva began pooling on the back of his tongue when he got sight of the way your body curved, the way your hips rounded so perfectly. Fuck. 

He let out a strangled sigh as he spoke, his eyes staring at the wall behind you to avoid your reaction. “Would you have let Jean kiss you if he tried?” 

You paused for a moment so you didn’t scream. You let out a broken laugh instead. “No.” 

Armin's next words came out so quiet like he’s trying to find his voice, but like he would die if he didn't say them. “Would you let me kiss you if I tried?” 

A beat of silence fell between the foot of space between you and him, the foot of space that turned into six inches without either of you noticing. You felt like you needed to pinch yourself. Maybe this is just another one of his charged questions, or some kind of sick joke. 

When your eyes snapped to his, you realized it was neither. He’s serious. His lids hung slightly lower, his brows slanted. You felt the tips of your toes start to tingle, your tongue subconsciously coming out to wet your bottom lip. Your voice came out more like a breath, just barely there. “Yes.” 

That’s all it took for Armin to close the space between the two of you. You blink once and his forehead is pressed to yours, his hand cupping your face like you’re holy to him. His fingers splayed over your cheek, his thumb tracing your jaw over and over again. His words came out on a shaky breath, like he is using every ounce of his self control. “You have no idea how beautiful you look right now…” 

“I’m half drunk…”

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

The minuscule gap was closed as he pressed his lips to yours. His lips were indescribably plush and so, so warm. He kissed you almost hesitantly at first, not daring to move his lips or press them harder into yours. Once he felt you move your mouth against his that all went out the window, any shred of self control he had left vanished without a second thought. 

He kissed you like he was starving, like your lips on his was the only thing keeping him alive. His fingertips curled around the beginning of your jaw just below your ear, tugging your mouth into his like he wanted to consume you. He swallowed a groan when he felt you sigh into his mouth, brushing his tongue against your bottom lip to see if you’ll take. You swiftly parted your lips to let him explore you deeper without hesitation. 

And explore he did. His other hand came down to the belt loops of your jeans, sliding his fingers in them and tugging you flush to him with ease. His tongue brushed back and forth against yours, hands came to tangle in each other's hair. The way the two of you kissed was sanctified, like you had been wasting your time by spending it doing anything other than tasting each other. 

You felt the clothed ridge of his dick press against your hip and you couldn’t help the way you squeezed your thighs together, your body already demanding some kind of friction. 

He broke from the kiss, his lips swollen and flushed. His eyes pleaded as he spoke. “Tell me you’ll remember this tomorrow…that you’ve been thinking about this like I have, please.”

You let out a strangled chuckle, dropping your forehead to his shoulder. If only he knew. You began to leave a wet trail of kisses up his throat, sloppy and half-hazard in between your words. “…I’ve thinking about this since we met.”

A kiss. 

“thinking about you…”

Another. 

“I haven’t been able to get away from you, you're everywhere..” 

Armin let out a sharp groan at your words, his hand grabbing for your face to pull you back up to his lips. He kissed you like he wanted to swallow you whole, like he'd been fantasizing about this just as relentlessly as you have the past two weeks. 

“Fuck…you’ve made me lose my mind since that night. All I can think about is you.” He breathed out against your mouth, the confirmation made you exhale shakily as you felt anything that's not you and him in his bed completely disappear. Your leg hooked around the side of him and you pressed your body weight against him so he’d roll onto his back. 

You barely had to force. Armin’s mouth went slightly agape as he watched you sit on top of him, his eyes deepening in a way that could hypnotize you if you let them. The weight of you on his lap was enough to make him twitch, but the way the soft lines of your curves pooled and dipped sent his brain into overdrive.

 He grasped and clutched at your hips as you brought your mouth back down to his, a sharp exhale leaving him when you instinctively rolled your hips forward. Just once. Not enough but far too much. 

“Y/n… you don't have to do… we can take things slow if you want. I don't want you to feel— oh fuck.” He began, but was quickly cut off by how you drew your tongue up the side of his neck, teeth dragging against the skin right below his pulse point. His shaky hands slid up your hips and landed just below your ribs, his fingertips curling around the bottom hem of your shirt. 

“Do you want to take things slower?” You breathed into his ear, his head shaking rapidly in response. He was unable to get the words ‘fuck no’ out fast enough. “Good. Me neither.” You giggled as you grabbed his wrists and slid the palms of his hands under your shirt. His hands splayed over the skin of your stomach, wanting to cover as much surface area as he could. 

He continued to slide his hands up further, studying you with an undying precision. He had imagined you like this so many times, and even the best of it didn't come close to the way you felt in his hands. 

He began trailing them over the lace that covered the swells of your breasts. He brushed his thumb against your nipple over the thin mesh of your bra, grinning when he heard you let out a stifled whine into his mouth. His other hand went back down to tug and grip at the bottom of your shirt, his voice desperate and gravelly. “Take this off. Please, baby.” 

The pet name had you complying immediately, sliding the shirt off with ease and tossing it across the room. His eyes darkened as he drank you in, his hands trailing up and down your bare skin as if he'd never seen anything this perfect.

He started to sit up, holding you against him as he shifted the two of you to the head of the bed, leaning his back against the headboard. You settled on top of his lap again and he grabbed at your ass like a rabid animal. His lips started to attack your neck, his kisses there being irreverent and famished. 

You ground your hips down onto him again when you felt him trail his mouth down to your collarbones, and then to the pudge of your breasts that dared to spill over the edge of your bra. He let out a hiss against your skin, biting and sucking so a mark would be left there. He needed you to have a reminder of this that you’d see even if he escaped your mind. He needed you to remember him. 

You started to wiggle against his lap as he stuck his tongue out to soothe the bruised skin. His hands came to grasp your hips, holding you still with unexpected strength. “Fucking hell, you gotta stop moving like that…” he mumbled into your soft skin. He wanted to worship you. He wasn’t going to let that be ruined by his own weakness. 

You let out a breathy sound, the feeling of his fingertips pressing into your skin to keep your hips immobile made you yearn for something more. Armin kept his mouth on you the entire time his hand started to caress your stomach, landing low at the edge of your jeans. He fiddled with the buttons and looked up at you through ignited eyes, eliciting a gasp out of you as he toyed with the hem of your underwear. 

“Wanna touch you some more before you make me cum in my pants…” he muttered out, low and sure. He touched you everywhere but where you needed him most. It was torture. It was so good. 

He ran a single fingertip over your clothed core, groaning into your shoulder like a wounded animal when he felt how soaked you were. “Jesus Christ… you can't be real.”

Your hips bucked against his finger, your clit begging for something… anything. It was like he read your mind when he finally slid the crotch of your underwear to the side, taking that same finger and running it up your slit, collecting some of your slick and settling it on your swollen nub to rub painfully slow circles. 

“Fuck, fuck Armin..” you moaned out, your hands reaching for his shoulders to steady yourself. Armin let out a stifled whimper at the sound of his name falling off your lips in such a perverted tone. He felt his dick pulse wildly in his pants, but his own release was the last thing on his mind. 

He continued to work your clit with his finger, smiling against your skin when he felt you relax fully into his lap, every muscle in your body starting to become pliable. “Please, baby. Let me make you feel good…. let me take care of you in the way you deserve. God, you look so pretty. So fucking pretty.” 

His muffled slew of words had you moaning profanities into the thick air around you, and he felt each one of them reverberate through his body and shoot straight to his crotch. He felt your heavy breaths on his skin, goosebumps trailing down his arms. He sped up his circles, watching the way you tilted your head back and rolled your hips into his palm.

 The air was sucked out of his lungs every time he looked at you, it was almost painful how breathtaking you were. He was completely lost in you. You had him so deeply at your mercy, there wasn't anything he wouldn’t do if you asked for it. 

A sharp gasp left you as he shifted his hand, using his thumb now to rub your clit while his middle finger toyed at your entrance. He tilted his head to look at you, his eyes dazed and on fire despite their cool hue. “Can I…?” He asked sweetly, so sweetly that you felt your chest swell. He was the kind of lover you’d hoped for most, devoted but deeply desperate. Once he felt the way your body responded to him, the only thing he thought about was how many different ways he could make you cum. His own pleasure was a distant afterthought. 

You nodded furiously and a coy grin spread across his face. “I need you to tell me, y/n… need to hear you say it.” He teased as he dipped just the slightest bit of his fingertip into you. It took everything in him not to bury every last knuckle once he felt the tight band of muscle kiss his fingertip with a throb. 

“God— please, baby. Need your fingers, don't you wanna feel me?” You pouted, your voice so erotic Armin thought he might die on the spot. He wasted no time, sliding his slender finger into you and cursing under his breath as he felt your walls immediately squeeze it. 

“Hm— fuck, baby. You’re so tight… I’m gonna add another, okay?” He groaned, his question being met with a choked out ‘yes’ from you. He slid his ring finger into you to join his middle finger as his thumb continued to swirl around your clit. You whined into his neck, your body shuddering at the stretch. 

You jutted your hips down onto his hand, and he took that as a green light. He started pumping his fingers in and out of you slowly, wanting to memorize the feel of you like this. He rolled his wrist against the inside seam of your jeans as he started fucking you faster with his fingers, looking down to see his hand stuffed desperately into your pants as you humped against it. He was done for. 

Your face pressed up against his neck, drool threatening to leave your slightly agape mouth as he worked you out. His words were fucking filthy, his knack for writing showing even now.

“You feel so good… fuck— you have no idea how many times I’ve thought about making you moan like this.” 

“I’m so fucking hooked on you, my god. Tell me what you want, I’ll do anything…”

”I can feel you squeezing, baby. You like it like this? I’ll give it to you over and over again.” 

Your body hummed with rapture as he cooed his filth. Your mind was hazy, the only thing you could feel being his fingers working you out as if they were made for it. They started to nudge that spot deep inside of you that made spots appear in your vision. You choked out a moan, your voice wrecked and laced with pure bliss. “Shit— right there… don’t fucking stop.” 

The way you demanded him made his chest flood with heat, his free hand coming up to toy with your nipple over the thin fabric of your bra. “I won't, baby. God, not when you sound like that… take this off, please.” He panted as he tugged at the underwire. 

You reached your hands back behind you, your hips still grinding into his hand. You undid the clasp of your bra, your fingers trembling making it a little harder than it should’ve been. You let your bra slide down your arms and you tossed it aimlessly to the side. 

Armin's eyes grew wide with desire at the sight of you. Topless, blissed out, bucking your hips to ride his hand. He let out a shaky whimper as he watched your tits bounce in his face. He grabbed one of your nipples between the thumb and forefinger of his free hand, rolling the sensitive bud. 

“Oh god… baby I— shit. You’re gonna make me…” you cried out, the familiar bubble begging to swell deep in your stomach. Armin kept his movements steady, his voice dripping with desperation as he whispered into your ear. “Fuck, y/n. Let me make you cum… please. I need it. Need to know what you sound like when you cum, what you feel like…” 

You sobbed out against him, a string of profanities falling from your lips. You felt yourself start to flutter around him, your eyes glued shut and your body thrumming with an indescribable pleasure. He lowered his head, using his free hand to hold your breast as he took your nipple into his mouth. You felt him swirl his tongue and bite down gently, and that sent you over the edge into oblivion. 

You grabbed mindlessly at the hair at the base of his skull, tugging and letting out a ragged mewl. Your orgasm ripped through you like a bolt of lightning, all consuming and persistent. You shook wildly against him, and Armin's eyes were trailing your every movement. Every shiver felt sacred. Every moan made his dick spill a little more into his boxers. 

His mouth found yours with fervor as he worked you down from your release, his kisses slow and tumultuous. The way you struggled to keep your mouth pressed to his made him want to drop to his knees. He wanted to make you cum so many times that he’d spoil the feeling for you for any lover after him. 

You let out muffled cries into his mouth as he continued to pump his fingers slowly. He was still so greedy. He couldn't stop, his fingers would have to be ripped away from your pussy to make him stop. 

You twitched harshly as his thumb brushed up against your overwhelmed clit. You croaked out a groan, grabbing his wrist to stop his movements as you collapsed into his lap, forehead falling to his chest. “B-baby… I c-can’t. Too much…” 

Armin let out a stifled whine against your hair, but he reluctantly stopped his movements anyways. He was addicted to you, your smell, the feeling of your bare tits pressed up against him. He slid his fingers out of you and you shuddered from the loss. 

He brought his fingers to his mouth with zero hesitation, sucking every last drop of you off of them. He let out a pathetic whine as the taste of you spread across his tongue, he would never get enough of you. “So perfect..” he muttered to himself as you finally began to catch your breath. 

He shifted the both of you, holding your limp body against his like it was pure gold in his hands. He laid back and moved you to rest your head on his chest, his fingers tracing unrecognizable shapes onto your bare back. A few moments of bliss filled silence washed over the two of you before Armin broke it, his voice much mushier now. “…have you really been thinking about me too?” 

You raised your head to look up at him, his eyes like a begging puppy. You let out a small giggle, your head falling back to his chest. “Armin, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. That's why I came here tonight in the first place.” 

You felt his chest release, a deep exhale coming out of him like he was holding his breath that whole time. “I’m so glad you came tonight—“ he cuts off, bringing his hand up to his forehead and wincing when he realizes what he just said. “I mean, I’m glad you showed up. Yeah.” 

You let out a stifled chuckle into his chest, him returning the favor as he continued. “Well I am glad you came too. You know, the other way. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life and I’m really glad you felt safe enough to share that with me and… okay im just gonna shut up now.” 

You laughed at how easily he got flustered, but you still rubbed small circles into his chest as reassurance. A way to say ‘I see you’ without any words. Your gaze shifted down to his crotch and the tent that remained firmly pitched in his pants. You reached to toy with the waistband, his hands quickly coming down to stop you. 

You shot him a concerned look, his face turning a bright shade of crimson. His voice came out stuttered and slow. “You… don't have to do anything. This was about you anyways…”

Your brows lowered as you ran your palm over the hard ridge of his dick through his pants, his hips twitching and his legs shaking a little. He let out a choked sigh, his face turning impossibly redder. “I—fuck. I already uh…” 

You cocked a brow, the confusion in your expression softening when you noticed the wet patch leaking through the fabric. Oh my god. You had made Armin Arlert cum in his pants. Without even touching him.

you held out the tupperware container filled to the brim with recently baked chocolate chips—the sweet, warm scent wafting through the plastic. "i did, yes. though i wasn't sure if you had any allergies, so don't feel any pressure to eat them or anything. i just thought it'd be rude to come over without bringing anything."

oh great. less than five minutes into this conversation and you were already rambling.

suguru took the container of baked goods from your hands with a wary look, bringing it up to his nose. "you're not a serial killer by any chance, are you?"

you blinked. "if i was, wouldn't it defeat the purpose of telling you now?" not very reassuring.

regardless, he gestured for you to come inside. you stepped inside the apartment and slid your shoes off at the door, taking in the sight of his living room.

the space was bathed in a dark red light accompanied by sonder’s one night only playing in the background and a couple candles flickering from the coffee table—the warm richness of sandalwood permeating through the air.

“you.. uh.. you really planned this out, huh?” why couldn’t you just have said it looked nice and moved on?

now it was just plain awkward.

well, awkward-er.

sure, you knew the concept of sex and how it was supposed to work, but what every hookup guide always forgot to cover was the before. even if you'd talked before this, the two of you were just strangers. what were you supposed to talk about with him?

how were you supposed to skip this part and go to where you were riding him like a pony?

suguru shrugged, padding over to the kitchen to leave the container of cookies on the counter. “did i do too much?”

“it’s just your apartment and all, but the lights seem a little.. excessive.” that was putting it as nicely as possible.

he took the criticism in stride, grabbing a remote from the counter and turning them off before flicking a lamp on, painting the room in a dim orange light. the room was immediately much more warm and welcoming than what’d you first walked into.

you stood at the door, taking a look at the little bits of decoration that you could now see more clearly. a couple figurines, expensive, if you had to guess, a couple books strewn around his coffee table, and a cat tree perched up near the window.

you remembered the small bag in your pocket. digging it out of your pocket, you held it up in between your fingers. “i saw your cat on that one thirst trap,” he didn’t bother protesting—it was a thirst trap, “so i got some treats on the way here. i hope you don’t mind.”

either you were a psychic or you just naturally had a knack for this sort of thing. “they’re her favorite, thanks. take a seat, we don’t bite.”

the previous girls that came over to his apartment usually just gave the cat a little coo or downright ignored her, but you seemed like you wanted to get to know her more than you did him.

suguru wasn't sure if he was amused or if his ego was slightly bruised. (hint: both.)

you took a seat on the black leather couch like you owned the place, patting your lap. “what’s your cat’s name?” you questioned, the cat peering up from her paw at the noise before going back to grooming herself.

“that’s sage.”

you lightly shook the bag of treats, trying to beckon the very uninterested cat with the promise of food and an unconvincing baby voice. your efforts were working. somewhat.

sage lazily trotted her way down from the top of the cat tree before making her way over to you, sitting at your feet. her eyes were calculating, analyzing if you were worth her time. you didn't dare move a muscle when she leaned in to sniff at your socked feet and legs.

just when you were convinced that you'd gotten a big fat F on her evaluation, sage seemed to decide that you were harmless enough. she hopped up on your lap and settled down like the self proclaimed royalty she was, nudging her head against your hand in demand for head pats. you complied.

your fingers ran through the soft black fur while the cat purred like a lawn mower underneath your touch.

"she normally doesn't like strangers," suguru noted, plopping down on the couch cushion next to you.

"do you use that line on everybody that steps foot in here?" well.... yes!

and it usually worked like a charm, thank you very much.

"wait, what, really?" the last girl he'd brought over to his apartment remarked, the very same girl that signed him up for lifelong scientology visits and the army two weeks later after he failed to respond within five minutes, staring at him like he'd hung up the moon and the stars.

"yeah." the cat in question, looked at him with as much disdain as her little body could muster. suguru made a mental promise to reward the cat with catnip and treats for helping him spit out the first bullshit that came to his mind. the girl seemed too happily convinced, going as far as calling herself sage’s step mom.

needless to say, the cat hadn't been all too happy about getting squeezed and cradled around like a baby by a woman she'd never seen before and never saw again after. her displeasure was obvious if the broken flower vases and scratches on his leather furniture were anything to go by.

he'd stopped using that line. or so he thought.

"...no."

you raised a brow, gaze full of suspicion as you stared at him. barely applying any pressure. and just like a rubber band, he ended up snapping within seconds, “…yes, fine, i have. but it’s the first time i’ve meant it.”

you weren't sure if he was full of shit. but the cat seemed to like you decently enough, starting her own biscuit factory on the fabric of your jeans with each ear rub. “how’d you end up getting her?”

suguru looked over to see you and his cat getting along decently well, finding himself a little lost in the scene when your question finally registered and you were staring at him.

“i found her locked up in a cage close to home. her owners called her a devil and all kinds of names, their own negligence, really,” he rolled his eyes, reaching out to pet her chin, “anyways, they were all too happy having someone to hand off the cat to.”

the two of you sat in a comfortable silence after a few questions from one another, getting to know each other a bit better apart from late night conversations. only the sounds of sage’s purring and the outside world filled the apartment.

that was until, "c'mere." suguru lazily spread his legs on the sofa, patting his lap.

“you do realize i’m not your cat right?” as if proving your point, sage got up from her spot on your lap over to his.

“fine, can you please come here?” he gave the cat one last scratch before setting her down on the floor, asking a little nicer. you got up from your spot, standing in between his legs before you lowered yourself onto his lap.

"hi," he murmured once you settled onto his lap, his hands instinctively moving down to your hips.

"hi." you braced your hands on his shoulders to keep your balance, suddenly feeling the reality of the situation crashing down on you. the pretty man underneath you wanted to have sex with you. you were going to have sex tonight.

sex and your first kiss, apparently. (you refused to count the time you'd gotten kissed as a dare in middle school.)

and as if he could read your mind, suguru took a hold of your chin and gently tilted your head up to face him, "can i kiss you?" you didn't miss the way his gaze flickered from your eyes down to your lips every .5 seconds.

you met him halfway, pressing your lips against his own. trying to go with the flow as many people said (what flow? you weren't completely sure yourself).

"close your eyes, i can feel you staring at my soul.” he pulled away, whispering the words against your lips and leaving you chasing behind his.

you let your eyes flutter shut, leaning into the kiss slowly. even going as far as tilting your head a little so you wouldn’t— “ow!” — do exactly what you just did. bump your nose straight into his.

you opened them back up to see suguru was more amused than hurt, a stupid smile on his face as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “try closing them when you’re already leaned in, hm?”

rolling your eyes, you shifted a bit on his lap before giving it one last go. one of your hands came up to cradle his soft cheek, leaning in and shutting your eyes at the last second. he tasted like mint and something else you couldn’t decipher.

his lips molded against your own in a languid kiss, each touch an experiment to know your body better. suguru’s hands moved down your body, each one resting on your ass like he wanted, no needed, you all that much closer. the exchange grew heavier, sloppier, messier.

everything was heightened—you could feel every single little thing. from the slight hitch of his breath when you captured his lip in between your teeth to your own traitorous heart thumping underneath your rib cage.

his lips moved from your own to the corner, down to your jaw, until he finally reached your neck. then that’s where he went ham. sucking, licking, kissing on whatever inch of skin was at his disposal all while taking note which spots had you shivering and squeezing your thighs together.

latching onto the sensitive skin of your collarbone, suguru placed a kiss out of reverence before he started to suck. he was practically in bliss all without taking his clothes off. if he were a weaker man, he would’ve shot his load the minute you’d settled onto his lap and got a whiff of your sweet, sweet perfume.

his hands moved up from your ass up your back, probably going to take your shirt off before his phone got the bright idea to interrupt the moment: want a break from the ads?

suguru had never regretted not investing into spotify premium as much as he did in this moment.

is your girlfriend unsatisfied in the bedroom? your stamina not being what it once was? if these symptoms sound familiar, you might suffering from erectile dysfunction. ask your doctor about levitra—

that was enough to get him up to his feet, crossing over to the kitchen counter in three strides. suguru quickly got his phone from the counter before the ad could continue, deciding that the ambiance was ruined and shutting the music off.

"do these symptoms sound familiar to you?" you teased, resting your cheek on your palm as you watched the scene with mild amusement.

"you could come to my room and find out." not nearly as smooth as he usually was, but good job suguru!

"are you really getting me into your bed with an erectile dysfunction ad?"

suguru tilted his head, "is it working?"

and you really wished it wasn't, but it was. you were quick to get up on your feet, padding over to where he stood and reaching your hand out. "let's go find out then."

his bedroom was much like the living room—a minimalistic design with a couple pictures hung up on the walls. his friends, if you had to guess. he led you over to the bed, sitting down on the edge.

not nearly enough bed-pouncing as you were expecting.

suguru spoke up, his hands resting on his lap, "you're allowed to change your mind, don't feel pressured to do anything you don't want to do. i’m here to please you.”

“i want this,” you responded, moving up the bed to rest against the headboard. he followed, keeping a reasonable distance between you two, “i want to have sex with you, suguru. let’s just take it slow.”

closing the distance, you straddled yourself over his lap, each of your legs next to his own. you lowered yourself down and placed your hands on his shoulders under the guise you knew what you were doing. and then, you started to rock and gyrate your hips against his clothed leg.

you rubbed and grinded your hips harder, faster against his leg in an attempt to feel something other than the friction of his sweats rubbing against your shorts—unsure of what to do other than rut yourself against him like a dog. maybe he was liking this?

should you start moaning?

“o-oh fuck.” a, what you hoped was realistic, moan left your lips, your fingers digging into his shoulders to really sell the point. suguru looked at you, wondering if he really looked that stupid.

you weren't sure what you were doing—that much was obvious. you were humping his leg, your rhythm too quick to be pleasurable for either one of you at this point.

"have you ever done this before?" were you really that obvious?

the question had your hips stilling their movement, your gaze falling down to his face. when you shook your head, suguru let out a small tut, holding your chin between his fingers, "that's okay, baby. we'll take it nice and slow, just follow me."

his hands splayed on your hips, slightly moving you up his lap before he started to guide your movements. and oh, now you felt it. his cock strained against the material of his sweats, each ridge rubbing against your warm heat.

well, at least now you knew the ad wasn't meant for him.

"oh yeah, that feels better huh?" he cooed in your ear, his cock twitching in his pants just by feeling how wet you were getting already.

you were dripping, slick stringing and sticking to your panties with each roll of your hips. he wasn’t much better—cock prodding against your entrance like it was begging to be released. “uh huh, better,” a breathy whisper left you, your back arching against his fingertips.

when he kissed you again, it wasn’t soft and gentle like he’d been at first. no, he’d tested the waters already.

now he was kissing you like he needed you, like he needed air to breathe. each breath grew labored like he couldn’t bare being apart. his tongue moved in a synchronized dance with yours, tasting and absorbing everything you had to give.

your lips moved with the same desperation, fingers gripping against the material of his shirt. trying to take it off before he seemed to catch onto your unspoken hint. he reluctantly pulled away before sliding his shirt off in one fluid motion, letting it fall onto the mattress beneath. and… wow. beautiful was an understatement when it came to him.

you let your fingers trail down his abdomen, the muscles tensing underneath your featherlight touch. tracing and poking whatever little beauty marks you found on your way down. he was just so.. pretty.

“you really think so?” his voice brought you out of your reverie, and oh shit, you’d said it out loud?

“like you don’t know it already,” you retorted, trying to downplay the situation.

suguru shrugged, watching your fingers intently as you traced and gently scratched down his pecs, “i like when you call me pretty.”

you rolled your eyes but gave in anyways, “you’re very pretty, suguru geto.” you felt his cock twitch underneath at the compliment. leading his fingers towards the hem of your own shirt, you guided him into taking off the flimsy article. he seemed all too eager to revere your body the same way you had his.

mumbled compliments of you’re so beautiful and so soft left his lips until he looked up at you, his hands gliding up and down your hips, "do you want me to keep going or do you wanna stop here?"

you grabbed his hands, bringing them up to your chest. “i want this, suguru. i want to go all the way with you, i promise.” his fingers tweaked and squeezed at your perked nipples, his lips ghosting above the left before he swirled his tongue around it. latching his mouth onto the sensitive flesh and sucking, working the other with his fingers.

strings of saliva connected his lips to your tits when he finally pulled away—deeming that he’d given them enough attention for now. suguru flipped the two of you over, hovering above you before slowly kissing his way down.

peck. your collarbone.

peck. your tits.

peck. your navel.

peck. the waistband of your shorts.

“you can take it off,” you assured him before he even had the chance to ask the question. suguru didn’t hesitate once he got the thumbs up, hooking his fingers onto your belt loops before sliding your shorts down your legs and shaking them off.

you could’ve sworn you caught a hint of drool once you were all exposed for him.

suguru kissed his way up your leg, each one leaving behind a slippery trail behind him. “so pretty,” he mumbled, sucking onto your calf before moving further up to your knee, “so perfect laid out for me.” each one sounded like a quiet admission to himself.

despite how desperate he seemed, suguru took his time when it came to finally undressing you. his teeth sunk into the lace of your underwear, your hips lifted when he moved down the offending material at the pace of molasses. trying to savor as much as he could.

he let them fall onto the pile of clothes next to you before admiring his meal. your cunt clenched around nothing when a slight breeze came in the room, your slick glistening against your folds, clit practically throbbing his name out in morse code.

but suguru prided himself on having some semblance of patience. thinly veiled patience, but patience nonetheless. he wedged himself in between your legs, his lips hovering dangerously close to your entrance before moving down to your inner thigh. repeating what he'd done earlier on your leg.

he pressed featherlight kiss after another onto the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, occasionally biting hard enough to leave behind a nice lil' memory for tomorrow. your legs instinctively spread, every sensation sending your body through a livewire and yet.. you were lost in thought.

you wondered how many people he'd had in this room, how long this would take, what'd you eat for breakfast tomorrow, and—"focus on me, pretty girl."

immediately broken out of your endless string of questions, you looked down to see suguru already peering up at you. "talk to me, what's going on in that head of yours?"

you shook your head, "just got lost in thought, i guess."

"then we'll just have to make it to where you can only focus on me, angel."

and then he dove in like he was a man starving.

his big hands gripped your legs and spread you apart like a feast, tongue flicking out to taste the slick dripping down your folds and thighs. "taste so good, thank you, thank you," he babbled, swiping his tongue up and down your folds before flicking it inside of your pussy.

your cunt gushed like an open sink against his mouth and chin, the man practically nose deep as he thrusted his tongue in and out of your sopping pussy. his jaw went slack, sucking and tracing your folds with the tip of his tongue before going back to eating you out.

soon, two of his fingers took place of his mouth. two long and thick fingers. your juices ran down to his knuckles while he spread you open, his fingers curling and hitting that one spot inside of you with ease. "fuck, it feels so good," you whined, bucking your hips up to meet his fingers.

"i knoww baby, just needed suguru to take care of you." he didn't let up, much too starved himself to even think about doing so. his lips latched onto your swollen, throbbing clit and sucked lightly onto the nerves. your grip on his hair tightened, a broken moan leaving from his lips.

"just like that," he hissed out, his hips rutting into the mattress underneath. you noticed a dark patch growing in the front of his sweats. "take what you want from me, y'know how to do it." your hips swiveled and thrusted against his eager mouth, spit and slick drenching his chin and dripping down to the mattress.

it was hard to think about anything other than him, you had to admit that much.

your legs shook with each thrust of his fingers, with each swipe of his tongue. just as you were about to press your legs together, suguru pried them apart once more with ease. "don't interrupt my meal, i'm not done eating." and how could he say that when he already sounded so drunk off you?

his tongue swirled against your clit, the tip drawing circles around the sensitive nub. "f-fuck, gonna cum, keep going," you whined out, nails digging into his scalp. the sound of your pussy gushing around his fingers was all you could hear, and yet, all you were focused on was chasing your own orgasm.

it was so close, you felt a knot building up in your lower tummy. "fu-fuck fuck fuck," broken babbles left your lips, your toes curling and legs shaking the more you felt that pressure increase. with one final thrust of his fingers, you came. the knot unraveled all at once, your release washing over you (and his fingers) like a tidal wave.

he'd never been such at bliss before.

each breath felt like it was splitting your lungs open, your chest heaving as suguru slowly pulled his dripping fingers out of you. he didn't mind staring you in the eye when he put his fingers in his mouth, sucking them off as if no drop could go to waste. "mm, wanna taste you forever." his eyes practically rolled back, his tongue swirling against the two digits.

once you finally regained your bearings, you sat up and asked, "do you want me to return the favor?"

suguru let out an indignant scoff like you'd just insulted his very existence. and in a way, you had. "i did that because i wanted to, because i needed to taste you," he retorted, shaking his head like he wasn't reevaluating his degree in munchology, "not because i was expecting anything out of you."

getting up from your spot on the bed, you padded over to where he was sitting and situated yourself right in between his legs. absentmindedly running your fingers up up up the thin material of his sweats, barely grazing your fingertips against the growing tent between his legs. before you pulled away altogether.

you looked up at him like you were sin incarnate, lashes fluttering against your cheek, "what if i really really want to suck you off?"

suguru swore his soul left his body for a minute. he'd gladly let you keep it if you wanted it at this rate.

“then by all means, go for it.”

that was all you needed to slide the flimsy material of his sweatpants onto the floor, his cock slapping up against his stomach once it was released. now it was your turn to nearly drool. you couldn't have imagined that a dick could be this pretty.

a nice tan color at the base with a hint of red at the tip, a curve settling to the right and precum dripping down his shaft just from having you in his mouth. it was fairly long and thick—as thick as your forearm, you could assume.

all the fanfiction you had saved in your bookmarks couldn't have prepared you for the sight of the twitching cock in front of you.

you stared at his dick like it was something out of an anatomy textbook, trying to figure out the best approach to go about this before ultimately deciding to throw it out the window and just try it out.

"a-ah fuck." suguru practically turned into putty the moment you took him in your mouth, one of his hands coming to rest on the back of your head. not pushing, never that; he'd never risk making you uncomfortable.

thick globs of spit dribbled down to your chin and down his shaft from the corners of your lips. "just like that, yeah, please." suguru wasn't afraid to be loud—letting you know what you were doing right. one of your hands wrapped around his cock, your fingers tightening around the base before you started to jerk your hand up and down.

you could hardly take him in fully—your cheeks hollowing out to make more space and it still wasn't nearly enough. "soo good, please don't stop," suguru’s voice drawled out when you tried taking more of his cock in your mouth.

you could feel tears pricking up at the edge of your waterline, blinking them back quickly. his cock was barely a couple inches in your mouth and the tip was already starting to hit your uvula, your saliva coating around the shaft to mix with the precum spurting out. once you were able to, you started bobbing your head up and down his length.

suguru’s fingers dug into the sheets beside him, his chest starting to feel like he’d run a marathon. your tongue, your mouth, just you, everything felt too stimulating, too good. the hand you’d been jerking him off with moved down to his heavy sack, your fingers rolling around his balls.

and just like that, suguru was a goner. he swore he saw the flickering of a white light above. you felt them tighten up underneath your fingertips, growing heavier and heavier with cum. you looked up to see him completely disheveled, mouth agape to let out shaky gasps and broken moans. and right before you swore you almost felt him cum, he pulled you off.

“did i do something wrong?” your question came out innocent, like you hadn’t nearly sucked the soul out of his body.

suguru let out a disbelieving laugh, pulling you up to your feet before feverishly leaning into kiss you. not seeming to care that he could taste himself on your tongue. “just need to cum inside you, can i do that, please? you still want this?”

he sounded completely and utterly ruined. but you nodded into the kiss, your fingers pressing into his shoulders. “i need you, sugu, need you so bad. please fuck me, please.”

he moved at the speed of light, setting you down onto the comfort of his mattress before he settled himself on top of you. his cock throbbed and twitched at the mere contact with your bare pussy, his fingers wrapping around the base as he swiped the tip through your folds. “you sure you want this?”

just one more time to confirm. you nodded.

“c’mon, use your words for me, pretty,” he whispered, rubbing the tip against your swollen lil’ clit. your throat bobbed as you swallowed back an embarrassing moan.

“i want this, suguru, i’m sure.”

"okay, take a deep breath in for me." you complied, filling your lungs with air before letting it out in a deep exhale. he slowly pushed his cock in, your walls tightening and clenching involuntarily against his shaft.

"there we go, that's it baby. takin' me so well." suguru's voice came out akin to a purr he didn't mention how he'd barely pushed an inch in. once he was certain it was okay, he pushed another and another in.

a choked gasp left your lips when he finally seemed to bottom out, feeling like your body had just been split in half. and maybe, just maybe it was, you wouldn’t necessarily doubt it.

suguru wiped away a couple tears that streamed down your cheeks, standing still while you got used to the intrusion. it was hard, he had to admit, when you felt so warm and wet around him. but anything for your comfort, he wouldn’t risk that.

“you can move, suguru,” you spoke up, one of your hands reaching out to take hold of his. his fingers grasped your own, placing your hand on top of your head before he slowly pulled out and thrusted back in one swift motion. your pussy drenched his shaft each time he pushed back in, each thrust smoother and faster.

suguru leaned down to kiss you, hair falling like a waterfall and covering his face completely before he ever got the chance to get close. you bit down on your lip, trying to keep yourself from laughing in his (hair covered) face before reaching out and moving his hair out the way.

so goes the super suave geto suguru.

a small giggle left your lips at the gesture, slowly starting to feel more and more comfortable being around him. (well how much more comfortable could you really get after having him inside you?) suguru let out a small huff, rolling his eyes in faux annoyance before handing over a hair tie.

you managed to make the world’s messiest ponytail in twenty seconds. go you!

“i’m glad my embarrassment’s amusing, but you okay?” he asked quietly, treating you as if you were a delicate piece of glass. long fingers trailed up your sides like he was admiring a piece of art, not at all like the strangers that you were supposed to be.

“i’m fine,” you assured, wiggling your hips and trying to thrust back into him, “you can go faster, though, please?”

suguru didn’t hesitate to follow that command, hips snapping into you almost immediately. your cunt sucked him in with each thrust, squelching with how much you’d drenched his shaft. his heavy balls smacked against your ass TWACK TWACK TWACK!

your legs wrapped around his waist like you were physically trying to intertwine your body as close as you could to him. “ah ah fuck, sugu, faster, faster!” your moans sounded like the best kind of melody to his ears, and well, who was he really to deny?

suguru hoisted a leg up on the bed for a better angle, hitting that spot inside of you with each quick thrust. your walls clenched around him like a vice, like you wanted to keep him trapped while you gushed and soaked around him.

“pussy’s so good, i’m never letting you go,” he babbled, his other hand gripping your hip to move you up and down his shaft as he pleased.

his middle finger rubbed desperate little circles against your clit, your eyes rolling back from just how good you felt. the hair tie was long since forgotten, hair falling onto his face as he leaned forward to capture your lips in what could only be described as a tangle of tongue and teeth.

everything about him screamed desperate and unhinged—and you weren’t any different.

“make me cum, make me cum, please,” you moaned out against his lips, your chest heaving and your breaths coming out in short pants. suguru nodded like it was his only mission in life, pushing his cock in and out sloppier and messier than he was at first. practically gliding with how wet you were.

your orgasm built up more intense this time, your nails digging into the sheets below as the coil in your tummy began tightening. “please please please,” for what were you begging for? you didn’t know. a scream that would probably wake up his neighbors left your lips as you came, dripping and soaking his shaft in your wake.

“so messy, my messy girl, that’s ittt.” he was a broken pussy-drunk babbling mess. suguru continued to rut into you, chasing his own orgasm while working you through your own. his hips moved desperately, balls twacking against you with each sloppy sloppy thrust until he finally choked out,

“w-where do you hic want it?”

you didn’t give it much thought, “my face, sugu. wanna taste you, come for me, need you.” that was all it took for the last bit to snap, barely managing to pull out in time before he was spurting out drops of cum onto your face and your open mouth.

you swallowed every last drop that landed on your tongue, your features contorting into a slight grimace once the taste settled on your taste buds. and just like you'd come out of a damn porno and his wet dreams, you stuck your tongue out.

"fuck, you're gonna kill me." a breathless laugh left his lips. he made sure to push his hair back this time around before he leaned into kiss you again, his tongue prodding into your mouth.

one time fucking awkward and slightly offputting girl pussy and he was ready to get your finger measurements to buy the most expensive ring he could find at the jewelers. maybe he'd start with just a date once he came back to his senses.

suguru plopped down on the mattress next to you, rubbing a drop off cum off your cheek with the pad of his thumb before bringing it up to his own lips. "was that okay? you need anything—water, a bath, your dignity?"

you let out an amused scoff, turning your head to face him. admiring his features in the post sex glow. you had to admit—to yourself mostly—he looked good worn out and panting. "my dignity's still intact, thank you. but some water and a rag would be nice."

he cracked open the water bottle and left it on the nightstand next to you before disappearing into the bathroom. you could briefly hear the sound of water running before he emerged once more, a wet rag in hand.

each swipe of the rag in between your legs was a gentle one, treating you with the utmost care in the world. “you don’t have to leave right away, if you don’t want to. i can make some mean scrambled eggs.”

“how inviting,” you teased, taking a sip of the water as you mulled it over. how bad would it be to stay the night if he’d already been inside of you? “but sure, i’ll stay. if only for the scrambled eggs.”

you weren’t sure how long the two of you spent up talking about nothing and everything in between, from what you did for school to how you got into baking. it was.. refreshing, in a sense.

you could picture yourself doing this kind of routine with him almost too easily. the last thing you remember before succumbing to sleep was his arms wrapped around your stomach.

holding you like he never quite wanted to let go.

loud knocking woke up suguru at ass o'clock in the morning, long before the sun even started to peek its head from the horizon. a groan left his lips as he forced himself to untangle his limbs from your own and get up.

you didn't seem to notice his absence, in fact, you almost seemed to enjoy it. a little too much, if you asked him. you laid in the middle of the bed, sprawling your arms and legs out like a starfish.

the knocking on the door grew more insistent—determined to get an answer one way or another.

"hi, good morning. i'm from the church of scientology." this time they'd sent a middle aged man to stand at his door and spit out the same spiel he'd heard for the past five months in a row, greeting him with a smile that suguru deemed unnatural this early in the morning.

a smile that quickly seemed to fade once the man took notice of the blossoming hickey on his neck, the scratches that ran down his abdomen.

the man grasped his copy of dianetics like he was clutching his pearls.

suguru would have to eat you out later just for this reaction.

the man cleared his throat, eyes averting down to the book in his hands, before he cracked it open to the first page he could find. suguru wondered how long it'd take the man to figure out the book was upside down.

"i'm here because you signed up to receive visits every weekend. for just the small price of ¥73,300, you could learn all about the church and how to reach enlightenment—" the more that the man rambled, the more that suguru was more inclined to start his own cult than join this one.

but regardless, he let the man finish his spiel before he tapped his chin in faux thought. “to join a cult or not to join a cult, decisions decisions…”

the man raised a finger to protest, pushing up the thick rim of his glasses up his nose, "well actually, we're not a cult, we're a religious group focu-"

the man was left rambling to the front door about the difference between a 'religious group' and a 'cult.'

but he relented, suguru had to give him that at least. the man remained at the doorstep, bringing his fist up to the door but never making contact. probably regretting coming over in the first place.

"who was at the door?" you were barely awake yourself, rubbing at your eyes as the bright morning light peered in through the windows.

suguru pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a small groan, "would you believe me if i said scientology?"

"who'd you piss off?" you questioned, standing by the kitchen with your arms folded.

this time, another groan. though he sounded more whiny than anything, “why does everyone always assume i did something?”

"am i wrong though?" you countered.

no, not at all. and suguru knew he wasn’t getting out of this conversation that easily. "come on, i'll tell you over scrambled eggs and those cookies you baked yesterday."