Skullheart

These were intense times. 

The Michigan Wolverines were right in the midst of the NCAA College Football Playoffs, and it has been weeks of non-stop practice, conditioning, strength training, and late-night film recaps for the team of 100-odd men–all in preparation for a chance at being the nation’s top seed. 

There was much on the line, especially seeing that Senior Quarterback and Captain, Toji Fushiguro, was aiming to secure his spot in the upcoming NFL draft. 

As such, his pre-game ritual (one that he has refined and perfected over the course of four years) was a strict routine backed by, and rooted down in, evidence-based science and partially unbiased statistical analyses. 

It all starts with his protein shake: two whole bananas, one cup of oats, a shit ton of peanut butter, one spoon of raw honey, four scoops of protein powder, and full-fat milk. 

Next, his attire. He needed his signature gray game-day sweats (unwashed for the past 10-games in a row), a muscle tank he’s owned and stretched out since high school, and his most industrial-grade, noise-cancelling headphones. 

As for schedule? He needed thirty minutes of privacy, unrestricted and uninterrupted access to high speed internet, and most importantly of all: he needed to watch at least two of “stargiirl_xx”’s videos prior to heading out onto the turf. 

Give him that, and he was bound to have a fuckin’ phenomenal performance on the field. 

His meaty hand was already squeezing his growing erection through his sweats, the thick outline of his cock visible against the backlight from stargiirl’s newest video loading up on his laptop screen, and his protein shake already half finished by his bedside table. 

He wasn’t just a fan. He was her #1 biggest financer. 

Though she never showed her face, he had come to memorize the curve of stargiirl’s thighs and the moles on her hips over the course of the years. He knew her room layout by heart, and diligently watched the animes that she kept posters of on her walls. 

She was the best of the best. Not showy, not performative, just purely indulging herself. 

And sure, if keeping her active meant donating a sizable portion of his D1 stipend to fund her… pursuits, well, then call him a patron of the arts. 

His dick shamelessly pulsed in his pants as the page finally stopped buffering and the title of the video loaded. 

“Lessons in Vibrations Pt I”. 

Part one?!

He knew almost immediately that tonight’s game would be a fantastic one. 

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The Wolverines won their first round of the playoffs in a sweeping victory: 41-20. 

And Toji Fushiguro? Well, he was the star of the show, of course. He completed more than 85% of his passes (with six of them leading to touchdowns) and led an 80-yard rush all in a single game. He was on fire: skin buzzing with adrenaline, cool sweat dripping down his face, and his large canines glinting under the fierce stadium lights as the deafening crowds roared his name. 

“To-ji! To-ji! To-ji!”

He felt indomitable, floating on a high all the way from the stadium, to the bus, to the afterparty. 

But in the lecture hall? Well… 

His grades were barely passing for the majority of his classes, and in fact they were quite below when it came to Applied Chemical Kinetics II. 

He was truly a lost cause. 

He had missed countless of Yaga’s lectures throughout the course of the semester, promising himself that he would catch up on the review notes (he didn’t) and trying to watch the recorded lectures on the bus rides to any of the away games (he never). 

So really, it came as no surprise to anyone when he absolutely tanked his midterms those six long weeks ago. 

At the time, he was desperate. Failing class meant getting booted off the team. He needed someone who could easily cover his sorry ass for the rest of the semester, and fast. 

Therefore, the obvious choices for a final project partner were between Ijichi and, well, you. 

And, seeing as Toji Fushiguro had a pair of functioning fuckin’ eyes and a brain that lived partly in his pants, he chose the latter. 

It wasn’t easy persuading you to take him on for the project, which was something he honestly didn’t quite expect (nor was he used to). You were stoic to his ill-attempted flattery and unaffected by his usual charm. Every smile he flashed at you seemed to wither upon arrival, and every playful remark was met with nothing more than an empty stare.

In the end, desperation drove him somewhere pride never would’ve allowed before: straight into his football stipend.

“Listen. I’ll give you $300 if you can help me pass this class.”

It was the Wednesday before the Thanksgiving break, and he remembered how his words rang loud and heavy in the dusty air of the old lecture hall. Everyone had left at this point, the class long-since over.

You had stood before him unmoved, your books hugged to your chest and your normally impassive gaze slowly piquing in interest.

He remembered how you looked up at him through your lashes, and the way you tilted your head almost cutely. “Make it $400,” you said it softly, yet with little hesitation.

He remembered how he felt himself gulp, not from the number, but at the way your eyes were scanning his face like it was the first time you even noticed him. 

His hand had gripped the strap of his backpack just a little tighter. 

Though, you didn’t seem to notice as you continued. “I’ll meet you on Mondays and Thursdays only, I work every other day. And I want half as security in advance.”

You pulled out your phone, swiftly punching in your password before holding it out to him, the contacts app already open on the screen. 

For the first time in all of his college experience, he was genuinely caught off guard.

What the fuck? 

He took your phone. 

“$400?” he repeated, huffing faintly under his breath (was he amused? Annoyed? Aroused? He couldn’t tell at the time, nor does he know now) as he typed in his number. His large hands looked almost comical holding your small device. “You rob everybody like this, or am I just that special?”

He handed your phone back, his calloused fingers gently grazing your warm ones. 

“You’re failing chem,” you replied flatly. “You are not special.”

He hated how his dick twitched at your words.

But most of all, he hated how he didn’t know what to say in response.

He was the star quarterback, captain of the football team, most popular guy on campus and an undeniable chick-magnet, for god’s sake! 

His silence surprised the both of you, and you took it as your queue to leave. “See you later,” you glanced down at your phone, looking at his contact. “Fushiguro.”

You didn’t even know his fuckin’ name?!

And with that, you gently breezed past him, only offering him a small nod as you walked out of the room. The scent of your shampoo faintly caught in his nose as he tried to will his boner to stop growing in his sweats.   

After that, the break passed uneventfully, and by the time campus filled back up again and the chill of early winter settled in, your project was impossible to ignore.

He kept to his word of paying you the $200 in advance.

You kept to yours by meeting him that following Monday. 

The two of you developed a routine during the second half of the semester, meeting in libraries and cafes to review material and project timelines for the final submission. 

And during those couple of hours on the Mondays and Thursdays that he had you, he came to the haunting realization that you were so… chill. 

He was blunt, but you were blunt back. You flicked him when his head got too large, and he flicked you whenever you were too stuck in yours. He shoved you out of your shell at times, while you pulled him back down to Earth. It was rare, and so fuckin’ odd, this kind of dynamic between the two of you, the kind that goes unnoticed until suddenly you realize it’s there.

Soon, he would find himself calling your name from across the quad, and you would nod with what looked like a smile at him when you passed his row in lecture. He gave you tickets to his games (which you would resell for 200% of its value), and put your name on the list for the Kappa parties despite you never showing up. You sent him stupid instagram posts, and brought him homemade coffees whenever the two of you met post-game days. 

And thankfully for Toji, today was one of those days. 

“How’d it go?” Your voice was like honey and wine, low and smooth, as you looked up at him from behind your computer. The light from your screen illuminated halos in your eyes, and the steam from his opened thermos curled languidly in the air between you both. 

You sat across from him in a quiet, off-campus cafe. 

He grinned, smug and wolfish and borderline sleazy, as if he’d been just waiting for you to ask. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his overwhelmingly large, muscular arms over his head. He made a point to subtly flex his biceps while under your scrutiny. His shirt lifted slightly above his abdomen, and you blinked your eyes to focus on the scar on his tanned face, rather than the dark happy trail that ran down, down, down to his…

“Perfect game. You’d know if you actually came ‘round ‘n watched.” He playfully winked, his deep chuckle echoing as you gave him a deadpan stare. 

“I’m quite alright, Fushiguro.” He pouted in mock defeat as you looked back down at your screen. The battery symbol on your laptop flashed red in warning: low power. 

You’d only been there for thirty minutes and you could’ve sworn you charged the damn thing last night. Sure, your outlets were kind of fucked, and sure this was a twelve year old laptop with a battery life the size of a peanut, but surely it wouldn’t give out on you this early in the day?!

You exhaled a long breath. The thought of putting money down for a new computer made your heart physically ache. 

The two of you (mainly you) had just started to make headway with the report (“flow state”, as Toji would call it), and you knew you wouldn’t have a chance to work on the project again until after your Wednesday shift. “You got a charger on you?” 

He scoffed, almost offendedly. “Wanna try askin’ that again sweetheart?” He tsked you lightly. 

You rolled your eyes, a heavy sigh tumbling out of your soft lips. 

“Forget it. I know you don’t,” there was something prickly beneath your uncaring tone, and he curiously paused to examine you. 

He could see the faint circles under your eyes that you tried to cover with concealer, the way your shoulders sagged slightly from the weight of your backpack as you lifted it from the seat beside you, and the brief glimpse of all the mini bookmarks sticking out of your planner as you dropped it inside the bag. 

“I guess we’ll have to call it here then. I’d need to go back to my apartment and grab my charger to do anything else.”

And, perhaps it was because the two of you had formed this unexpected bond over the past several weeks, something deep and quiet and far more important than Toji would ever willingly name, that the weight of being the weakest link finally made Toji Fushiguro feel the heavy hammer of guilt bury deep within his hardened chest. 

A moment passed before he cleared his throat, holding up his hand. 

“Or…” the words were slow to move out of his mouth, embarrassment thickening in his throat. “Why don’t we work there?” You stared at him, almost startled, as if he’d grown another head. His ears warmed under the intensity of your gaze as he continued. “I still got power, I can keep goin’ if you’re down.” 

His triceps flexed as he scratched the back of his neck, tan skin pulling taut as he looked away. 

“It’s a small place,” you warned. 

He shrugged, his voice catching in his throat at the way you were holding his gaze. “I don’t mind. I’d go any place you choose.”

He paused, his eyes widening slightly at the words that tumbled out of his mouth, as if he didn’t realize what he said until after he said them. 

You breathed, and a beat passed before a small, pretty smile pulled across your features – the first he’s ever gotten from you like this. And this time, your tired eyes warmed into something soft, something akin to appreciation, something new.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, then I’d like that.” You tilted your head slightly, and his heart thumped oddly loud in his muscular chest. “Thank you, Toji.”

For just the briefest of moments, you looked at him as if he had just offered the world. 

All he could do was swallow and nod. 

He didn’t even realize you called him by his first name until you were both out the door. 

The walk to your apartment was comfortably silent. Despite Toji’s taller stature and athletic build, he wordlessly matched your slower pace, walking between you and the road. 

Your apartment was situated right on the outskirts of campus; too close to drive, but too cumbersome to walk. He quietly marveled at your resolution to go in person to class every day, especially when he had difficulty hauling his ass to the lecture hall that was just a block over from frat row. 

The taller man was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even realize how close he was standing to you as you both paused at your front doorstep. His towering frame loomed over you, and he could feel the heat of your body as you dug through your bag, and he could see the goosebumps that rose on your neck when your arm accidentally grazed against his abdomen. 

Your keys softly clinked! together as you unlocked the front door.

And, there was something faintly intimate about being led up the creaky wooden steps to your 3rd floor apartment, your hips gently swaying in his face with each ascent up, and your soft hands lightly tracing the railing in your wake.

He intrusively thought about reaching out to touch your fingers, to run his hand along the curve of your waist–

He coughed lightly.

What was he thinking?

As you opened your apartment’s door, he was immediately hit with the light smell of lemon and jasmine. 

Your place was small but tidy; a one-bedroom attic apartment where the kitchen and living area blurred together, soaking in the same sunlit space. Despite its size, it carried your mark: two types of server aprons hung on the coat rack, a soft crocheted throw blanket you made draped over the worn couch, and a set of reading glasses laying beside a hand-painted mug on your round window table.

It was cute; homely. A small glimpse into your life outside of class.

“You can start getting set up in here, I’ll just grab my charger from my room.” You spoke quietly as you led him to the table. 

You silently turned before he could respond, padding across the old wooden floors to the door that was directly across from where he had set his bag down. 

He had only just started typing his password into his computer when he lazily looked up, his dark eyes catching the movement from your room. 

And, holy shit. 

No. 

There was genuinely no way in hell. 

He was scrambling up out of your wobbly kitchen chair before his mind could even register it. 

His body felt as if it were moving through water, and his brain felt like jam. Was that his own blood roaring past his ears or his soul escaping his body? 

Cool beads of sweat began to form on his neck, tickling at the ends of his dark, grungy hair. He had crossed the width of your apartment in three long strides, until suddenly he was at your doorframe, his large body leaning against it like it was a lifeline, and his scarred mouth parted into the dumbest looking “o”.

His wild eyes scanned your room fervently. The walls, the Cowboy Bebop poster by your bedframe, the pale linen sheets, the empty vase on your bedside table and the stack of yellowing paper backs in the corner of it. 

Everything looked familiar.

Scratch that. Everything looked the same. The same as–

“Can I help you?” 

You were on all fours. All fuckin’ fours. 

You tilted your head up to face him, taking a pause from wiggling the stubborn plug out of the ancient socket underneath your desk.

And… could you? Can you? He was at a genuine loss for words. 

All he could do was stare dumbly, his large fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, and his body emanating a heat that he prayed to god wasn’t visible from where you were.

“Uh. Y-you got a bathroom up here??” 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

He scoured through every single video and rewatched every single clip that night.

The furniture, the decor, the walls, the window placement: everything was the same.

And so, the verdict was in: you–his quiet, guarded, asocial, and steely chem partner–were none other than stargiirl herself. 

What. The. Fuck. 

It was confusing to wrap his head around, this whole stargiirl-chemgirl business. But would he go as far to say that it wasn’t attractive? That he didn’t pop a boner every time he thought about it? 

No. He couldn’t. He’d never.

Was this divine intervention or his own personal hell? 

He couldn’t tell.

What does this mean? How should he act?  What does he fucking do with this information now?

He rubbed his temples before running a tense hand through his hair. At the same time, a notification popped up on his computer. 

“Check out a new post from stargiirl_xx !”

He could feel the blood in his veins thumping against his skin. 

“Don’t do it. Please don’t fucking do it-” he mumbled. 

He tapped into the link despite himself. 

“Lessons In Vibration Pt II”

He wordlessly clicked the play button on the video. 

For a moment, he thought his screen was buffering. The camera was set up to look out onto your bed, though you were not in frame yet, presumably twiddling with the settings of your camera. 

But when you finally did walk into view, his heart nearly imploded. 

The frame only showed you from the mouth down, your identity mainly concealed. You were bottomless, bare legs walking across the floor as you situated yourself on your bed. The only piece of clothing you did have on was an overlarge sweatshirt, his sweatshirt, one that he, in his panicked daze to get out of your apartment earlier, forgot he had left behind. 

He didn’t dare breathe, nor could he move. His head was craned so close to his computer, as if he wanted to go through the screen itself just to get a better look. 

He noted how his hoodie fell past your ass, large and consuming and honestly? So fuckin’ perfect on you.

You were nearing the end of your normal introduction, and he realized you spoke differently on video, low and confident and sensual and hypnotic.

“I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about my content throughout the years,” your hands started to draaag the bottom of his hoodie up, letting it bunch just slightly above the dip of your waist, enunciating your curves. “-And I’ve realized I’ve never had a partner during any of them.”

The comments on the side bar started to flood through, hundreds of viewers already volunteering themselves to be your +1. 

His jaw ticked, hard.

“I think,” you leaned forward like you were sharing a secret. Toji gripped onto his computer until a faint pop! could be heard of one of the inner screws coming loose. “I think I would like to change that in the future,” and then you smiled, really smiled, a full, playful grin wiping across your features in a way he had never been able to see in person before. 

His dick bobbed in his pants. 

This could not be happening to him right now. 

You continued, “but for now, welcome back to my Lessons in Vibrations series.”

He watched as you started introducing the toys you would be using today, before you slowly began to touch yourself, teasingly showing glimpses of the purple lace panties you had on underneath his hoodie. 

And he couldn’t help it, really. 

Because when you started rubbing your vibrator against your clit, your deft fingers plunging skillfully into your cunt, soft whimpers escaping your lips as your pussy started squelching out a fucking melody – all while wearing his fuckin’ sweatshirt – what the fuck else was he supposed to do?

His sweats were already halfway down his thighs, and his meaty hand greedily pumping his own cock in sync to you fucking yourself on your fingers. 

He watched hungrily as you pushed his sweatshirt up further along your body, exposing your stomach, teasing the view of your bare tits. He bit back a groan at the thought of your scent lingering in the fabric, and prayed to whatever deity above that you wouldn’t wash it out before he got it back. 

Below, your fingers languidly teased the head of your vibrator against your entrance. It was the insertable kind, with a slender tip and curved body, the type that had your hole trying to suck up the device with every rub against your dripping slit. 

He could feel the veins in his cock pulsing hotly in anticipation, pushing up thick pearls of precum out onto his flared tip. 

He wondered what it would be like to slip his shaft against your drenched pussy lips, to massage the underside of his cockhead against the tight ring of your entrance, to feel you squeezing around him, and to hear the sounds you would make just for him. 

He gulped, cool sweat starting to form on his brow. You were beginning to fuck the device into you, pumping the vibrator in and out and in and out. He could see your legs trembling, your juices starting to  uncontrollably splash outside of you, and your pussylips fluttering with every bzzz bzz bzzzzzt of the vibrator fucking and swirling and massaging into your g-spot. 

He was matching your pace, furiously pumping his dick, thinking about how you looked on all fours earlier, thinking about how you smiled when you called him his name, thinking about how you look when you concentrate and the mole above your brow, thinking about the coffee you made for him and the weird shitposts you sent and the way you could look at him like he was nothing, and everything, all at the same time.

And suddenly, he wasn’t climaxing to the stargiirl he had always seen on screen.

It was his tough, quiet, calm chem partner. 

And as he shot hot spurts of thick, ropey cum all the way from his dick to his chin (the most he’s ever released before), he realized only one thing. 

He just finished to the thought of you.

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Toji Fushiguro had a problem. 

No, scratch that. 

He had a fucking crisis. 

It was drill day, and his head was absolutely nowhere near the turf. He fumbled balls, missed targets, and was a full thirty-seconds under his usual sprint times. 

And that was only how one of his practices went this week. 

It had been five whole days since he last saw you. 

Five days of being dogshit at his sport. 

Five days of holing up in his frat, avoiding campus, avoiding class, avoiding your texts, avoiding you.

It’s not like he wanted to do this, but he didn’t know what to do, how to act, or what to even say. 

How could he talk to you casually while knowing he’s given probably a third of his checks to you? How could he be normal in your presence knowing that he’s watched every single one of your streams, and in turn has finished an embarrassing amount of times to each of them?

How could he trust himself when the thought of you alone had his heart pounding so hard his ears hurt? Or how his chest squeezed so tight he almost went to urgent care, just because you texted asking where he’s been and if he was okay? 

How could he face you, knowing that he somehow developed the largest, fattest, most egregious fuckin’ crush on you?!

And, for the record, Toji Fushiguro did not do crushes. He hadn’t necessarily “ran through” the entire roster of available chicks on campus, but he did have an occasional fling, nothing serious, nothing long, nothing that would distract him from football and his dreams.

He was known as the campus heartthrob and heartbreaker. He was Mr. Non-Chalant, Mr. Everybody-Wants-A-Piece-of-Him, and Mr. I-Don’t-Get-Attached all wrapped up in one 6’4, 230 lbs body. 

A crush? That was new, unexplored territory for him. 

He stared down at your last texts to him.

⭐️(Thursday, 12:03pm): i got us a nice spot!! im sitting on 2nd floor @ clark  ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

Ba-dump!

⭐️(Thursday, 12:18pm): knock knock, is mr. toji theree 

Ba-dump! Ba-dump!

⭐️(Thursday, 12:56pm): hey, is everythin ok? r we still on for today?

Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump–

⭐️(Saturday, 10:01am): r u alive

It physically sickened him that he couldn’t get his cowardly fingers to just fucking write back. But every time he opened up your text chain, all he could do was stare. 

Which is exactly why he couldn’t see you yet. 

He needed time. 

He needed space. 

He needed to get this shit under control.

Fortunately (or unfortunately) for him, the Kappa Epsilon fraternity was throwing a rager tonight. With the group of men only one week out from the next bracket of playoffs, this would be the last night the football frat would get to drink together for a while if they were to make it to the finals. 

It would be the perfect distraction. 

About an hour or so into the party and he was buzzed. He absolutely demolished that shithead Ryomen in beer pong, crushed a pack of PBRs, and now was cooling off in the kitchen, his body feeling swimmy and light. 

He reached for his phone. Maybe, just maybe, if he looked at your messages again for the umpteenth time today, maybe he would know what to say, maybe he–

“Ah, so you can come out and party but ignore all of my texts?”

His heart did that stupid thing where it pounded so hard against his chest he wondered if his ribs bruised. 

Despite the booming of the bass coming from the room over, and the idle chatter of randoms idling in the kitchen, he could hear the dry, unimpressed, and entirely too familiar voice coming directly from behind him. 

He turned, his eyes lowering to find you, as if it was muscle memory, as if it was his second nature. 

You never showed up to these parties (and trust, he has invited you to them all). Yet here you were, your body leaned up against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over your chest, and your hair falling around your frame. 

He grinned, the buzz in his head making it easy for a stupidly cheeky and wide and boyish smile to plaster onto his face. (a/n: toji has a hung smile. Okay? Okay.). 

“Hey, party animal,” he said, almost dreamily. 

The top you wore clung to you like a second skin, accentuating the swells of your breasts and the dip of your waist: features that you usually hid underneath your normal, bulkier campus-attire. 

He was indecisive, his eyes bouncing between the unreadable look on your face to the sliver of exposed skin right above your miniskirt. 

You looked good, really fuckin’ good. 

Your eyes widened, before your cheeks blushed the prettiest shade of red, your manicured fingers tightening around the plastic solo cup you were holding

Did he say that outloud?!

You straightened, steeling yourself, willing the warmth in your cheeks to go away. “You’ve ignored me for five days, Fushiguro-” your voice was firm and cool, cutting sharply through the noise of the party.

Back to the last name basis. 

You looked away, before adding, “-and you ditched me on Thursday.” You spoke that last part softly, deliberately, a look of sadness flashing briefly in your pretty, doe-like eyes. 

A dull pang rippled through his chest. 

He knew the implications of your words – the two of you never missed a meetup since this whole “deal” started. 

And, like those days in the libraries or cafes where he found himself sitting before you, following your every word and direction, he now found himself moving towards you, a small pout forming on his scarred lips, as his strong arms caged you in until you were wedged between himself and the counter. 

And, you knew he was huge before. 

But now, up close, you realized just how large he was - his broad shoulders obscuring your view, his muscular chest rippling under the tight black shirt he wore, and his huge hands riddled with veins that climbed up, up, up his forearms. 

He was overwhelming and all-consuming, surrounding your senses with the kind of intensity only he alone could pull off. You breathed in, your chest rising, fighting against the cotton of your ill-fitting top. He smelled of fresh pine and warm leather, clean and raw and manly. 

You came here pissed, but now found your resolve completely fogged and muddled. 

He leaned forward, dipping his head low, until his shaggy fringe tickled softly against the shell of your ear. 

You knew he had been drinking, but the question was, did he know what he was doing right now? Was this purposeful? Was this real? You couldn’t quite tell, but the way his breath stuttered as his nose traced light patterns into your neck, the way he was breathing you in, and the way his hands periodically clenched onto the countertop as if to restrain himself, told you he was at least semi aware of what he was doing. 

Your heart was hammering in your chest. The two of you never stood this close before, let alone touched each other. 

You turned your head slightly, trying to put at least some ounce of space between your face and his.

But for him? That just would not do. 

He slowly pulled away from your neck, his nose lightly mapping a path from the base of your neck, across the soft expanse of your cheek, to the tip of your own. Noses brushing, breaths mingling, chests heaving, and hearts pounding as his scarred lips hovered your glossed ones. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” 

The air between you was warm and thick, charged with something tender and so deeply intimate. 

“Because you scare me,” he mumbled. 

“Oh, really?” Your mouth twitched. 

“Mm.” He nodded once, nose rubbing softly against yours in an eskimo kiss. You could see how his eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, lips dangerously close to pressing against yours.

“‘Think ya cursed me.” His neck flushed red, his low voice was barely above a whisper. 

“I can go-”

“Don’t.”

And then his large hands were latching onto your waist, the heat of his skin searing through the thin material of your skirt. 

“Don’t. Don’tDon’tDon’t.” His brows scrunched together, his face becoming serious. “Don’t go. Don’t leave. Not when you’re here, with me, pretty girl.” 

You breathed, taking your time to steady your voice after hearing the pet name roll off his tongue. “Then what should I do?”

“Stay.”

It was as simple as that, really. 

And then his lips were on yours, warm and soft and commanding. He kissed you like you were sin, drinking you in, savoring you on his tongue, before inevitably, always inevitably, going back for more. He didn’t let you breathe; he wouldn’t. He was greedy and wrong and possessive, claiming your mouth like it was his alone to conquer. Your knees weakened as his tongue massaged against yours addictively, molding against you like you were made for him; like he was made for you. 

Your hands moved before you could think, before you could decide if you were angry with him or if you hungered for him. You found purchase on his broad shoulders, before making your way up, up, up to his neck, one hand running through his dark hair while the other held onto the underside of his strong jaw, thumb gently caressing the scar on the side of his mouth, pulling him in.

He pressed into you further, your ass hitting the lower counter. His body was flush against yours, his chest purposefully rubbing against your tits. 

He could feel your nipples hardening through the flimsy cotton of your top, and he couldn’t stop the sleazy grin that was forming on his face. 

Below, his grip on you was gentle but firm, bringing your body to press and grind against his in an unhurried, languid way, like he had all the time in the world, like all of this was fated from the start. 

And his fingers, oh his fingers, which spanned across your hip, slowly found their way to your ass, gripping and cupping and kneading into the soft, jiggly flesh. 

You could feel something move against your thigh, something sturdy and heavy and completely fucking monstruous. 

“Haah-” you shakily sighed out, breathy and dazed as you looked down to the outline of his bulge. Your eyes widened. 

“I like when you use that smart mouth, y’know,” he was talking against your lips, not able to find it in himself to pull away. His hand slid up the side of your waist, until he stopped right underneath your breast, his thumb rubbing against the underside of where it started to swell. 

His voice dropped an octave lower, whispering to you like it was a secret. “Talk to me. Break this curse. Tell me it’s not just me that feels like this.” 

Please.

His heart was racing. He was stone cold sober. This was it. This was his admission. 

ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump–

You breathed. 

The party raged on in the background, muddled and distant, like his ears were submerged under water–

“It’s not just you, Toji.” 

Your voice was quiet, your cheeks tinted rouge, your pretty eyes looking up at him in earnest. 

And that was all he needed. 

He picked you up like you were nothing (his bench was 350 lbs, squat 600 lbs, and his hip thrusts? don’t even worry ‘bout it), a smug, victorious grin tugging at his scarred lips.

He carried you out of the kitchen, and a steady stream of wolf whistles and howls erupted from his frat brothers and party goers as the two of you made your way across the foyer, up the stairs, and towards a bedroom. His bedroom. 

He carried you inside, keeping the lights off, letting the warm glow of the streetlamp beside his window spill softly across the room. Without a word, he set you down on his large king-sized bed.

The air in his room was tender and still. You could hear the faint bass of the stereo downstairs, vibrating against his wooden floors like a heartbeat. The distant cheers of the crowd down below faded to quiet as he pressed his mouth to your own. 

He leisurely climbed over you, never breaking the kiss, his muscular arms holding his body above your own. 

It didn’t take long for the makeout to turn heated again, teeth clashing against teeth, bodies pressed against each other, rubbing and teasing in a way that had your head spinning.

You put your hands against his chest. 

“Toji-”

“Stay,” he breathed, whispering the words against your lips, like he could read your mind. “-Stay with me tonight,” he pressed his body closer into you, rutting his hips, “and lemme show you the things I’ve been wantin’ to say to you all week.”

You could feel his cock twitch ominously against your bare thigh as you swallowed. 

His lips were swollen and glistening from your mixed salivas, his eyes glazed over, jade irises almost completely black. His grip on your lower body was unrelenting, holding you in place. 

You lightly pushed your hand against his chest, a hesitant look crossing your features.

A beat passed. For a second, he didn’t even realize he stopped breathing. 

“You’ve been drinking,” You paused, your voice coming out small. “What if.. what if you don’t mean this in the morning?” 

And for all your expertise and genius, oh, how completely wrong you could be.

He let out a humorless chuckle, his sharp canines peaking through his lips in the process. 

“Did it sound like I was jokin’, sweetheart?” He shakily exhaled through his nose as he pressed his erection against your clothed cunt, holding himself there, letting you feel the pressure and full weight of what he was packing. “Does it feel like I’m jokin’ ‘bout this?” 

You bit your lip, pussy throbbing, a warm slickness starting to soak through your panties, before messily spreading between your clenched thighs. 

You shook your head. 

“What’d I say about usin’ your words?”

He pulsed his dick, the sensation making your pussy clench. 

Fuckin’ tease. 

“Nngh- no. No it doesn’t feel like you’re joking,” you almost gasp out. 

A satisfied smirk plastered onto his tanned face.

“Good girl.” 

And then he’s moving down the bed, his calloused hands spreading your legs as he pressed wet kisses against the hot skin of your thighs. He was methodical and slow, making his way up your inner thigh, savoring the small sounds that you tried to suppress as he reached the bottom hem of your skirt, his face mere inches away from your sopping pussy, and his breath puffing warm air against your dampened panties . 

“Ohhh jus’ look at ya,” you could tell he had the most shit-eating grin on his face right now, pride swelling in his voice as he carefully dipped a large, rough finger between the seam of the thin purple fabric you adorned. “This all f’me?”

And - Holy shit.

The videos of you didn’t even do this justice. 

Because low and behold, here you were, under his body, and you were so fuckin’ wet. His finger slid against your folds with little resistance, putting just enough pressure that you couldn’t help but moan his name as he rubbed circles against your clit.

And, Toji Fushiguro never claimed to be a patient man. So, it should’ve came as no surprise when he grabbed your hips and used his hulking strength to push your clothed pussy to his scarred lips, his face nuzzled to your cunt, nose pressed firmly to your clit, and his greedy tongue lapping you up through the soiled fabric. 

It was obscene and perverse and dirty and wrong. 

But oh, how he loved it. Loved the heady taste you left on your panties, and the sweet scent of your gushing pussy, and the excess slick on your thighs that made its way onto his rough cheeks. 

He groaned, a low, guttural sound against your skin that made your tummy squeeze into knots. 

“T-Toji, please,” you whined, pressing your greedy cunt into his face, “need your tongue. Need you. Need more.” You could hardly string a true sentence together, and he hadn’t even fucked you proper yet. 

His heart was thunderous against his chest. 

And his dick? 

Hardest it’s ever fuckin’ been in his fuckin’ life.

He was grinding his erection against the mattress as he obliged your wishes.

After all, how could he say no to you? 

He pushed your panties to the side. 

And oh. 

His balls tightened below him, the urge to cum almost threateningly near as he stared at your bare, swollen pussy. 

Holy. Shit.

Everything was soaked and glistening. 

He rubbed one thumb across your puffy skin, his coarse finger getting soaked in the process. 

He leaned in, gingerly licking fat stripes along your folds, lapping you up, drinking you in. He worked thoroughly, gathering you onto his tongue, until the lower part of his face was a mixture of your juices and his drool. 

It was only after he was satisfied with his work did he make his way to your clit, humming and sucking, the wet sounds of his mouth making out with your cunt filling the air of his room. 

The warm pleasure of it all was beginning to pool in your belly, your toes beginning to curl, legs beginning to shake – but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. 

“Toji, I might-” 

He plunged a rough, thick finger inside you, spearing your tight velvet walls apart, all the way up to his knuckle. 

You saw fuckin’ stars.

The sound you made was so erotic, so loud and depraved and raw, that his dick lurched in his pants, warm gooey pre-cum beginning to leak out from his throbbing tip and into his briefs. 

He wanted to hear you again, and again and again and again. 

He wanted videos, home movies, and spotify playlists of the way your pussy was talking to him. 

Emboldened, his tongue was unrelenting on your clit, as one finger became two, and then two became three. 

You mewled as he crooked them up, massaging against that soft, spongey bundle of nerves that had you panting his name out like it was prayer. 

Your ears were ringing, your eyes beginning to get wet with tears. 

Soon, he was fucking you on his fingers proper, setting a debilitating pace as he plunged his digits in and out and in and out. Filling you up, stretching you out, hitting your most sensitive areas. Again, and again, and again.

The pressure in your core was reaching its limits now, and the pleasure from the sheer fullness of your pussy and the sinful patterns of his tongue were beginning to send violent tremors down your legs. 

You were orgasming before you even realized it.

And yet, he was didn’t stop – didn’t even give you time to breathe as he’s diving into your pussy, slurping you up, his large nose rubbing against your over-sensitive clit as he’s fucking his thick tongue and his fingers past the tight ring of your entrance, fucking you, warm and wet, through each of your peaks. 

Your hands held onto his hair like a lifeline, your fleshy thighs locked around his head as if to keep him in place. 

“You taste so good, sweetheart,” he moaned, his eyes glazed over, completely and utterly pussy drunk, as you looked down at him, his mouth still latched onto your cunt. 

You could see your slick dripping down his face, mixing with the light trails of perspiration that sprouted from his temples. 

Your heart squeezed in your chest. 

It was only after the last few waves of your orgasm subsided when you could finally respond. 

“I think,” you gently reached down to run your shaky hand through his scalp, tenderly pushing away the sweaty fringe by his eyes. “I think I can think of something that might taste better.” 

And then you’re pushing him until he’s moving to the top of the bed, his back resting against the headboard as he pulls his black shirt up and over his head, triceps flexing, exposing his muscular pecs, washboard abs, and the light tufts of hair that sprouted on his chest, and got increasingly darker the further down his abs it went. 

You could feel your pussy walls clamp down, warmth pooling in your core again as you reached out instinctively to run your hands along the length of his torso. 

You never thought, in all of your wildest dreams, that this would be happening. Nor could your dreams do justice to the perfect build of the man before you.

“Well look at you, Mr. Fushiguro.” Your soft hands slowly sliding up, up, up against his skin, all the way from where the dark tufts of thick hair started to disappear under his pants, and towards his pecs, feeling the way his traitorous heart stuttered as you called his name. “Aren’t you quite the heartbreaker.”

You held his gaze, the air around you charged with anticipation.

Who would move first?

His breathing was shallow as he stared at you, your cheeks flushed and eyes glazed. Your top was rumpled to hell, exposing the line of your cleavage in a way that had his pants tenting painfully, and your mini skirt was so far scrunched that it looked like a belt around your waist. 

“For others, sure…” He grabbed your hands, pressing them deeper into his skin as he slid them up to cup his face. “But for you?” he was whispering now, his ears growing steadily pinker by the second, “I’m afraid you have me beat.” 

Oh. 

And then you’re leaning in, tenderly pressing your lips to his own, mumbling his name over and over again to stop you from saying those other three little words, before sealing it with your tongue. 

And then he’s pulling you into his lap. 

You could taste yourself in his mouth and on his lips, your nipples tightening as his large hands grabbed handfuls of your ass, spreading your cheeks apart before making them clap together again. 

A muffled groan escaped from the depths of his chest, vibrating against your mouth, as he felt new gushes of your slick begin to dampen the front of his pants.

“Mmmnh- get comfortable, pretty girl.” He slurred out as he pulled at the waistband of your skirt, before letting go, allowing the material to slap against your skin with a light sting. 

“Hmm… only if daddy gets comfortable too.” your eyes were big as you stared at him through your lashes.  

And oh fuck.

Toji had to lean his head back, his skull hitting against the wall with a dull thud! 

The way the words left your mouth had him breathless, brain short-circuiting, and dick throbbing. He needed to recuperate. Calm down.

Breathe in. Exhale. Repeat. 

You smiled slyly, completely aware of how your words affected him, as you pulled your flimsy top off, followed by your bottomwear. Your tits were heavy and full as they were released from the cotton, nipples peaked and stiff. 

You were bare before him, your arms on either side of his hips, squeezing your tits together lightly as you bent low to whisper against his ear. 

“You like when I call you that?” Your voice was sweet as honey as your hands traced the large outline of his dick through his pants, gripping his shaft through the tight material, and feeling the monstrous size of his girth. 

“Careful, sweetheart,” his voice was a mixture of restraint and warning, “don’t start callin’ me that unless y’er tryna see it through.” His neck was visibly tense, and his hands clutched on to the meat of your hips as he stared at you. 

Pretty girl. 

He squeezed tighter.

His pretty girl. 

A moment of silence passed as you considered his words. “And what if I do wanna see it through…?” Your head tilted cutely while your mean hands found their way to his happy trail, running your nails down through the thick tufts of dark hair, dipping juuust below the waistband of his pants, before retreating back up again in slow, agonizing loops. “Show me your worst, daddy.”

And who was he to deny you? 

Before you knew it, he had his pants and briefs shoved down his legs, his massive cock heavily thudding against his washboard abs

Your mouth gaped open.

And ohhh how he relished the dumb look on your lil’ cute face.  

You didn’t even think anyone could be this large. 

Yet here he was, with a dick that looked like it belonged in a porno, pulsing fat and heavy and huge as he leaked pre-cum all over the angry mushroomed head. 

He smirked, cocky as ever, as you subconsciously licked your lips, eyes glazed over, cock drunk just off the look alone.

Your pussy gushed warm, new slick between your legs as you carefully leant down, your hands grabbing around his base, slowly bringing his dick closer to your face.

He could feel the warm puffs of air coming from ur plush lips, his dick twitching like crazy at how close you were to finally, finally getting your mouth on him. 

You pressed a gentle kiss to his leaking slit, before running your lips over the excess pre-cum, painting your lips with the milky substance.

He swallowed hard. His eyes were wild and his breathing ragged.

He groped your tits, rolling your stiff nipples in his calloused fingers, eliciting the sweetest moan from you that reverberated around his dick.

You gave him small kitten licks at first, teasing the idea, before gradually licking thick fat stripes up and down the length of his huge dick. You traced the pulsing veins that climbed up his hot shaft and licked around the sensitive underside of his throbbing cockhead. 

And it was only when his chest was heaving, his impatient hands gripping onto your skull, did you finally, finally begin to throat fuck the shit outta him. 

None of the videos he had watched of you before even came close to the sensation of seeing the bulge forming in your throat from where his cock was buried inside of you, or the way your nose tickled against the tufts of dark hair at the base of his cock. 

You moaned dreamily around him at the feeling of his heavy dick pounding against the back of your throat, filling your mouth and overwhelming your senses. You couldn’t help the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes as you bobbed him in your mouth, hands jerking off what you couldn’t reach, and your thighs rubbing together greedily, craving any ounce of friction against your throbbing pussy.

But before you knew it, he was lifting you off, a light string of saliva following en suit, connecting the two of you together. 

“What’s wrong?” You had a devilish grin on your pretty face. “Scared you're gonna cum too quick?”

A low, humorless chuckle rumbled through his body as one of his hands wrapped around your throat, while the other smacked your ass. 

“Nah,” his canines glinted in the lowlight, a predatorial grin etching into his features. “Just tryna make sure nothin’ gets wasted.” And then he's shifting you up, rubbing his thick cock against your gooey cunt, mixing his thick pre with your juices. 

Your heart fluttered.

His dick was so warm against your skin – so, so much better (and bigger) than the toys you regularly used to get yourself off. 

You’ve had enough. You’ve done your waiting. You needed him inside you. 

You lifted yourself up, your hands bracing themselves on either side of Toji’s broad shoulders. Your pussy was dripping down onto his angry dick as you slowly lowered yourself, hips circling, letting his throbbing head trace your sopping lips. 

He could have almost passed out from the sight alone.

Instead, he panted out a deep breath, his chest tightening as he tried to restrain himself from bucking up into your cunt. 

You paused your hips, lowering yourself again ever so slightly so that his leaking head was now smooching against your gummy entrance, the heat of his cock stirring something warm and familiar in your belly. 

Please, please, please, ple–

And then your pussy is swallowing his head whole. 

“Oh, fuuuck you’re tight mama,” his eyes squeezed shut, fringe sticking to his sweaty forehead as Toji gasped out at the sensation of his thiiick cockhead squeezing past the tight ring of muscles at your entrance. 

Your gummy walls sucked against him from all angles, squishing into his hardness and rubbing deliciously against the sensitive underside of his mushroomed tip. 

And this was just the tip.

He didn’t know if he would make it out of here alive. At least, without getting you pregnant. 

You whimpered, actually fuckin’ whimpered his name as you reached down, touching where he was spearing you apart, your lips drawn thin and tight to accommodate for the sheer size of him. 

“You’re so big Toji,” a tear rolled down your flushed cheek. “Look at how much more I gotta take.” And he did, he really did look. Because you began to let your finger slowly slide from where the two of you were connected, down, down, down to the tufts of hair at the base of his cock.

“Haah- Ya’ think it’ll fit, sweetheart?” He grunted, his lips involuntarily bucking as you pouted cutely at him. 

Something impassable flashed across your feature. “I’ll make it fuckin’ fit.”

And then you’re slamming down onto his dick, and it feels like the literal wind gets knocked out of both of your chests. 

He has never felt something so deliciously tight before.

You have never felt so goddamn filled up before.

You’re clenching around him, velvet walls fluttering and smooching around his raw cock as it pulses heavy and thick with animalistic need. 

It took you several moments to orient yourself, to gather your scrambled senses back together to remember what you were doing, what your goal was, why you were here. 

“I have a secret to tell you.” You stared down at him, an unreadable look passing over your features. 

“O-oh really?” you squeezed your walls around him, catching him off guard.

“I know you watch me touch myself,” you whispered it like it was a secret, sly and just a touch proud.

And of all the things you could’ve said, nothing would have prepared him for that.

His dick bobbed from inside of you. 

“Fushi-daddy420 isn’t the most subtlest of names, no?” you grinned meanly as you watched his jade eyes turn impossibly black as you began to slowly, teasingly, mercifully bounce on his cock. Up and down and up and down. 

“But-?”

He thought you would hate him if you knew. 

He agonized for days for this reaction?!!

“And after you ran out on me after seeing my place?” you were panting, riding him as you talked. “Yea, that kinda solidified it.”

And just when he thinks you’ve found your rhythm and set your pace, you slowly begin to circle your hips, hitting new angles deep inside your guts that have his throbbing tip pressing into the spongy part of your pussy. 

“You don’t -fuhh- don’t hate me?” his mind was swirling, how could he focus when you felt this good?

“Never.” Your hips rolled, and you pressed your tits together, giving him a show.  

And you were doing so well, and felt so good. He pressed a fat thumb against your clit, spelling out his name, as if to claim you, mark you, over and over and over again. 

T-O-J-I !

He throws his head back as he feels you creaming around his cock, while your eyes are rolling into the backs of your head as you feel his thick goopy pre frothing at your entrance, dripping down onto his balls. The pace is getting faster, the air getting hot, and thick beads of sweat are rolling down your back. The obscene sounds of sweaty skin slapping against skin filled the hot, sex-scented air. 

You lean down to kiss him, tongues messily entangling, drool spilling from the sides of your lips as you ride his cock like a fuckin’ animal, ass jiggling from the force of his hips rocking up to meet you, his heavy balls smacking against your pussy like a promise. 

In one swift motion, he’s flipping the two of you over, your back to the bed, his dick never leaving your pussy, as he continues to fuck into you. He has your legs spread wide, your knees to his sides as he buries himself deep within your warmth, the new angle allowing you to feel his fat tip smooching against your cervix.

He’s panting, breath shaky as he slows down, rutting shallowly, not allowing himself to be too far from your gummy insides. “T-tell me where you want it,” his voice came out strained, and you could see where his veins were protruding on his neck. 

Oh. His cum.

His balls were pressed against you, tightening with every passing second. You could feel his dick bobbing against your walls as he was direly trying to stop himself from cumming. 

You smiled, soft and sweet, as you pressed a hand against your lower tummy, feeling the bulge of where he was nestled inside you. 

“Oh, you already know,” and you were batting your pretty lashes up at him, making his heart stutter. “Isn’t that right, daddy?” 

And oh, how his broken mind snapped. 

The next thing you knew, he’s pressing your knees so far up they’re knocking against your tits, his hulking body leaning over and pressing down into you, chest against chest, until you could feel his warm lips sucking bruises by your ear. 

And then he’s draaagging his thick cock through your pussy until only the tip is inside you, before snapping his hips forward, forcing his cock the deepest it could go back inside you, spearing you apart, and setting an absolutely cruel, delicious, depraved pace that has his balls bruising your ass and his cock breeching your womb. 

It goes for what feels like seconds, minutes, hours.

Your legs began to shake at all the sensations, your pussy walls convulsing around him and your ears ringing as you started to see white. 

And he truly couldn’t keep it in any longer. 

Not when you sounded so hot, with your face scrunched up in the prettiest ‘o’ and your nails digging crescents into his back as you called his name, begging for his seed. 

And so he bucked up, his hips flush against yours, locking you into the meanest of mating presses, as his dick lurched, balls scrunching, as he pumped copious amounts of his thick, sticky cum straight into your womb.

And he’s still bucking his hips, through each of your peaks, fucking his cum deep inside you, until your belly was bloated and full of him.

“Thattaa girl,” he pressed a warm kiss to your mouth as he fucked you through the last few peaks of your orgasms, gingerly swiping his thumb across your cheek as if you were something precious. “My girl.”

And later on, as you softly drifted to sleep, with a belly full of his cum and his softening dick still inside you, you could feel his scarred lips pressing light kisses across your face, and the mumblings of something that sounded vaguely too close to “iloveyou” whispered into your warm skin.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Five weeks passed, and the Michigan Wolverines were in the midst of the NCAA College Football Championships.

After weeks of non-stop practice, conditioning, strength training, and late-night film recaps, the team of 100-odd men were finally going up against their biggest competitor in the nation.

There was much on the line, but thankfully, Senior Quarterback and Captain, Toji Fushiguro, had quite the good luck charm on his side. 

Not only did he pass Kinetics (albeit by the skin of his teeth, thanks to you), but he now had a new, fool-proof pre-game regimen (with an even better success rate!).

He still kept his same protein shake recipe.

He still kept his same choice of attire.

But this time around, he needed at least one hour of your undivided attention, with the provision that his cock be buried so deep and raw inside your trembling cunt that you could feel him in your womb. 

And it was only after intense, depraved, animalistic fucking, with your pussy stuffed full of his gooey cum, and hickies in the shape of a ‘T’ on your neck, could the 6’4 230 lbs man say with absolute certainty, that this championship was in the god damn bag. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The Wolverines won their final round of the playoffs in a sweeping victory: 52-38. 

And the star quarterback of the show could not wait to celebrate with you, his pretty lil’ girlfriend. 

You have to admit, you keep getting fonder of them, it could be Suguru’s way of making sure you have your favorite white claw in the fridge, or Choso making sure he got that sativa strain for you. It could be that they’re gorgeous and they smell too damn good, or it could be you’re just ovulating and all sensitive tonight.

But fuck you want them, would it be so terrible to ask them to join? But at the same time, you don’t want them looking a certain way at what you do. They seem super chill but you get a little nervous any time they ask, unable to fully answer them, just sort of giggling and brushing it off.

Suguru’s cooking before they go, his long hair is thrown half up in a bun, the rest flowing down his bare skin, just a thin black wife beater with some band he loves and blood splatter designed trip pants. Choso’s got a baggier shirt, stark white over long black sleeves, his jeans littered with chains, pockets stuffed endlessly full of his growing collection of lighters.

For some reason he stole one from every party he went to – which was a lot.

Suguru’s got a pan of garlic butter shrimp sizzling on the stove, making your tummy growl, since Choso’s grinding some new, ridiculously loud strain he just got in, and he let you test it out – fuck it’s made you hungry, your eyes are so damn red you have to slop drops in. You’re sitting right on the island, crossing your legs and giggling as Suguru has to work around you.

“Always in my way and shit,” he teases, pinching your thigh, you yelp a bit and he tugs you down, hovering a little too close, your phone notifs rolling in nonstop, he faintly notices with a flick of his gaze, hands lingering on your waist.

“Sugu you got a date tonight? You always shave when you do,” you tease him right back, fingers brushing his chin – smooth from where he’d just shaved, you can smell that aftershave this close.

“No I don’t have a date,” he snatches your hand and looks curiously at your phone again, when the timer goes off. “Distracting me, I’ll burn it.”

“My apologies, chef,” Suguru rolls his eyes, you go sit over next to Choso at the little table, his eyes dart across the little robe you have tied around your waist – this pretty pink silk that hits mid thigh and hardly covers shit.

“Wanna try this edible?” You laugh and shake your head.

“No way, yours are too dangerous!”

“This is so yummy, just take a nibble,” he opens the little squares of chocolate, leaning closer and holding it toward your lips, black nailed fingers delicate as they swirl it around temptingly. “Ya know ya wanna.”

“I better not hallucinate or something,” he snorts and shakes his head, but falters when you open your mouth, tongue brushing his fingers as you bite the milky chocolate laced with thc, moaning and shutting your eyes.

Suguru and Choso both just fucking stare at you, as you swipe some of your thumb and suck on it, moaning.

“So yummy!” You look at the silent men curiously, Suguru’s timer goes off and it sort of breaks the spell, but not before both men have to go to their rooms and jerk it to you.

It was sort of a ritual, jerk it to their roommate, act like they didn’t – know they each did – and get jealous when you gave either of them the smallest bit more attention. A cycle of wanting to fuck their pretty roomate who dresses slutty, but never wanting to take it too far, leaving them hopeless and jerking it raw.

They could fuck other girls, but how could they really when you live here all fucking cute and ruining them?

“Shit that’s good stuff,” you’re giggling when they’re getting ready to leave for that party, each have slung a faded jean jacket on, smeared a little liner on their eyes, you’ll use it as gooning material for your cam session tonight.

“Alright, we’re heading out,” Suguru lets you hug him and kiss his cheek, trying to ignore the face he leaks pre from hugs now. “If you need something call us.”

“No, go have fun!”

“Lock up please?” Choso kisses your head, you smile and nod.

The front door clicks shut behind them, and you exhale just a bit – your own routine is to wait a good ten minutes, just to be safe, before you get ready, undoing your robe so just your very slutty lingerie clings to your body. You get into the mood to talk to all these men on your laptop, sorting your blanket and the endless plushes and pillows into a cute arrangement.

You spritz yourself with body spray but that really never made sense – not like the guys smell you, but you still love champagne toast, right along with that little matching candle you light. You have your leds on this pretty pink color, putting on your slutty playlist – yep, you have it titled ‘slutty playlist’ right on your spotify.

Camming was easy in a way, but it was also a bit of a mindset to tap into. Setting up the ringlight, touching up your makeup, all before positioning yourself on your bed just so, making sure the angle looks casual. Your laptop was open, the soft glow of the ring light illuminating your almost bare skin as the viewer count starts to climb.

The problem is, this time? You forget to fully shut your door – you figure they’ll be gone for hours anyway.

“Hey everyone,” they start throwing those tips on stream just to see a hint of your titties. “Aw, did you all miss me?”

*****

"Shit I forgot all my prerolls," Suguru rolls his eyes as he drives toward the party, Choso is checking his pockets that are just full of papers, lighters and empty baggies. "I had them all ready to be bought."

"You're a mess," Suguru yawns and turns the car around, Choso's grinning. "You're lucky we aren't that far."

"What do you think she does for a living, besides being hot?"

Suguru snorts, putting the car into gear and easing up on the clutch. "I figure she's some like, sugar baby? She's gorgeous and chronically online."

"Nah no way, I think she's like in crypto - maybe she's some secret scammer? Like... a hacker or some shit!"

Suguru rolls his pretty amethyst eyes as they near the apartment. "Yeah I doubt it. Fuck I think I did forget my fave guitar pik... I'll come up too."

The two of them try to be just a bit quiet in case you're asleep, you kinda went to your room decently early every night and played your favorite music. Nothing too loud - just enough that if you were right by your room you could hear, the same music is a little louder when they walk in, your door cracked.

"Mmm, where'd I leave em?" Choso tugs at his ponytails that are falling just so, looking around until he pauses, peeking right in your room like a fucking pervert.

You're fucking your pretty cunt with a glass dildo, and the thing is all glittery and pink - like your entire room. All arched on that plush rug, ass facing this bright heart shaped ring light, moaning softly as your cunt is so loud he hears her sucking it up.

Choso almost busts.

"Bro," Suguru scowls as he sees his friend, clearly invading their cute roomie's privacy, but he pauses right fucking behind Choso, his jaw dropped on the damn floor.

"Mnh! Hah I'm not squirting for just a hundred, gonna need way more than that," you tease, pulling the dildo out and turning, lapping your tongue along the ridged glass, tasting your own fucking cunt.

Suguru almost busts.

"Hehe," you're all giggly from the weed, tits out of that robe, just a little garter around your waist and some ripped stockings the only thing covering you. "Mmm, I do taste g-"

You look and see both your roommates staring at you, cocks visibly hard in their jeans, you gasp and slam your laptop shut, stumbling up and dropping the damn dildo, it rolls loudly on the hardwood floor.

"Fuck, shit, fuck," you curse now, waving your hands around and just making your tits bounce more. "I'm so sorry! I thought you all were like gone and... fuck I should've locked the door, please like... I'll find somewhere else to go, okay I-"

"Hey," Suguru barely manages to speak, clearing his throat and picking the dildo up in his hands, coated in your slick, he sets it on the dresser and walks toward you, where you're panicking. "You don't have to go somewhere, fuck, okay?"

"Y-you're sure?" You realize your tits are out then, your puffy pussy showing too, but it seems stupid to close your robe now, instead feeling their gaze drift. "I didn't mean to be... Choso, are you okay?"

"Mnh," Choso cums right in his jeans, cursing as the white liquid spurts all over, so much it leaks dark through the denim. "Fucking cumming, sh-shit..."

"Oh! Oh? Oh..." You blush now, as if you weren't just fucking yourself on cam, Suguru sighs and runs a hand down his face. "That's hot."

"What?" Both men ask that, you giggle now.

"It's sexy you came from just looking at me," you fiddle with your robe a bit, swallowing nervously. "I could clean it up."

"Wha-!?" Choso damn near runs to you, blitzed off his ass now, cupping your face with his big tattooed hands. "Fuck I'd do anything to feel your throat wrapping me."

"That's hot too," you giggle more when he moans and kisses you, Suguru staring in utter confusion, when you pull back and look right at him. "You both should join me, if you all want. We can keep your faces out of it?"

"Oh you wanna..." Suguru drifts off, clearing his throat and walking to you, turning you away from Choso who's needy as he ruts against the curve of your ass, Suguru's hands drifting down your pretty tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples.

"Mnh," you cry out, lashes fluttering. "I've had to fuck myself like every day since I moved here."

"I fuck my toy too," Choso murmurs against your neck, you look back and giggle again, before gasping out when Suguru's fingers find your messy cunt, swirling in your slick.

"If I do your video, I get to eat your pretty cunt out, and I get to cum inside it," you look up at him, all fucked up now.

"And I get to eat his cum out."

"Choso you slut," you whisper, but it's a needy little one - biting down on your lip and nodding then. "I'm down, I'll split the money too."

"We don't need that," Suguru sinks two fingers inside, moaning and curving them up. "Choso thought you were a hacker."

"Hah, what!?"

"He thought you were a sugar baby!"

"Well... sort of. Let me set this back up and..." You work on the stream, the two men's cocks flush and at attention as you kneel on your bed, Suguru behind you, Choso in front of you - and that's when you suck Choso's cum right off his pretty, veiny cock, lapping at that pink tip.

"Mnh," Choso's whimpering as you bob up and down him, while Suguru's on his knees with his face buried in your cunt. His tongue ring catches that soft spot in your gummy walls, before he's lapping at your clit in mean little flicks, spitting right on your hole.

"Arch," he murmurs, you do just that, moaning around Choso's already hard cock as you lap up the very last remnants of his messy white ropes - Suguru is fucking you with his fingers, curving them up over and over until you feel too much pressure.

The boys utterly forget you're on cam, and so do you. Choso, already sensitive from cumming once, he's just whimpering, needy mess, his hands tangled in your hair as you deepthroat him, fucking your throat till it's sore and raw, murmuring sweet apologies.

"S-sorry, jus' feel s'good b-baby," he's fucking harder with firm ruts of his cock, when Suguru leans up from making you squirt on his fingers, slipping them in Choso's mouth. His dark lips wrap Suguru's thick fingers, moaning, cheeks hollowing. "Oh f-fuck, you taste so sweet."

"Mmph," you can't talk, the edible making your body feel even more sensitive, when Suguru's cock slaps heavy against your ass, and his pierced tip drags right along your slit. You jolt and your eyes roll back in your skull when he sinks inside.

"This tight? Oh fuck, that toy didn't stretch you out, huh?" Suguru - usually so sweet - is mean with it, pinning your arms behind your back, throwing you off balance, while Choso holds you up by cupping your face, ramming his cock past your uvula.

"We'll stretch you out baby," Choso murmurs, his lips parted, eyes gone black with how fucked up he already is, how needy when those filthy sounds of your cunt getting fucked and your throat getting rammed fill your room.

You make a filthy amount that night, but you don't check until much later, not when Suguru is pounding your cunt and making you cum around his cock, barbell dragging right in your quivering little hole. When Choso's whispering good girl and Suguru's murmuring that you're a perfect fuck toy.

Suguru has you cumming so much you collapse, lips pulling off Choso with a messy pop, Choso spits right in your mouth - not the sweet little Cho you thought he was, not when he's smacking your cheek and pulling your hair into his fist.

Your thighs are trembling when Suguru busts his load inside you, bent over you from where he's fucked you down into your matress, your mascara making a mess of your pillows as your tears of overstim fall, gasping and drooling. At some point your ring light just fucking falls, and the laptop gets shut by Suguru.

"My turn," Choso murmurs when he spreads your thighs, laying you on your back and shoving them against you, just to scoop all Suguru's milky release on his tongue. Suguru's kissing you all messy and mean, rutting his cock on the mattress, watching his best friend drink him out of your hole. "Fuck you took so much cum, can you take more?"

"Mhm," you're nodding all cute, letting Choso put another load inside you, until so much is pouring from your abused hole you're sticky, they both play in it, fingering it back inside until you're squirting all down their knuckles.

Later - much later - you three are smoking weed in your bed, they've cleaned you all up with their tongues, both having their own roll lit up, the three of you dizzy and high.

"So, you two wanna cam now?" You tease, inhaling the blunt from Choso's fingers as Suguru brushes your hair back, damp from the little shower they took with you.

"You think we should?" Choso asks, you pull up your phone, coughing out smoke and showing him the number. "Oh fuck..."

Choso's kissing up your neck when you peer at Suguru. "What do you think, hmm Sugu?"

He took the stairs two at a time, cardigan half buttoned, tie slightly crooked under his jacket. His camera strap was slung diagonally across his chest, thudding against his ribs with every step. He had been up until 3:12 am. Not that anyone at the Daily Bugle needed to know that Spider Man had dismantled a weapons exchange under the Queensboro Bridge and then spent an hour perched on a water tower watching the sunrise because he couldn’t sleep.

He burst through his apartment building’s front door, he needed to get his other SD card for his camera before rushing to work, and nearly collided with her. Y/N. She was balancing a coffee tray in one hand, keys hooked around her finger. “Whoa….” she laughed, stepping back just in time, tilting her head, balancing her weight on the balls of her feet. “Are you trying to tackle me this early in the morning?”

Yunho froze for half a second. Her perfume hit him first. Vanilla and strawberries. His brain short circuited briefly, then rebooted. “I…. sorry. I’m late. I didn’t see…” He gestured vaguely, flustered, pushing his glasses up his nose even though they hadn’t slipped. She tilted her head, studying him. He hated that she did that. Loved it too. “You’re always late on,” she said, voice light. “I’ve noticed.”

His heart did something traitorous. “You’ve…. noticed?”

“Mhm.” She shifted the tray and offered him one of the coffees. “You look like you haven’t slept.” He absolutely had not slept. He accepted the cup carefully, fingers brushing hers for half a second longer than necessary and his pulse spiked. “You look like you’re profiling me,” he muttered and she grinned. “Maybe I am.” The smile she gave him was soft, but there was something sharp under it. Something deliberate. Like she enjoyed watching him squirm.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she liked him. But he knew better. He glanced at his watch and swore under his breath. “I’m going to get fired.”

“You won’t,” she said casually. “You’re too cute to fire.”

He almost dropped the coffee and she laughed at his expression, stepping backward toward the front doors. “See you tonight, Yunho.” Tonight. The word lingered as he watched her walk away, sunlight catching in her hair. Watched the subtle roll of her shoulders as she adjusted her bag. Watched the way she moved through space like she knew exactly how much room she occupied. He memorized those things without meaning to. He always did.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The train was packed. Humidity pressed against him, strangers shoulder to shoulder, someone’s headphones leaking tinny music. He clung to a metal pole with one hand, coffee in the other, camera protected against his chest. A newspaper ad overhead read: IS SPIDER MAN A HERO OR A THREAT? He stared at it for a long moment. Nine years. He’d been sixteen when the world turned upside down. Now he was twenty five, late for work, selling photos of himself to a man who called him a menace.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Jameson: Where are my rooftop shots?? Front page material if you got something usable.

Yunho exhaled slowly. He did have something usable. He’d nearly gotten shot for it. The train lurched and his spider sense prickled. Faint. Not danger. Just… something. He shifted his weight, scanning the car out of habit. A man in a suit reading emails. A teenager pretending not to look at him. A woman with grocery bags. Nothing. The sensation faded and he shook it off. Probably just sleep deprivation.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

By the time Yunho pushed through the revolving doors of the Daily Bugle, he was thirty seven minutes late and pretending he wasn’t. The newsroom hit him like it always did. Phones ringing in uneven symphony. Reporters arguing across cubicles. The scent of burnt coffee clinging to the air like it paid rent. A television mounted near the ceiling flashed footage of Spider Man swinging between buildings. He didn’t look up at it as he slipped past two interns carrying file boxes and made it almost halfway to his desk before….

“JEONG!”

Yunho stopped and slowly turned around. J. Jonah Jameson stood in the doorway of his office like a storm cloud in a suit. Tie slightly crooked, mustache bristling with indignation. “You know what time it is?” Jameson barked and Yunho checked his watch with exaggerated seriousness. “Technically? Still morning.”

Jameson stared at him like he’d just insulted journalism itself. “You think this is funny? I have deadlines! I have headlines! I have a masked menace prancing around my city and you stroll in like you’re on vacation!” Yunho adjusted his camera strap calmly. “Subway delays.”

“You live in Queens.”

“Exactly.”

A nearby copy editor snorted as Jameson snapped his head in that direction. Silence immediately returned before Jameson jabbed a finger toward Yunho. “You. My office. Now. And those better be the rooftop shots from last night, you might just keep your job.” Yunho followed him in, closing the glass door behind him. Inside the office, Jameson paced like he was auditioning for a courtroom drama. “Well?” he demanded.

Yunho set his camera down carefully and pulled out a SD card. “Weapons exchange under the bridge. 2:17 am. Clean angles. No civilians hurt.”

Jameson’s eyes narrowed. “You were there at 2:17?”

Yunho blinked innocently. “I work odd hours.”

Jameson grunted as Yunho slid printed proofs across the desk. Spider Man mid swing.

Spider Man landing against steel beams. Spider Man silhouetted against a streak of gold sunrise. Jameson leaned over them and for a split second, something like admiration flickered across his face. Then it was gone. “Too heroic,” he muttered.

Yunho tilted his head. “You want him blurrier?”

“I want menace. I want recklessness. I want something that makes people clutch their wallets.”

Yunho folded his hands. “He stopped illegal weapons distribution.” Jameson slapped the desk. “That’s not the point! Vigilantes don’t get to decide what’s legal!”

“You print his pictures every week,” Yunho said mildly and Jameson narrowed his eyes again. “Careful, kid.” Yunho lifted both hands in surrender. “Just saying. He must be good for business.”

Jameson barked a laugh. It came out sharp and abrupt, like he hadn’t meant to let it escape. “You’re irritating,” he said. “But you’re talented. These are front page.” Yunho felt something ease in his chest. “Run the one with the skyline,” he suggested carefully. “Contrast it heavier. Makes him look…. like a looming threat,” Jameson finished, already reaching for the layout board.

“Exactly,” Yunho said and Jameson squinted at him. “You got an opinion on Spider Man, Jeong?” Yunho shrugged. “He seems consistent.”

“Consistently in my way.”

“Or consistently helping.”

Jameson pointed at him again. “That’s dangerous talk.”

Yunho smiled slightly. “I’m a photographer.”

Jameson waved him off. “Get out of my office. And don’t be late again unless you’re hanging off a skyscraper for a Pulitzer shot.” Yunho nodded and slipped back into the newsroom. As he sat down at his desk, the chaos resumed around him. He opened his laptop, pretending calm. But under the surface? There was always tension. Because every time Jameson criticized Spider Man, every time the newsroom debated whether he was hero or hazard….

Yunho had to sit there quietly and listen. He reached up, pushing his glasses slightly higher on his nose. Outside, the September sun cut through the windows, catching dust in the air. He wondered briefly what Y/N were doing right now. If she were still in the apartment….. He shook his head and focused on editing.

Spider Man could wait until dark. For now, he was just Yunho. Late. Slightly rumpled. And pretending his double life didn’t sit in his chest like a second heartbeat.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

By the time Yunho left the Bugle, the sky had shifted into that hazy early September gold. Not quite fall. Not quite summer. The kind of light that made brick buildings glow like they were holding onto warmth. His shoulders ached. Editing all day always did that. Sitting still too long after a night of swinging between skyscrapers felt unnatural, like putting a racehorse behind a desk. He adjusted his glasses as he walked the familiar few blocks toward Delmar’s Deli, camera slung lazily at his side now instead of tight against his chest.

The bell above the deli door jingled when he pushed it open. “Yooo, my favorite freelancer!” Delmar called immediately from behind the counter. The place smelled like toasted bread, frying oil, and something sweet simmering in the back. A Yankees game played softly on the mounted TV, subtitles slightly delayed as Yunho lifted a hand in greeting. “You say that to everyone who tips.”

Delmar scoffed. “You tip like five dollars, relax.” Yunho smiled faintly and moved toward the fridge, grabbing a bottled tea, a bag of chips, and a pre packaged sandwich that looked questionably fresh as Delmar leaned on the counter, squinting at him. “You look tired.”

“Thanks.”

“No, like…. tired tired.” Delmar tilted his head. “Jameson still on your ass?”

Yunho huffed a quiet laugh. “When is he not?” Delmar snapped his fingers. “That man got personal beef with Spider Man like he stole his lunch money.” Yunho set his items on the counter. “He prefers menace.” Delmar shook his head. “Man saved my cousin’s kid last month. Pulled him out of traffic. And Jameson still prints headlines like he’s public enemy number one.”

Yunho kept his expression neutral. Practiced. “Controversy sells,” he said lightly with a shrug. “Yeah, well.” Delmar rang up the total. “You ever met the guy?” Yunho’s fingers paused over his wallet for just a fraction of a second. “Spider Man?”

“Yeah.”

He shrugged, sliding cash across the counter. “Hard to catch him still long enough for an interview.” Delmar eyed him knowingly. “You always get the good shots though.” Yunho tucked his change into his pocket. “Lucky timing.”

“Uh huh.” Delmar leaned closer. “You know, if you ever do meet him, tell him Queens appreciates him.”

Yunho felt something warm settle low in his chest. “I’ll pass it along,” he said quietly and Delmar grinned. “And tell Jameson to chill.”

“I’ll get right on that.”

They shared a brief laugh before Yunho gathered his bag and pushed the door open, the bell chiming again as he stepped back into the street. The sun was lower now. Shadows longer. He walked slower this time. Past the laundromat. Past the corner florist. Past the same cracked sidewalk he’d memorized years ago. This neighborhood knew him. Even if it didn’t know all of him.

As he neared his building, he glanced up automatically. Third floor. His window. He adjusted the grocery bag in his hand as he walked through the front doors and climbed the stairs. And there at the top landing. Y/N. Keys between her fingers. Leaning against her door like she had been waiting. She looked up when she heard his steps. “There you are.”

His pulse shifted. “Was I missing?”

“Maybe.” She nodded toward the deli bag. “Dinner of champions?”

“Don’t judge me.”

“I would never….. Okay, maybe a little.”

He huffed a laugh, stepping closer. The hallway light flickered once overhead. “You going out tonight?” he asked before he could stop himself. Her eyes held his. “Why? You offering me something better?”

His brain stalled. “I…. no, I just…”

Y/N smiled slowly and he swallowed. He’d faced armed criminals without flinching but her leaning against her door with that look? Far more dangerous. Yunho hovered a step too far away, like distance might somehow protect him. It didn’t. Not when she kept looking at him like that. Head tilted just slightly, eyes dragging over him in a way that felt deliberate. Curious. Amused. “You look like you’re about to say something.”

“I already did,” he muttered, adjusting the grip on his bag.

“No, you tried to,” She corrected, pushing off her door just enough to close some of the space between them. “There’s a difference.” His throat went dry and of course she noticed. “Go ahead,” She added softly. “Try again.” He blinked at her. Tried to think. Failed. “I was just asking if you had plans,” he said, a little more rushed this time.

Y/N’s lips curved. “Mm. That’s not how it sounded.”

“It…. that’s what I meant.”

“Sure.” She stepped closer. Not enough to touch, but enough that he could feel her presence, warm and steady and entirely too distracting. “You always get a little… weird,” she said lightly, eyes flicking to his face, “when you ask me questions like that.”

“I do not get weird.”

“You absolutely do.”

“I’m completely normal.”

Y/N laughed under her breath, and it hit him harder than it should’ve. “Normal people don’t look like they’re bracing for impact when they ask if someone’s going out.”

“I’m not bracing….” He stopped and exhaled. “Okay, maybe a little.” Y/N leaned in just enough to make him still. “Why?” She asked. Simple question. Not simple at all actually. Because he liked her. Because he thought about her more than he should. Because he didn’t know how to exist around her without overthinking everything. Instead, he said, “Just curious.” And her eyes softened for a split second. Then sharpened again, like she caught yourself. “Well,” she said, straightening slightly, “since you’re so curious…”

Y/N spun her keys once around her finger. “Yeosang and I are going out tonight.” Something in his chest tightened. “Oh.”

“A club,” she added casually. “Downtown.” He nodded slowly, trying to look like that didn’t bother him more than it should. “Sounds fun.”

“It will be.” She bit her bottom lip, looking up at him through her lashes. “You don’t really seem like the club type though.”

“I can be.”

She raised a brow. “Can you?”

“I….” He hesitated. “If I had a reason.” Her lips curved again, slower this time. More intentional. “And what would count as a good reason, Yunho?” His brain stalled completely and she watched it happen. Enjoyed it, if the faint amusement in her eyes was anything to go by. Then, just as easily, she stepped back, unlocking her door. “Anyway,” she said, like she hadn’t just completely derailed him, “don’t wait up.”

The door creaked open and Y/N paused, glancing over her shoulder. “Oh…. and try to eat something better than that,” she added, nodding at his deli bag. “I’m starting to think you survive entirely on snacks.”

“I diversify,” he said weakly.

“Mm. I’m sure you do.” And then she were gone. Door clicking shut behind her leaving Yunho standing there for a second longer than necessary. Processing. Replaying every word. Every look. Then he let out a quiet breath and turned toward his own door. Because tonight? She would be across the city. In a crowded club. With Yeosang. And he’d be somewhere above it all….

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

By the time the sun disappeared behind the skyline, Queens had shifted into something louder. Neon signs flickered awake. Car horns sharpened. Music spilled from open windows. Laughter echoed down the block. Somewhere in the distance, sirens rose and fell like a warning the city had learned to ignore. Inside Yunho’s apartment, the lights were dim.

He sat cross legged on the floor beside his bed, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, web shooters spread out in pieces across a folded towel. Metal casing open. Microfilament spools aligned. Fluid cartridge half empty. His movements were precise. Steady hands. Measured breaths. The police scanner crackled softly from the desk behind him, the static background hum almost comforting after nine years.

“possible 10-31 in progress… Midtown”

He listened without looking up and tightened a small screw with a miniature screwdriver, jaw set in quiet concentration. A faint bruise colored his ribs from the night before, but he ignored it. Outside, bass thudded faintly from a passing car and he found himself wondering which club Y/N and Yeosang had chosen. Downtown, she’d said. He pictured it without meaning to. Flashing lights. Crowded dance floor. Her laughing with Yeosang.

He forced his focus back to the mechanism in his hand. He didn’t get to think about that. He clipped the housing back into place and slid the web shooter onto his wrist, flexing his hand once. Smooth. No catch. Good. The scanner crackled again.

“reported armed robbery… Hell’s Kitchen”

Too far. He leaned back slightly, grabbing the second unit. There was something about nightfall that always tightened something in him. The city felt different after dark. Sharper. Faster. More dangerous. And Y/N was out there. He hated that thought more than he should. Not because he thought she couldn’t handle herself. She moved with confidence. Carried herself like someone who knew exactly where she was at all times. Still. New York at night wasn’t forgiving. A burst of static interrupted his thoughts.

“multiple vehicles, high end district, possible organized activity…”

He stilled. High end district. Downtown. His fingers paused over the web cartridge. The night life outside swelled louder for a moment, like the city exhaled as he stood slowly and walked to the window, pushing it open. Cooler air slid into the apartment, brushing against his face. From up here, the streets looked deceptively calm. People laughing. Taxi lights streaking yellow. Music rising from open doors.

He pulled his mask from the drawer and turned it in his hands. Nine years. He’d learned how to split himself in two. Yunho, the neighbor. The photographer. The man who blushed when Y/N teased him in the hallway. And Spider Man, the one who leapt into gunfire without hesitation. He rolled his shoulders once. Decision made. The scanner crackled again, more urgent this time.

“possible masked individual sighted”

His spider sense flickered faintly. Not sharp yet. But there. He pulled the suit on with practiced efficiency. Red and blue smoothing over muscle memory. Gloves sealing at the wrists. Mask sliding down last. The world narrowed slightly as the lenses adjusted and he stepped onto the fire escape.

The city stretched wide and alive before him….. he exhaled and then leapt.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The police lights painted the street in violent flashes of red and blue by the time Yunho, or, Spider Man, arrived. He didn’t land immediately. He swung once over the block, taking it in. Two patrol cars disabled. Traffic stalled in all directions. Power flickering in the surrounding buildings. And at the center of it…. A man glowing like a live wire. Electric arcs crawled over the asphalt. Streetlights sparked and shattered. The air smelled like ozone and burnt metal.

Electro. Max Dillon stood in the middle of the intersection, electricity crackling over his skin in sharp, chaotic bursts. Cars around him trembled from the charge as Spider Man landed lightly on a streetlight pole. Upside down, naturally. “Max,” he called casually, voice filtered through the mask. “You’re really killing the grid, buddy. ConEd’s gonna send you a bill.” Several officers turned instantly.

“Spider Man!” one of them shouted. A few actually relaxed. It had been years. They were used to this now. “Glad you could make it,” another cop called. “He’s frying everything that gets within twenty feet!”

Spider Man flipped down onto the hood of a disabled cruiser. “Hey! Don’t worry,” he said, dusting off the hood theatrically. “I’ll invoice him for the paint job.” Electro’s head snapped toward him and the streetlight behind Max exploded in a burst of sparks. “You!” Max snarled, voice buzzing unnaturally.

Spider Man cocked his head slightly. “Come on, Max. I thought we settled this last time. You did the whole absolute power speech. I did the friendship and accountability thing. We shook metaphorical hands.”

Electricity surged outward in a violent pulse and Spider Man leapt just as the police cruiser exploded in sparks beneath him. He landed on a building wall, sticking effortlessly. “Okay!” he shouted down. “No handshake this time, got it!”

Max’s eyes flared bright white. “You think this is funny?”

“I cope with humor,” Spider Man replied. “It’s either that or therapy, and I can’t afford therapy.” Max hurled a bolt and Spider Man flipped sideways, the yellow energy slicing through brick where he’d just been making the cops retreat further back. “Stay clear!” Spider Man called without looking at them. “He’s grumpy when he’s glowing!”

Max launched another arc and Spider Man shot a web mid air, yanking a loose metal sign into the bolt’s path. It grounded partially, sparks ricocheting harmlessly away as he landed behind Max this time. “Let’s talk about your coping mechanisms,” Spider Man said lightly. “Have you tried journaling?”

Max spun, electricity bursting outward in a shockwave and Spider Man somersaulted over it, landing on a taxi roof. The impact dented it slightly. “Sorry!” he called to the driver through the window as his spider senses flared sharply….. he dove as a concentrated blast tore through where he’d been standing, clipping his shoulder mid dive.

Pain snapped through Yunho as he the hit pavement hard, rolled and came up on one knee. Max advanced, crackling brighter. “You can’t keep stopping me!” Max roared as Yunho shook out his arm once, ignoring the burn. “Technically,” he said, pushing up to his feet, “I’ve kept stopping you for like… three years now.”

He shot twin webs, anchoring them to nearby lamp posts, and yanked. The poles snapped inward, tangling Max in heavy metal and Electro screamed, yellow electricity spiking violently. Streetlights exploded in sequence as Spider Man leapt forward before the surge peaked, webbing Max’s arms tightly to his torso in rapid fire bursts. “Okay, okay, okay… let’s ground you emotionally and literally.” He grabbed a loose cable and wrapped it around the webbed structure, forcing the charge to redirect into the street’s buried lines.

The light around Max flickered. Dimmed. Spiked once more…. then faded to a dangerous glow. Police rushed forward with insulated cuffs as Spider Man stepped back, breathing controlled behind the mask. Max glared at him through fading sparks. “This isn’t over.”

Spider Man tilted his head. “It never is.”

The cops secured Max fully this time and an officer approached Spider Man cautiously. “Appreciate it.” Yunho gave a small salute. “Try not to give him any extension cords.” A few officers actually laughed as he shot a web to the nearest building and vaulted upward before anyone could ask for statements.

As he landed on a rooftop a block away, the city stretched beneath him again as adrenaline still hummed in his veins. His shoulder throbbed faintly where the blast clipped him. He rolled it once and glanced toward downtown instinctively. Where the nightlife pulsed brighter. Where Y/N said she’d be.

His spider senses flickered again. Different this time. Subtle. Directional. Not chaos. Not electricity. Something else….. he straightened and popped his neck before diving, flicking his wrist out and swinging. The city blurred beneath him. Wind rushed past his ears. Neon streaked into color trails. Music from rooftop lounges mixed with distant sirens and traffic hum.

Yunho moved automatically, muscle memory, instinct, rhythm. But halfway between Midtown and the lower district… he slowed. His spider senses didn’t spike. It tightened. He landed lightly on the edge of a mid rise office building, crouching low. Across the street stood a research facility, sleek glass, security lit perimeter, corporate logo glowing sterile white against polished steel.

Songcorp subsidiary. Advanced tech division. He knew the building. Knew the man behind the company. Grew up with his son until Mingi decided to travel a few years ago. Nothing ever happened there. Until tonight. Third floor. Left side. One pane of glass fractured inward. Not shattered outward. Clean entry. No alarms blaring. Which meant whoever did it was careful.

He stayed still, watching, until a shadow moved across the interior wall. Too fluid to be security. Too confident to be random vandalism. He shifted slightly along the ledge, adjusting angle. There…. movement again. Fast. Graceful. A silhouette crossing beams like it belonged there. His breath stilled inside the mask as his spider senses flickered once more.

Not danger. Recognition of something different. He shot a web silently to the adjacent building and swung across without sound, landing just above the broken window. He didn’t crash through. He waited. Inside, the office lights were dim emergency mode. Computers asleep. Hallway sensors inactive. And then a soft thud as a figure dropped from a higher beam onto the floor below.

Black suit tight catsuit. White accents catching the faint light. Catlike in posture. Yunho’s pulse shifted as he lowered himself just enough to see fully inside. She moved through the room like she’d memorized it. Gloved hands. Confident steps. No hesitation as she approached a secured lab door and produced a small device from her belt. No fumbling. No rush. Just smooth precision.

His fingers tightened against the concrete ledge as the lab door hissed open and she slipped inside. He dropped silently to the outer wall and edged closer, sticking flat against the building just beside the window. He could leave. Call it in. Wait for backup. But that wasn’t how he worked. He peered through the fractured glass. Inside the lab, she moved between display cases until she reached one central containment vault.

Her reflection caught in the polished surface briefly. White lensed mask. Sharp lines. Silver detailing across the suit’s seams. She tilted her head slightly as she studied the locking mechanism. That tilt. The way her exposed mouth smirked…. something about it tugged at him. Familiar. But impossible so he dismissed it.

She attached another small device and began bypassing the vault as he stepped through the broken window silently, landing without a sound behind her. “Pretty sure this isn’t the VIP lounge,” he said lightly and her shoulders didn’t tense. Didn’t flinch. She didn’t even spin immediately either. Instead, she finished pressing one final button letting the vault lock click. Then she turned slowly. White lenses met red ones. “Well,” she said smoothly. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Her voice was altered. Lower. Purring almost. But there was something under it. Something familiar…. Yunho straightened slightly, his mask lenses narrowing. “Occupational hazard,” he replied. “You break windows, I notice.” She stepped away from the vault casually. “No alarm,” she said. “No dramatic entrance. I’m a little disappointed.”

“I’m trying a new approach. Less smashing. More conversation.”

She circled slightly. Testing distance. Testing him. “Conversation?” she echoed. “About what?” He studied her posture. The way she balanced weight on the balls of her feet. The ease in her stance. Not a rookie. Not reckless. Professional. “About why you’re stealing corporate tech on a Thursday,” he said.

“Research,” she corrected lightly. “Borrowing.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “Temporary crime.”

She laughed softly. It was quick. Controlled. But the cadence….. his chest tightened faintly. He’d heard something like that before. Recently. In a hallway. He forced the thought down. Impossible. Different voice. Different tone. Different world.

She took another step closer. Close enough now that he could see the fine detailing of the suit’s stitching. And a familiar scent of vanilla and strawberries…. “You’re going to try to stop me,” she said calmly.

“That’s usually how this goes.”

“And you think you can?”

He tilted his head slightly.

“Statistically? Yeah.”

She lunged. Faster than he expected. He flipped backward instinctively, barely avoiding a swipe of something metallic from her glove. Claws. Retractable. Interesting.

She landed smoothly, no wasted motion and he felt it then. Not fear. Not anger. Excitement. Finally, a different kind of opponent. “Okay,” he muttered, crouching. “This just got fun.” She smirked beneath the mask, he could hear it in her voice. “Try to keep up, Spidey.” She moved first. Fast. Not reckless, calculated.

She vaulted onto a lab counter, using the height to launch herself toward him with a sharp, controlled kick. Yunho ducked, sliding beneath her as she flipped over him, claws grazing the air where his mask had been half a second earlier. He shot a web instinctively and she twisted midair, catching the line with one gloved hand and using it to swing herself around him instead.

He blinked behind the lenses. Okay. That was new. She landed lightly, barely making a sound, white lenses locked onto his. “You’re slower than I expected,” she said smoothly. He straightened, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulder. “I’m pacing myself. It’s cardio.” She lunged again. This time he met her halfway. They collided mid floor, not in a crash, but in a tight, controlled tangle of limbs and reflexes.

Her forearm pressed against his chest. His hand caught her wrist before the claws could slice again. Up close now. Closer than before. He felt it. Not spider senses. Not danger. Scent. Faint. Almost lost beneath ozone and sterile lab air. But there. Vanilla. And strawberries. His mind stalled. Just for a second as she twisted, using that half second hesitation to break free, sweeping low and knocking him back against a steel cabinet.

The impact rang through the room. “You okay?” she teased lightly. “You look distracted.” Her voice. Lowered. But familiar….. the way she dragged the end of certain words. The way amusement sat underneath even when she was focused. He’d heard that voice in a hallway. He forced himself forward again, webbing the floor behind her feet. She jumped cleanly over it.

“Is that your thing?” he asked, regaining composure. “Breaking into corporate labs and bullying me?”

“I don’t bully,” she replied, circling him. “I curate.”

He tilted his head. “I’m not on display.”

“Not yet.” She darted left, feint. Then right, real strike. Her claws skimmed across his shoulder, slicing fabric but not skin. He caught her forearm again, this time pulling her into him instead of pushing away. They collided chest to chest. Too close. Her breath brushed faintly against his mask. Vanilla. Strawberries. The scent hit him harder now that the distance was gone.

His pulse betrayed him and she felt it. Her head tilted slightly. There it was again. That tilt. He’d watched it countless times across the hallway when Y/N was deciding whether to tease him further or let him breathe. His grip tightened unconsciously. “Do I know you?” he asked, quieter this time.

She laughed softly. “Oh, Spidey,” she murmured. “If you knew me, you’d be in much more trouble.” Her knee drove into his abdomen, controlled, precise. Not enough to injure. Just enough to force him back. He flipped, landing on a wall and sticking there. Focus. He couldn’t jump to conclusions. Plenty of people wore vanilla perfume. Strawberries weren’t rare. Plenty of women tilted their heads.

She rolled her shoulders slightly before attacking again. That exact motion. The same subtle reset Y/N did before stepping into a room confidently. His chest tightened as she launched toward the vault again, clearly finished playing. He fired twin webs, anchoring them to either side of the room, snapping them inward to block her path. She slid beneath one and vaulted over the other in a fluid motion that was almost unfair. “Persistent,” she said.

“Occupational hazard,” he replied automatically as she reached the vault and snatched the secured drive from inside. He shot another web. She spun, slicing through it midair. Claws sharp enough to sever reinforced strands. Impressive. He lunged again, grabbing her wrist just as she prepared to leap for the broken window. They froze. Balanced in tension. Her hand trapped in his grip. Drive clenched in her fingers. For half a second… no movement. Just breathing.

He could smell her clearly now. That same scent from this morning when Y/N handed him coffee. His mind clicked. Too many overlaps. Too many details lining up. The cadence of her laugh. The tilt of her head. The subtle weight shift. The scent. His voice dropped slightly, losing a fraction of the theatrical edge. “You don’t have to do this,” he said.

She stilled at that. Not physically. Emotionally. Just a flicker. Then she leaned closer. “You don’t know anything about what I have to do,” she replied and twisted sharply, using his hesitation again to break free. She kicked off his chest, flipping backward toward the broken window.

He didn’t chase immediately. He should have. Instead, he watched her silhouette against the city lights as she paused on the ledge for a fraction of a second. White lenses reflecting. “Try to keep up,” she said lightly. And then she leapt. Gone.

Yunho stood alone in the lab, breathing controlled but heavy beneath the mask as he moved to the window slowly and looked down. She had vanished into the city like smoke. Vanilla and strawberries lingering faintly in the air. He exhaled. He knew. Not officially. Not confirmed. But he knew. And that knowledge sat heavy. Because the girl across the hall…. the one who teased him about his snacks. The one going to a club tonight with Yeosang…… “There’s no way.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Yunho didn’t swing back fast. He moved on instinct, yes, building to building, shadow to shadow, but his rhythm was off. Not sloppy. Just… distracted. Every landing felt heavier than it should. Every leap carried thought with it. It can’t be her. He vaulted over a rooftop water tower and shot a web line without even looking. It can’t be Y/N.

The city blurred beneath him again. Clubs downtown were still pulsing. Sirens far off. Somewhere someone laughed too loud in an alley. She said she was going out. With Yeosang. To a club. Not breaking into Songcorp. Not vault cracking. Not wearing a black catsuit that fit like it was designed for precision theft and drove him crazy.

He landed lightly on the edge of his building and crouched there, staring down at the familiar brick exterior. Third floor. Lights off. Her window dark. That means nothing. He dropped silently to the fire escape and eased his own window open. Inside, his apartment was still exactly how he’d left it. Web shooter tools scattered on the floor. Police scanner humming softly. His deli bag still on his desk.

He stepped inside and shut the window behind him and pulled off the mask slowly. His hair fell messily into his eyes, slightly damp from the night air. He ran a hand through it and exhaled. “It can’t be,” he muttered under his breath as he paced once across the small room. “She’s clubbing.” He peeled the suit down to his waist, shoulders aching faintly where Electro’s blast had clipped him earlier. “She’s definitely not in a tight black catsuit.”

He dropped onto the edge of his bed, elbows braced on his knees. No. His brain clung to every alternative explanation it could find. Y/N fixes hallway lights. Y/N laughs too easily. Y/N teases him about snacks. Y/N does not slice through reinforced webbing with metal claws. He stood abruptly again. Too restless now

His jaw tightened. What if she hadn’t gone to the club? What if that was a cover? No. No, that’s paranoia. He leaned his forehead lightly against the cool glass of his window. He had fought criminals before who were charming. Disarming. Double faced. But this felt different. Because if it was her… If it was Y/N…. then every hallway smile had another layer. Every lingering glance. Every tease.

Was she playing him? Or did she not know? He thought back to the lab. The moment he’d asked, “Do I know you?” She hadn’t flinched. She hadn’t stiffened in recognition. She hadn’t reacted like someone who knew his voice outside the mask. She treated him like a rival. Like a puzzle. Not like the man across the hall. His stomach twisted.

She had no idea. And that made it worse. He sank back onto the bed again. Ran through it step by step. Movement fluid. Professional. No hesitation. Confident. Working for someone definitely. Songcorp subsidiary. High level target. Kingpin territory. And Y/N and Yeosang moved to New York only a few months ago.

He’d never asked what they did for work. She’d kept it vague. Freelance projects. Private contracts. He swallowed as his spider senses flickered faintly again. Not danger. Just awareness as across the hall a door clicked. His head snapped up. Footsteps. Soft. Controlled. Her footsteps. He knew that rhythm.

He stood slowly, heart hammering now for a completely different reason. She was home. He crossed the room quietly and moved to his door, hand hovering over the knob. He wasn’t going to confront her. Not like this. But he needed to see her. Just once. To confirm. To disprove. To ground himself. Because right now, his heart was split between denial and recognition. And he didn’t know which side scared him more.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The morning light in Queens felt cruel. Too bright. Too normal. Yunho hadn’t slept. Not really. He’d laid there fully awake until almost four, replaying every second in the lab. The tilt of her head. The scent. The voice. The way she moved. By the time his alarm buzzed, he was already staring at the ceiling.

Now he stood in front of his bathroom mirror, tying his tie with slightly slower precision than usual. His glasses rested low on his nose. Dark circles faint beneath his eyes. He looked… like himself. Soft cardigan. Collared shirt. Slightly rumpled hair. Not like someone who’d fought Electro and a feline themed thief in the same night. He grabbed his camera, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped into the hallway.

And there she was. Y/N. Her door clicked shut just as his did. She looked fresh. Too fresh. Light sweater. Simple gold jewelry. The picture of someone who’d had a normal night. Not someone who had vaulted across lab equipment and sliced through reinforced webbing. “Morning,” she said casually and his pulse betrayed him immediately. “Morning.”

Her eyes flicked over his face. He wondered if she could see the lack of sleep. “You look tired,” she said lightly. Of she noticed. She stepped closer to lock her door. Close enough that he caught it. Faint. Vanilla. Strawberries. Not overwhelming. But there. His stomach dropped again. He told himself he was overanalyzing. Plenty of people use sweet perfume.

She glanced at him again. “You okay?” she asked and he forced his shoulders to relax. “Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm.”

She studied him for half a beat too long. That head tilt. Subtle. Right shoulder dipping slightly as she shifted her weight. His chest tightened. She does that before she moves. Before she commits to something bold. Before she lunges…. “You go out?” he asked carefully. Her lips curved faintly. “Why? Miss me?” He almost choked on air. “I just meant….. the club….. last night.”

“Oh.” She turned the key fully and faced him again. “Yeah. It was fun.”

“What club?” He regretted the question instantly. Too eager. Too direct. She noticed. Of course she did. Her brow lifted slightly. “Why?”

“Just curious.”

“That’s becoming a pattern with you,” she said smoothly. He held her gaze. Trying to read anything. Fatigue. Guilt. Adrenaline. Nothing obvious. “What time did you get back?” he asked, trying to keep it light. She shrugged. “Late.”

“How late?”

She stepped closer again. Close enough that the hallway felt smaller. “You’re awfully interested in my schedule this morning.” His throat felt tight as he forced a small smile. “I live across the hall. I hear things.” Her eyes held his as she smirked. “If you heard anything,” she said softly, “it wasn’t from me.” His pulse stuttered. Was that a slip? A tease? A challenge?

She brushed past him toward the stairwell. Close enough that her shoulder barely grazed his arm. He felt it. That same grounded confidence. That same controlled energy. She paused at the top of the stairs. “Don’t work too hard today, Yunho.”

He turned slightly. “You either.”

She winked then disappeared down the steps leaving him standing there alone for a moment. Mind racing. If it was her… She was good. No visible tells. No nervousness. No reaction to his voice. No recognition. Which meant she really didn’t know. Which meant last night…. he’d been the only one fighting with knowledge.

His spider senses flickered faintly. Not danger. Just awareness. This wasn’t coincidence anymore. This was a pattern. And patterns didn’t lie. He adjusted his glasses slowly. Then headed for the subway. Because now he wasn’t just juggling hero and civilian. He was carrying a secret about someone who didn’t even know he knew she had one.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

     YOU WERE FOR SURE going to flunk chemistry. Throughout the whole year, while your professor went on and on about complex formulas and reactions, you spent your time doodling. Class went by faster when you were drawing, numbers and letters flew over your head— it saved you the headache, plus, you didn’t even have to worry about homework! for most part throughout the year, you were copying things from your friends. CHOI BEOMGYU was your savior, to put it simply. He was always paying attention next to you, and you weren’t really sure how he did it.

Either way, you always found him weirdly attractive when he was focused. From the way his brows pinched together to the way he poked his tongue against his cheek when working on equations. He wasn’t talkative by nature, more of a listener. But despite the fact you couldn’t engage in conversation with him, you never complained. Sometimes you even plastered his face onto your paper.. which hopefully, he never noticed.

Throughout the year, you also grew very familiar with the outline of his face. And seeing him everywhere in your sketchbook. The sharp angle of his jaw, the high bridge of his nose, the curve of his lips.. maybe this shouldn’t be the behavior of someone who’s just best friends with someone else— but Beomgyu never noticed. And if he didn’t know, why would you tell him? Despite the fact you’ve been close friends since freshman year of college, you’ve always noticed the little things about him no one ever would. But as far as you were concerned, and as far as you wanted to keep it, it was just friendship. Nothing more or less.

The classroom was a burst of groans, mingling with yours, at least you weren’t alone in this. Beomgyu was sitting there like usual, glass sliding down the bridge of his nose and lingering right at the tip of it like he couldn’t be bothered to push it back up anymore. Through the window, the sun filtered through and reflected on his eyes that were cast down, lashes casting shadows over the pink tint of his cheeks. Beomgyu was easily breathtaking, it was no wonder you heard so many girls gush about him now and then. He was smart, and even if a little slow and soft spoken, no one really seemed to mind.

You really, really wished you could blame Beomgyu for your predicament. But honestly, you really shouldn’t have spent half of your classes drawing him.

"I’m going to fail." Your groan broke the peaceful silence you two had established, at least on your shared desk.. everyone around was already packing up and rising in chatter. "Seriously, how do you even understand this?"

"Maybe you would understand if you paid attention to class." Beomgyu hummed out, lingering more than the already leaving students. It was a routine, one you two hadn’t established but followed either way. Everyone would for most part, leave the classroom once the lessons were wrapped up. Beomgyu would linger in some formulas, you’d stay and talk about your day or plans. Somehow, he always listened and remembered everything you said. 

You really wondered how great at multitasking he could be.

"That’s so boring though! I mean, why would I want to know how to reverse a compound to another? Doesn’t it, I don’t know— confuse you?" You whined out a complaint, resting your face against the desk with a pout as you kept staring at him.

Weirdly focused, but always present. The focus in his face shouldn’t make you think about if he made that same face in bed— he was your best friend, right?

You did anyways. There was no harm in fantasizing if you didn’t say anything, or at least you thought so.

"No. Once you get the hang of it, it just gets easier." Beomgyu mumbled, the soft sound of the pen rolling against the paper in clean, neat lines of his handwriting becoming comforting to you. After a beat of comfortable silence, his brow twitched. Confusion, perhaps.

Why weren’t you rambling like usual?

His head finally lifted up from the set of notes he had been focusing on for the past few minutes to look at you— only to find you staring right at him. Lips drawn into a pout, a pleading look in your eyes. He knew exactly what it meant. "Absolutely not."

"I didn’t even say anything!" You exclaimed, sounding almost incredulous. But Choi Beomgyu knew you better than anyone else, he didn’t need you to speak in order to know you were going to ask for a favor.

"You have that look in your eyes, and you’re pouting. Whenever you try to look like a kicked puppy it means you want something from me." Beomgyu stated simply, forcing his eyes towards his notebook again. "I’m not helping you study."

"But I’m going to fail! You know it!" Sadly, it wasn’t quite his fault and you knew it.

"You should’ve studied. I already do a lot by giving you my homework every time." Beomgyu shrugged, but you couldn’t miss the slightest quirk of his lip. He was messing with you— sometimes he just really liked to see your frustrated face. "Why don’t you get a tutor?"

"You are my tutor. You’re the only person that can explain whatever Professor Park says to a kid and make it understandable. Seriously, I promise if you do I’ll stop bothering you with homework. I’ll pay for your lunch, is that what you want?" You offered, seriously hoping to any god above or divine entity he’d say yes. Honestly— you weren’t stupid. A normal tutor other than Beomgyu would work, but you just wanted to stay close to him. "I’ll do anything, Gyu. Please."

And he knew it. It was why he was enjoying seeing you beg, though.

"Okay, you can stop begging now." Beomgyu laughed, a honeyed, contagious sound that made your heart stutter in your chest. "I’m joking, of course I’ll do it. Keep your money and spend it on something for yourself, I don’t need it."

"You’re so mean. Do you just enjoy seeing me lose my mind over failing my finals? After keeping good grades all year long?" Your pout morphs into a frown, but it’s short lived— at least he agreed to tutor you.

"Tell me why you managed to keep your grades up again?" His eyebrow quirked up, clearly enjoying this. "Plus, don’t call me mean when I’m going to tutor you for free. Better stop frowning before I change my mind." He joked, finally snapping his notebook shut.

You straightened up quickly, all of a sudden smiling until it reached your eyes. "Yes, Professor Choi." You jokingly teased back, had his head not been looking down, you probably would’ve caught the way his lip got caught between his teeth before letting go.

"Anyway. Where and when do you want to meet up?" He cleared his throat, slowly packing away his stuff as he crossed his legs. 

"We could meet up at my dorm, can you come by tomorrow after classes?" You chirped, already swinging the straps of your backpack around your shoulders. "Or during the weekend, if you’re free. We’re going to study a lot to cover the material, right?"

"Yeah— yeah. You’re right." He paused, zipping up his bag and leaving the rest of his sentence lingering in the air until he stood. "I can do tomorrow at maybe what? six or seven in the evening? And then eleven in the morning on the weekends, assuming you go out a lot."

"That’s perfect." You smiled, falling into step next to him as you two left the classroom together only to turn to opposite sides to part ways. "I’ll see you tomorrow then, Gyu! Don’t forget!"

"You’re more likely to forget than I am." He snorted out, mixed with a chuckle. Nevertheless, he nodded. Silhouette soon disappearing as he rounded a corner.

FOR SOME REASON, the air inside your apartment felt heavy. The scent of your plug in air freshener, soft jasmines with an undertone of lingering linen, mixed with the slight anxiety building up in your gut. Obviously, you and Beomgyu had hung out before. Ice cream parlors, parks, libraries, sometimes even amusement parks when you managed to convince him to come along. But never inside your dorm— or his. Your room was almost like a little personal sanctuary, the idea of having Beomgyu in here didn’t feel wrong, but it felt foreign. Laced with a promise of something more though you couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly.

You adjusted your bedsheets for the millionth time, for whatever reason. You really didn’t want him to think you were untidy, but then again, did he really care? You two had been friends for years now. Which is why it made it even worse. Years on years of friendship, and you two haven’t been alone in one of your rooms not even once. Maybe that explained the butterflies building and sloshing inside your stomach.

Yeah, that was why. It had to be.

A minute passed, one minute until the clock would strike seven. Did he forget? Did he.. give up on tutoring you? He wouldn’t, right? Beomgyu had never tapped out on you, but still, maybe he got tired of you being an academic burden to him—

The soft sound of knuckles meeting wood reached your ears in a way it made you practically leap from the bed, followed by the sound of his voice calling your name. The clock on the nightstand full of scattered notebooks full of halfway done notes that you never bothered to catch up on gleamed with the time marking 7:00. One of the things about Beomgyu was the fact he was really responsible, which included punctual. Maybe a little bit too punctual.

You smoothed down your clothes, a simple pair of pajama pants adorned with the design of bows on the beige, fuzzy fabric and an old shirt— simple, not too much. You eyed the array of plushies sitting pretty on your bed, the ones you spent at least ten minutes arranging, which was more than usual for you. You considered yourself clean and organized already, but gosh—

Why did you even care so much on his opinion about what your room looked like?

Whatever.

Another wave of his knuckles ramming against the door and his voice calling out your name again finally snapped your eyes away from the mirror, faint but audible from your bedroom. "Y/N? It’s Beomgyu."

"Okay, okay. He’s here." You announced to the plushies who looked straight back at you with their little stitched on smiles, and without spending too much time worrying about anything else, you finally sped walked towards the door. You didn’t want to keep him waiting anymore. "Hey! Sorry, I couldn’t uh—find my Chemistry notebook."

A flimsy lie. Beomgyu knew you hated Chemistry, but not this much. 

He went along with it anyway. Trying to keep his collective, gentle calm as he stepped inside your dorm carrying his bag. "It’s fine, don’t worry—I take it your roommate isn’t here?"

"He isn’t, I’m pretty sure he went out." You shut the door behind you, biting your lip as you closed the door and forcing yourself to relax. Really, what could possibly happen in the span of a few hours? Obviously, just studying. You didn’t need to be nervous. "It’s just us for a bit."

"At least we can see which one between the two of you don’t care about their grades. Isn’t he also in a rough spot?" Beomgyu tutted, following after you towards your bedroom. The sight left him with his mouth slightly agape— your room was neat, extremely well decorated. Plastic warped and blended alongside the upper corner of your walls against the ceiling, you didn’t have a ‘big light’, per se. Your source of lights came from the LED twisted around the vines and neatly arranged through your room. Books, definitely not about any particular subject but romance, filled your shelves. They were neatly arranged by shape and size, pleasing. You were definitely very serious about keeping your room clean.

Only if he knew how long you had stayed just organizing your room for him.

"Well, yes." You agreed, pulling out a chair next to your desk with scattered notebooks and a simple pencil case, already reaching for a pen. "He just gave up at this point, especially with tutoring, y’know? Said isn’t really his thing and most tutors don’t have enough patience."

"Huh. I wonder who has been tutoring him." Beomgyu shrugged, finding a seat next to you as he pulled his own chair with a soft scrape against the floor before it settled above the plush of your carpet. "Well, this isn’t about him. We better get started if we want to cover and get some of the basics into your head. We have to make time work in our favor if we want you to pass."

"Okay— okay. Alright." You nodded.

And for the first few minutes, you listened. But not for too long.

You sat there, with your knees pressed up against Beomgyu’s. The initial touch made a tingle rise up your spine as you leaned against your palm. His voice was clear and soft, always pausing to make sure you were understanding what he was saying. You weren’t sure when the lines of understanding and listening blurred to admiring how pretty his voice was. Warm— sounding like the calmest of waves crashing against the shore during the morning of a summer day. The husky tone made your eyes slowly trail from the paper to how his lips moved, and eventually, you weren’t even paying attention to Chemistry anymore. You were more invested in him.

His lisp.. you never quite paid too much attention to it, but coming to think about it, it made him adorable. He was always so patient with you, always making sure you did your best or that he could offer you the best. It was really cute of him, it made your chest flutter and beat harder every time even though it shouldn’t do any of these things.

His hands flexed around the pen he was using despite the fact he told you to not use one yourself because ‘he was already used to these formulas and concepts and wouldn’t mess up.’ Meanwhile, you apparently would make a lot of mistakes while practicing at hand. You didn’t question it because you knew he was right. But.. Now staring at how his fingers wrapped around the pen and moved deliberately, you found your lips gaping unprompted.

The more he said, the less you understood. The words felt like they were being spoken underwater as your brain tuned them out, simply focusing on how nice his voice sounded.

The veins in his hand were definitely more prominent whenever he was writing, you never noticed how attractive the rest of him really was. His polished posture, his hands, the curve of his back every time he subconsciously told himself to sit straight every time he slumped. 

"And just a slight review, a chemical compound—" Beomgyu stopped all of a sudden, though you didn’t seem to really notice. You clearly weren’t present at the moment. His eyes flickered towards your face for the first time in what was probably twenty five minutes, you weren’t even nodding along anymore.

Your eyes were fixed on his hands.

He swallowed hard, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he forced himself to clear his throat. Measured, almost as if he was trying to hold something in. "Are you even paying attention?"

That seemed to snap you out of your trance, a heat flushed up your cheeks as you sat up straight almost like, if not more, than Beomgyu was. "Shit—I’m sorry, I probably zoned out, where were we again?"

You were just wasting his time. He probably knew it, too. And yet, he didn’t seem annoyed. As a matter of fact, you couldn’t quite read what was behind his eyes. Something measured and controlled— but begging to be broken out.

It made your thighs subtly press together, the realization you were getting wet for your best friend while he was trying to help you making it way worse than this needed to be. 

"This is why you know little to nothing about Chemistry, you know?"

"I— what?" You swallowed dry, hands breaking in a sweat.

"You think I didn’t notice?" Beomgyu’s head tilted to the side, tongue pressing against his cheek in the familiar way he did whenever trying to unravel a particularly hard problem. Only that, you weren’t a scientific problem. So he was doing this because of something else entirely. "You sit right next to me, come on. Did you really think your pencil case would cover your notebook when I can easily see past it?"

His gaze dropped to where your hands rested atop of your thighs, but only for a split moment. His eyes snapped back to yours just as quickly as they dropped. 

"Oh. Oh, shit." You really, really wanted to dig a hole into the ground. Maybe disappear and not come back out. Throughout the whole year, you’ve been drawing Beomgyu 95% of the time. It became some sort of.. addiction. "I’m sorry—is that weird? Shit, why am I even asking? It’s super weird. Listen, I can throw it away, all of them away, just forget about—"

"I don’t want to forget." Beomgyu cut off your rambling as he finally let go of his pen, moving hesitantly. "It’s not weird, but maybe you should draw me when you’re not in Chemistry. There’s a reason you think you’ll completely flunk it."

He took a long pause, as if contemplating whether he should keep going or not. Maybe it was the way your thighs pressed together just a bit tighter, or how slightly humiliated you probably felt. But he really, really wanted to say a ‘fuck you’ to the friendship you’ve two had.

You both clearly have been way past that for a long time, anyway.

"You’re not going to pass the Chemistry final by staring at my hands when I’m trying to help you study." 

For a long, tense moment that could be cut through like a knife, you stared at each other. Both unsure whether to cross the line between friendship and.. whatever this is.

He broke first.

He was trying to be gentle as he pressed his lips against yours, but the kiss was more sloppy than it was gentle. Eventually, he gave up on it. Strong hands shaky as they tried to find out a place to be, one of them settled on your knee, while the other gripped the back of your head.

He sucked onto yours bottom lip before softly biting it, enough pressure to make you gasp, not to hurt. Your hands gripped his shoulders firmly as his tongue finally slid into your mouth, tangling with yours. You weren’t far behind, if anything, you were just as eager as he was. It was not clear who was trying to eat the other whole— in fact, anyone could say you two were trying to do so.

The kiss broke due to lack of air, foreheads pressed together. "I’ve wanted to do this since forever." He finally murmured, collecting himself as both of his hands settled on your hips.

You chewed on your bottom lip, squirming at the intensity in his eyes. "Yeah?" You asked breathlessly, chest heaving. "What else have you been wanting to do that you haven’t yet?"

"A lot, but—" his eyes flickered away, uncertainty coloring his face. "Forget it."

"Beomgyu." Your hand tugged on the collar of the button up shirt he wore religiously, never have you ever been so glad to see him wearing it. 

"You don’t have to play along if you don’t want to."

Your eyebrows rose in surprise— play along? Did he seriously think you were playing along or playing with his feelings? Your fingers curled a bit tighter on the fabric you were gripping, eyes hardening with determination but never quite diminishing in desire. Was Beomgyu seriously unaware of just how attractive he truly is?

You were sure he was carved out of marble. Plus, his lips were so soft and plush— his eyes were the epitome beauty, in your opinion. Beomgyu looked like a dream and a very desirable reality all at once. "Don’t piss me off."

You didn’t give him time to react, nor to breathe as you clashed your lips against him. Your other hand moved from his shoulder to the back of his head, tangling into the strands of his hair with need. His lips trembled against yours, but he kissed back with the same intensity. Your nerves were set alight, heart beating so fast you swore it would burst out of your chest.

You grew bolder, grabbing his hand that was resting on your knee to past the waistband of your pajama pants, letting his hand feel how wet you were through your underwear. His breath hitched against yours lips, pulling back to look at you with those stupidly big brown eyes of his. Eyes that were always so gentle now clouded with lust, want, and slight hesitation all at once.

"Feel this?" You panted close to his lips, fingers wrapped against his wrist. "You make me wet, Gyu—I’ve been wanting you so bad."

He choked on his words for once, which was rare for Beomgyu who always seemed to have an answer for everything ready at the tip of his tongue. "Yeah?"

You nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah."

The next time your lips met, he was more sure. You freely let go of his wrist as he experimentally pressed his thumb to your clit, pausing to feel you breathe in relief into the kiss. You like that, he realized, so he did it again. Slowly massaging the nerves that seemed to send little sparks throughout your body.

A moan left you, muffled by the kiss before he pulled away, trailing his kisses down to your jaw, then to your neck. He lavished his attention over there, tongue lolling over your skin before he sucked lightly into it. 

"Beomgyu—" you whimpered, suddenly wanting more than the pressure of his thumb massaging your clit. "More, please."

He hummed against your skin, before you could even complain about his ministrations on your clit stopping, he pushed the soaked fabric of your panties to the side. His breath shuddered, warm and heavy against your neck as he ran two fingers up and down your slit, smearing them in your wetness and across your cunt.

"You’re so fucking wet—fucking hell." He groaned, voice raspier. You nearly pressed your thighs together around his hand, something about Beomgyu cursing in that lust-aided voice made you feel a new rush of slick drip out of you. He didn’t curse often, not as far as you knew. But something about him sounding just like this made something funny twist in your gut. "All this for me?"

You nodded frantically, words cut short before you even started speaking as two of his fingers circled your entrance before slowly pushing in. Long, slightly calloused fingers that reached way deeper than yours ever could.

You were going to go insane, that was for sure.

"I want you so bad, please—" you whined, desperation coating your voice as your head tipped back further. His wet kisses on your neck didn’t do much to your sanity that was hanging on by a thread, a spark slowly forming in knots in your core. Your eyes fluttered shut when his thumb met your clit once again, all of the initial slow and sweet movements he aimed for melting every time your lips parted on a cry of his name.

"Fuck, you’re so pretty—you know that? You feel so good," He whined, almost as if he was the one getting fingered. Only then did you really realize the extent of how much he has been wanting you back through the fuzziness of your brain. His fingers picked up the pace, your hips unsure whether they wanted to move towards or away from the almost overwhelming sensation that wanted to drown you. "Come on, shit—cum for me, please."

Pleasure flashed hot and white behind your eyelids, thighs clamping around his wrist as your whole body jerked with the force of your orgasm. It was probably the quickest orgasm you ever had in your whole entire life, and while it was good, it was almost as if your whole body was on fire.

Maybe part of it was because it was Beomgyu who was making you cum.

The same Beomgyu you touched yourself to whenever you were staring at the ceiling in many sleepless nights.

Your back arched towards him, pressing your chest to his as his lips met yours again. Strings of moans and whines leaving your lips as you gushed around his fingers. They slid off with a soft ‘pop’, but the pressure on your clit gentled to help you ride the waves of your orgasm rather than leaving completely. "Holy shit, that was probably the best orgasm I’ve ever had." You panted as Beomgyu finally slipped his hand out of your pants.

His lips wrapped around his wet fingers, soaked with your juices as he moaned around them like it was the best thing he had ever tasted. Beomgyu always had a way of making you feel like you were the best part of everything he experienced. "You taste so fucking good."

He wiped his saliva against the fabric of your pants, arms hoisting you up as he held you from the underside of your thighs. Out of instinct, almost as if it came naturally, your arms wrapped around his neck. Like this was meant to be true a long time ago.

"I want to ride you." You blurted out before he could throw you onto the expanse of your bed, against your plushies. "Please, can I?"

"You can never make me say no, you know that?" He mumbled, it was now his turn to acquire a shade of pink to his cheeks. Nevertheless, he sat on your bed and allowed you to straddle him. His hands immediately wrapped around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer  as his hips ground up against yours. 

A moan tore out of you as you felt the hard outline of his bulge press against your slightly sensitive cunt through the layers of clothing, you rolled down your hips experimentally, fingers reaching for the hem of his shirt to strip him of it.

Layer by layer, pieces of clothing from your upper body were discarded across your room. Beomgyu’s hands never ceased shaking slightly as he reached behind your back to unhook your bra, tossing it on the floor. 

His eyes went wide at the sight of your boobs, perky, flushed and already pebbled in front of him. He couldn’t help wrapping one of his plush and plump lips around one of them, moaning against your skin as his tongue swirled around your nipple, sucking softly.

"Beomgyu—oh, fuck—" you gasped, hips bucking down against his with more intent. Your hands gripped his hair tight, pressing his head further against your chest before he broke away to lavish your other neglected nipple with the same affection.

"You’re so perfect." He whined, rutting against your clothed cunt. He was practically reeking of desperation, want vibrating within him. "So fucking perfect, how are you real?" 

His glasses were all fogged up, crooked on his face. You always thought he looked good with glasses, but he looked better with them when he was wrecked and practically begging for you.

"Says you." You huffed out, tugging his head back by his hair as you met his lips in a messy kiss, hands sliding inside his boxers to wrap around his cock. It was already so hard— his tip already leaking as you smeared it with your thumb, a groan left his lips muffled around your nipple, hips twitching beneath yours. “Stop teasing.”

Beomgyu pulled away from your nipple with a wet sound, eyes wide and wanting locked onto yours— wild, desperate as if he had been depraved. “Please, I need to be inside you, I’ll actually die if I’m not.”

While you would probably have made fun of him for his choice of words had the circumstances been any different, you weren’t any better. “Don’t say shit like that—” you pressed your lips together in a hiss, when in reality, the idea of him being so desperate and wanting beneath you made the room feel warmer. Made you feel desired and wanted.

Choi Beomgyu was for sure about to be the death of you, not Chemistry.

Messily, now pushing past the stage of foreplay— neither of you having patience for it, you both wriggled out of the last pieces of clothing, the pieces piling together across your room just like they did whenever you tried to pick your outfit for the day. Completely scattered.

Without ceremonies or reverence, your hands wrapped around his dick, slowly aligning yourself before you sank down onto it. The moment his tip breached your entrance, a mix of a strangled moan from his side and a mewl from yours filled the air. His hands gripped your hips so tightly you were sure they would bruise, he filled you so painfully well you swore you could cry. And Beomgyu wasn’t far behind, either. His pretty lips were parted in a chorus of breathy moans, head tipped backwards as his eyes screwed shut like he didn’t know how else to process the intensity of it all.

By the time your thighs met his, fully sat on his cock, you were both a wreck. He was breathing hard— your chest was thundering in your ears. 

“You’re so warm, oh my god—fucking hell,” Beomgyu gasped out, trying to catch his breath, which was futile, you were already moving your hips in experimental roles, punching air out of his lungs. “I died and this is heaven.”

You somehow managed to laugh, trying to keep your elevated breath under control, it turned out to be equally just as futile as Beomgyu trying to catch his. “Good?”

“Please.”

The whiny plea that rasped from his throat snapped something inside you, your hips moving to their own accord as you ignored the burn in your thighs. Bouncing up and down his cock in quick, deep grinds that made the two of you grow louder by the second.

Beomgyu looked completely wrecked. His jaw hung open like he couldn’t pick it open, noises— sweet, breathy and raspy ones spilling from his lips nonstop like he couldn’t help it. A layer of sheen sweat clung to his forehead, his eyes were half lidded, staring right into yours with an intensity that made your chest stutter.

You clenched around him, hands bracing on his shoulders. “You look so pretty like this,” you whimpered, not in a much better predicament. “So good—filling me up so good, making me feel so, so good, Gyu.”

“Say that again—please, oh, fuck!—” his voice cracked, uneven in places as his hips bucked up to meet yours.

“You’re doing so good, baby.” You grunted, eyes nearly rolling back. “Making me feel better than— shit— anyone could.”

Your movements slowed down, the burn in your thighs slowly taking over. Beomgyu seemed to notice, looking into your eyes for a semblance of a quiet question. With the approval written on your face, he flipped you onto your back beneath him, hands gripping the back of your thighs and pushing them back as further as they could go against your chest.

He was so fucking deep. You could feel him all the way in your guts, filling you impossibly more.

A cry tore from your throat as he settled for a quicker pace, already chasing his orgasm. The room was thick with the smell of sex, the sound of skin against skin and wet smacks filled the air, it spoke of sheer desperation and yearning. You’ve been pining over each other for god knows how long. “Can I cum inside you?”

He pleaded, eyes wide and pleading. You choked on a sob, overstimulation slowly ebbing itself into your nerves as you felt your second orgasm near. But the idea made you flutter around him, head jerking in a pitiful attempt of a nod. “Please— Gyu, I need you.”

“Oh, god—” Beomgyu gasped, biting his bottom lip hard enough he could feel the slight metallical taste of blood coating his tongue.

Your brain felt like complete mush, like it had melted and drained out through your ears, which, speaking of which, were ringing by now. Every muscle in your body was taut, and then his fingers were on your clit again.

You felt like you died for a second.

Your orgasm was dizzying, your vision blurring as sobs and mewls of his name left your lips like a prayer. Your legs shook with the force of your orgasm, gushing around him and squeezing Beomgyu’s dick impossibly tight.

He didn’t take long to reach his orgasm, either.

With one final, deepening thrust, his eyes squeezed shut as a whimper left him. He was blabbering nonsense, things you couldn’t quite pick up.

I love you.

You thought maybe you were delirious, maybe still too high on your own orgasm as you felt his cum spurt into you. Warm and slowly leaking as his hips stuttered to a stop. Neither of you spoke during the moment, you just tried to collect yourselves and your breaths.

Beomgyu was already sliding out of you with a wince, letting go of your legs that fell limp against the bedding that was already completely messy— so much for trying to keep it perfect.

He cleaned himself up first, and then came back with a wet cloth to wipe the mess between your thighs. Your hips jerked away, still sensitive from your orgasm. “I know, I’m sorry. Let me just clean you up.”

His body thudded next to yours on the bed the second after he was done, folding his glasses neatly on the nightstand as he brought you closer to him. Your mind was still foggy, coming down from the intensity of your orgasm, but you could still make him out.

His eyes were soft, almost sleepy. But they had something else in them— affection, perhaps. Your heart skipped a beat. Messy and clingy post sex fit Beomgyu more than you’d like to admit. His bangs fell over his eyes ever so slightly, a lazy smile spreading on his lips like he had nothing else better to ask for. Then his lips met your forehead in a warm kiss.

“I love you.”

You weren’t delirious, Beomgyu truly said he loved you. He wasn’t just here for a quick fuck, or here to ruin your friendship.

“I love you too.”

The last kiss you both exchanged for the night was now sweet, the kind of kiss that spoke more than words or poetry ever could. His body, warm and solid and real against yours slowly bringing your heart to a normal pace.

“You’ll still tutor me, right?” You asked in a quiet voice once you two broke apart, a grin plastered on your lips despite the fact you were half asleep.

“If you actually pay attention and stop staring so much at my hands, I’ll make sure you pass with flying colors.”

͟✿֔ ͟ຼ ꯭ ░ ׄ treating me like you’re supposed to do

──── ၇͜ᩘ 𔒌 ﹔ a little late, but happy valentine’s day everyone!! is anyone else a big fan of the idea of nerd!gyu aside from me?.. i hope so. anyway, i hope you enjoy this:) alsooo the mdni header credits goes to @strangergraphics!!

UNDER COVERS (M) • kim hongjoong

synopsis: with the rise of street racing in the city, hongjoong’s been assigned by his unit to crack down on the drivers. when he meets you, he realizes there might actually be more to the street racing scene than meets the eye—not that he’ll ever mention to you that he’s a cop … right?

word count: 9.1k words

HANDS ON (M) • park seonghwa

synopsis: when the pretty little rich boy pulls into the street racing scene, you’re not buying it. he thinks he can get under your skin, get you to fall for him just like everyone else. you would never … or so you think.

word count: 8.1k words

NICE GUY (M) • jeong yunho

synopsis: after college, you finally move back into the city and rekindle old relationships—including one of your best friends, yunho. even though he’s grown up, you’re still not sure you’re really into the nice guy type. yunho doesn’t seem to take lightly to your rejection and is determined to prove he’s anything but.

word count: 6.9k words

CHERRY BLOSSOM (M) • kang yeosang

synopsis: when wooyoung comes in for an addition to his sleeve, he brings along a very handsome friend who says he’s got a thing for cars. in a poor attempt to stay in touch with him, you suddenly become the victim of so many car troubles. needless to say, yeosang isn’t exactly the best on picking up hints …

word count: 7.8k words

HARD DRIVE (M) • choi san

synopsis: the street racing circuit is starting to get really competitive—too competitive if you’re not able to up your game. when you enlist a certain computer science major to help you with some major tech upgrades on your car, you’ll need to find a way to pay him back.

word count: 6.8k words

PINK SLIP (M) • song mingi

synopsis: mingi says he’s the best driver in the city; you’d strongly disagree. after weeks of post-race banter and spending a little too much time with another guy at the meet, mingi won’t admit he’s jealous—and you won’t admit you like it …

word count: 6.8k words

SPEED DIAL (M) • jung wooyoung

synopsis: it’s been months since you and wooyoung broke up. after messy hookups and refusing to stay away from each other, you promise yourself it was the last time and you haven’t looked back since. when your friend drags you to a car meet ‘for old time’s sake’, you run into the last person you needed to … and your car decides this was the perfect time to break down.

word count: 7.2k words

GEAR SHIFT (M) • choi jongho

synopsis: every fiber of your being hated jongho. he was such a know-it-all and loved to add his two cents every time he caught you under the hood, behind the wheel, or at the garage. if you were the last two people on earth, you’d rather find a way to die than be stuck with him. now, what happens when you’re locked in with him?

In a way, you feel guilty seeing his reaction to you leaving. “I want you to stay.” Mingi’s words from what seems like forever ago fill your mind and you somehow feel conflicted. You’ve grown to like Yunho and Mingi, but you still need to leave. Living on this island is dangerous and will be forever dangerous while the dragons still want to kill you. Living in fear of being burnt alive is no life, so you must go. No matter how much you’ve enjoyed their company, you have to go.

After putting the rest of the items you’ve collected today into the raft, you move on to exploring more of the wreckage farther down the vertebrae. Mingi is quiet, but he watches you keenly, smiling ever so often and you wonder what he’s thinking about. It’s a warm day, and the spray of the ocean hitting your skin feels wonderful. Farther out, the less bits of land are accessible, and you have to walk along the petrified bone. You hop from each vertebra and smile while the sun beats down on you. 

“What about that?” Mingi’s voice carries over to you and you stop to look behind you. He points to a mangled wreck, the wood looking more like tangled hair than a ship. You shrug and head towards it, careful to not step on any sharp pieces that might be sitting on your path. 

“I don’t know, it doesn’t look like anything could’ve survived that.”  Just looking, you can tell that it must’ve hit the rocks hard to have been destroyed like that. “Let’s just leave it.”

He hums and moves on, walking past you with a confident gait. You can never get used to seeing his or Yunho’s strong back. The way his muscles ripple with each movement is mesmerizing and you know that they know you’re staring. You haven’t dared stare at their front because you don’t have the courage to meet their eyes. They both have a dominant air about them, and you suspect that’s because of their dragon side. 

He stops again and points to another wreck, but this one is somewhat whole besides the gaping hole and the bottom. You smile at that and bound down the rolling bone to the water. It sits on its right side, leaning up against the tall shore while the waves gently lap at its wood. You climb up the side, careful to not get any splinters in your hands and peer inside, seeing that it’s filled with items of all sorts. You do see, however, rotten food still decaying and you look back to Mingi. Your pleading eyes seem to work immediately and he climbs up the ship with ease. 

You watch as he wades through the knee-high water and toss items up to you. There’s the occasional bowl or box, and you place them on the bone before returning to the ship. He grumbles every so often and you can’t really make out what he’s saying. 

“What on earth is this?” He holds out a circular object and you squint to see what it is.

Your mouth pulls into a wide smile, “That’s a drum!” You gesture for him to give it to you and he tosses it up, water droplets flinging off of it. The hide is wet and the color is slightly concerning, but you hit it and test out the sound. It hardly sounds like any drum you’ve ever heard and you instantly frown, “Damn it.”

“And what is a drum?” He stands with his hands on his hips.

“It’s an instrument.” Wiping the water off with the bottom of your gown, you try to assess if it’s worth saving. You don’t really know the upkeep on instruments, but you’ll try to save it.

“And that is?”

You look up from the drum and meet his confused eyes, “You don’t know what music is?”

He shrugs, “Not really, no.”

You're at a loss for words. Who doesn’t know music? Music is the lifeblood of culture. “I-” You exhale, “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Well why don’t you teach me what it is?”

An idea pops in your head, and you smile at him, “I think I will.”

........

The day moves by easily. You set the drum in the sun to dry in the main cavern while Mingi went off to bathe in the pools, stating that the water in the ship was disgusting. You didn’t argue with him on that, when he came back up you noticed a weird smell but you didn’t say anything. 

Yunho has made an appearance every so often, offering you food or just being in your presence. He mostly watches you silently, and you don’t mind his staring. You sit in your room, sewing gowns and cleaning the old jewelry just to pass the time. There’s not much to do on this island, there isn’t any livestock to take care of or crops to cultivate. In a weird way, you don’t really know what to do with yourself. Living in a community means doing your fair share. Now, this island provides everything you’d need and it’s weird. You would like the privileges of what livestock can make, like milk, cheese, meat, but there’s no way you could have them here.

Over the past few days you’ve been slowly gathering supplies for the main cavern. You’ve made each man a bed made of pillows and blankets you’ve meticulously cleaned and dried. The hardest part was rigging a sail cloth to provide privacy, but you managed to pull it off with the help of ropes and the jagged rocks. When you showed them, they were utterly perplexed. They didn’t know what to say or how to react, but you just smiled and showed them all that you’ve done. You showed them the small chests you filled with clothes and trinkets, and they only seemed to be looking at you. You know that they don’t really need all of it, but you wanted to do it for them. 

When the sun sets, you head out to the main cavern to check the drum. Your fingers trace the cave walls as you walk, lightly skimming the cold rock with each step. Now that you’ve spent some time living here, you’ve grown accustomed to how dark it is in the labyrinth of the skull and the paths. You don’t really need the painted directions anymore, but you always smile when you see them.

The drum sits on the entrance of the cavern and you notice that the color is a lot better. Picking it up, you run your hand over the hide and wooden frame and feel that it’s bone dry. You hit it, and sigh in relief when the booming echo fills the cavern. 

The pattering of fast steps comes from behind you, “Are you okay?!” Yunho heaves out as he runs up to you.

Furrowing your brows, you rest the drum against your hip, “Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”

His eyes scan you, as if trying to see if you are actually fine even though you just said you were. “Then what was that noise?”

You lift the drum and give it a little shake, “This.”

The disapproving look he gives you makes you chuckle, but he clearly doesn’t believe you. “You had me thinking you fell off the side.”

“No, just this. I’m okay.” You hold it out to him but he doesn’t move. After a moment of silence, you tap the top and it makes a softer noise than before. He stares at the drum quizzically before reaching out and tracing his fingers over the hide. “It’s for music.” You already know that he’s going to ask you what that is, so you tuck the drum back onto your hip and make your way to the lit hearth. “Can you get Mingi? I want to show you and him something.”

He stares at you with his brows creased, but nods and runs off. 

When they come back, they both look confused as to what you are planning to do, but they also seem curious. You take a seat on a rock and place the drum on your lap as they stand in front of you. “I wanted to show you something from where I come from.”

“You’ve done a lot of that.” Mingi laughs playfully, clearly teasing you.

“What is this music you speak of?” Yunho stares at the drum on your lap.

“Music is when someone expresses themselves with their voice by singing or playing an instrument. You can make music yourself, or you can make it with others as well.” You tap the drum and it echoes. Taking a breath, you steady your nerves to begin singing a song sung by the firesides of your village. Tapping the drum in a melodic rhythm, you start.

“This land that I call my home,

Where the deep water laps at the icy shore,

The birds fill the air with their trilling songs,

In the darkest of hours, skies dance with colors,

That is where I call my home.

 But alas, I may travel too far,

And the vision of home seems to fade.

All I have is my hope,

And the pride that I have,

To see my home again.

However long it may be,

I will see it again I am sure.

No beast nor death shall take me away,

From the lands that created me.”

When you finish, both men stare at you utterly transfixed. You start to become self-conscious but Yunho breaks out into a beautiful smile and cocks his head to the side, “You are marvelous.”

“Somehow, you continue to surprise us Y/N.” Mingi squats down and touches the drum with his long fingers. “Now that you’ve sung, I realize I’ve heard it before.”

“Huh?” How could he have heard this song before, it doesn’t make any sense to you.

“The song that summoned us.” He states and you immediately feel sick to your stomach. They must sense your unease because they give each other a look and scoot forward. Mingi clears his throat, “So that song, where’d it come from?”

You exhale long, “It’s just something that my village has always sung. My Mother told me it’s something for the missing women to sing when lost in despair." You shrug and then realize what you just said. “I uh-” You don’t know what to say after that. Do you feel like you are lost in despair now that you’ve been whisked away from your home? You don’t think so. In a way, it feels like you’re being torn in two. You’ve grown incredibly attached to Mingi and Yunho, but you are terrified constantly by the threat of the dragons.

The two men are silent as they take in what you just said. They don’t say anything or badger you about it. Instead, Mingi takes the drum off of your lap and tests a few hits, “Am I doing it right?”

“It’s whatever you like really, but stay on a steady rhythm.” 

“Like a heart beat?” He drums his fingers over the hide.

“Precisely.”

Yunho shifts his weight to one side, “What other things are there?”

You smile and look at Mingi, “Can you play something somewhat fast?”

He nods and looks down at the drum before hitting it in intervals of two and then one in between. You stand and beckon for Yunho to follow you into the open part of the cavern, and he does with a curious expression on his face. Putting your hands up with your palms facing him you say, “Since we can’t touch.”

He inches closer and mirrors you, leaving an inch of space between your hands. His eyes are trained on yours and you swear you can feel the heat radiating off of his palms. You step forward and he flinches back in fear that you’ll touch him, but you smile at him reassuringly, “This is a dance, just mirror what I’m doing. We’re not going to touch.”

“This is strange.” He follows your lead with a rigid stance as you move in a circle with him. “Humans and their strange customs.”

You laugh, “Come on, just humor me. It’ll be fun.”

You put your hands down and skip forward to his right side and skip back. He doesn’t seem to understand exactly what you are doing and why you are doing it, but he doesn’t say anything more about it. Just seeing your wide smile has him entirely focused on you. Every step is new to him, and he trips over his feet a few times causing you to burst out laughing. Red stains his cheeks and the tips of his ears, but he learns quickly.

“Look at you!” You twirl and sidestep with him.

“I don’t think I’m doing it right.” His laugh is music to your ears.

You can feel Mingi’s eyes on you, and you glance over at him and see the heated look in his eyes. It makes your heart skip a beat as you continue to dance with Yunho. Both men gaze at you like you are the sun that fills the sky. Like you are the air they need to breathe. It’s utterly intoxicating and you are addicted. 

Yunho trips on his foot and falls forward but catches himself on the material of your gown. He’s halfway to the ground but looks up at you and you lose your breath. The way his chest rises and falls, the way the sweat drips down his forehead and down his body, the way his dark eyes see only you- He is the picture of beauty. 

The sound of the drum echoes throughout the cavern, matching the steady beat of your heart. Yunho stands up gracefully and you begin to sway with the beat. Your hands trail up your body and you can feel their eyes on you. It feels freeing and you love it. You don’t know how long you’ve spent dancing with Yunho, but you don’t want it to ever end. 

........

The breeze feels cooler as you walk down the beach, taking your time to get to your tied up raft. Your mind is completely occupied by last night and you don’t seem to be paying any attention to anything around you. A smile is etched on your face and it feels like you’re floating. 

The waves lap gently onto the sandy shore while you hum lightly. You’ve gotten used to walking barefoot around the caverns, but you are careful around the rocky shores and the wreckages. The sand squishes in between your toes with each step as your gown blows behind you. 

When you reach your raft, you toss in the two blankets you brought with you and marvel at the fact that Mingi has fixed your mast. It’s not pretty in the slightest, but it’ll work for what you need to do. You run your fingers over the rope tied to the side and nod in approval.

“You’re going to leave?” Yunho’s voice sounds behind you.

You whip around and see that he’s standing only a few feet away from you with the look of ultimate devastation on his face. You open your mouth to say something but he beats you to it, his voice quivering with each word, “You’re going to leave me?”

You take a step forward but he takes a step back. “I have to!”

He shakes his head no, “Was it all a lie? After everything- were you just deceiving me?”

“No!” You take another step forward, but he stays put. His eyes are devoid of that warm yearning you saw last night, now they’re cold and angry. He clearly doesn’t believe you at all, and now he seems to have lost all trust in you. “Everything that happened, everything that occurred between us was real, but I can’t stay here! I fear for my life everyday, dreaming of being burnt alive and eaten… I can’t live like that!”

A choked laugh escapes his lips, “Eaten?” He turns on his heels and walks off and you are quick to follow him. He knows that you are following him and you suspect that’s exactly what he wants you to do. You follow him all the way up the path, telling him why you can’t stay and why you have to leave. It seems to fall on deaf ears though until you reach the main cavern with the altar. He stops right in front of it before turning to you, “After all of the women who have perished on this island, haven’t you wondered where their bodies are? Why haven’t you seen any bones?” You stare at him in confusion as his chest heaves. It looks like he’s fighting off the dragon warring inside him by the way his eyes flare and the way his skin looks brighter. “We call ourselves those born from ashes”. 

“Yunho-”

His nostrils flare as he points to the charred altar, “We fill them with fire, burning them alive all while they beg for mercy. And when they are only but ash, a new dragon is born.”

You take a step back as you stare at the altar, remembering how you were pinned underneath the dragon, the way its claws held you in place while it stared at you. Fear pulses through you as you return your gaze to Yunho, “Why are you telling me this?”

“After everything, you thought I would have done that to you?” His voice quivers again but he shakes that away and blinks rapidly.

Your chest heaves, “I- I…”

Red flares in his eyes and you stumble back, tripping on rocks as you try to get away from him. Just seeing that increases the look of devastation in his eyes, “You fear me.”

“How can I not be afraid? Half of you wants to kill me Yunho, I can’t get over that!” Tears prick your eyes.

“You’re right, you shouldn’t get over that.” He takes a step back, his stance despondent and closed off. “I will never be the man that you deserve.” 

He gives you one last look before disappearing into the dark caves and you break out into a sob. It is ripped from your throat, and you grip onto the altar before tearing your hand away like you’ve been burned. It feels like you are being torn in two and it’s agony. You won’t ever be able to live the life you want with them while avoiding the dragons. You will never be able to feel the touch of their skin or the press of their lips on yours. You will never be able to wake up in their arms or live your life with them. Your heart aches like a gaping chasm has been ripped into it and you clutch at your chest as you cry. Hot tears trail down your cheeks, and you know that you have to go.

Wiping your face, you practically sprint down the path to your raft, ignoring that the rocks are tearing at your feet. You have to leave; you have to get away before you grow even more attached to them. You can’t imagine trying to live your life with them while not being able to touch them. It feels like torture and you can’t handle it.

Ripping off the ropes that keep the raft from drifting away, you push it out as far as you can and hop in. The skies are grey and stormy, as if mirroring the typhoon inside of you. You row due East and lift the sail on the make-shift mast before sitting on the wooden seat. The wind whips at your face making the tears freeze, but all you can think about is Mini and Yunho.

Looking back, you watch the island made of bones drift away until you are sucked into the distant fog, and there is no turning back.