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“You’re falling behind, I don’t know why,” the strict voice tells you, large hands shuffling through the plethora of papers on his desk. “At the beginning of the semester, every essay you handed in was well-written, and now…” he pauses, eyes glancing at the sheets. “You didn’t even hand the final in. Why?”

His office is dark, the small lamp on his desk casting a glow across the sheets, and he’s looking at you, eyes narrowed, dainty glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He never wore those when he taught his lectures, and you can tell why. 

There’s a pause, your brain trying to conjure up an excuse. He’s waiting, his hand rubbing the side of his clenched jaw, an impatient gesture.

“I’m not sure,” you confess, the leather chair squeaking when you shift your weight. “Chem is kind of… taking over my life,” you say, laughing nervously as you push a strand of fallen hair behind your ear.

“Am I your chemistry teacher?” he asks, his tone flat and unforgiving. “Your other courses do not have anything to do with me,” he shakes his head, sighing quietly, long fingers sliding the papers back into the folder.

“I’m sorry… I-I… I’ll get the final in, I promise,” you plead, shifting forward to the edge of the seat, and he’s currently writing something on a slip of paper.

“These are my office hours,” he says plainly, pressing the small sticky note onto the desk before you. “You can talk to me during these time slots; other than that, you should be off during your own thing,” he dismisses, leaning back into his chair.

He’s staring at you, his expression blank, his eyes showing little emotion. You can’t read him like you can read most men; he’s reserved, strictly professional, and the little nod towards the door hints that he doesn’t want this to go beyond a professor-student dynamic. It’s not like you thought about him that way, anyway. 

“Thank you, sir,” you say quietly, retrieving your backpack and swinging it over your shoulder, keeping your head low as you walk out and shut the door with a soft click.

The commute back to your apartment is a quiet one. The pavement is glistening from the storm that just passed, the streetlamps reflecting off the stray puddles you keep stepping into with a soft, displeased grunt. Your school shoes are getting dirty, and you only find relief as you step into the complex, smiling at Mrs. Esther, an older woman who usually sat by the front door, observing, watching.

“How did that date go, sweetheart?” she asks you, a shaky hand holding a cigarette, and you let go of the door slightly, gazing at her wrinkled face and soft smile. She always sat there, on that bench outside the doors. 

“Date?” you ask with a small laugh, eyes glancing up at the night sky as you awkwardly hold the door open.

“Mhm.. last Thursday, that handsome man with the long hair,” she says, taking a long drag of her cigarette, a complete juxtaposition to the hospital band wrapped around her wrist – she had been there just a week ago, something about ‘breathing problems’. You were the only one to bring her flowers, she remembers.

“Oh,” you chirp, laughing a bit harder as you shake your head. “Uhm.. yeah, it went fine,” you nod, stepping aside as an older man passes through, and you’re still holding the door, feeling your arm and shoulders going numb.

“When I was your age… oh, dear God, every man I spoke to… wanted nothing but trouble,” she hums, tapping her cigarette on the overflowing ashtray. “Don’t let them, darling, listen to me,” she grins, and you’re shaking your head.

“Okay… thank you, Mrs. Esther,” you mumble, sighing in relief as you shut the door behind you and groan at the heaviness of your backpack. 

You quickly type in the code, and the main doors open, finally allowing you to enter the apartment lobby. You make a beeline for the elevators. It’s a relief, standing quietly as it bypasses each level, and your head is leaning against the metal wall. 

“Bitch, where the hell have you been?” your roommate practically yells as she springs off the couch and walks towards you. She notices the exhaustion on your face: under-eye bags and mascara smeared down your lower lids.

“My prof’s office,” you mumble, slipping off the Mary Jane shoes you’re pretty sure are bleeding through your white socks. “I think he hates me, and wouldn’t mind if I died.” 

“It’s… eight o’clock at night, and you’re hanging around with your professor?” she grimaces, her eyebrows furrowing, and she wanders off towards the kitchen. “If anyone saw that… they’re gonna think you’re fucking, or worse, dating him.” 

“Oh, my god,” you roll your eyes as you throw your backpack onto the ground. “If anyone knows that man, they know he’s not… sleeping with a student, definitely not dating one either,” you sigh, taking a seat on one of the stools near the island.

“Well, is he hot?” she asks, standing by the fridge, scanning through the shelves that scream, “I am a broke college student who can't afford anything.” 

You pause and gaze down at the counter, shrugging. She notices the silence and turns around, barking out a laugh that has you tilting your head to the side. 

“He’s someone’s father, I hope you know that,” you relent, and she’s cracking open a Diet Coke, shaking her head.

“Okay?” she jokes, taking a long sip of the drink. “It’s just attraction, like, it doesn’t matter,” she explains with a shrug, resting her elbows against the granite counter. “Besides, you don’t even know if he actually has kids.”

You sigh again, slumping in the stool as you reach into your pocket, pulling out the crumpled piece of paper, and she instantly snatches it, unravelling it.

“Is this like… a planned hookup?” she teases, and you groan in distaste, grabbing the sticky note and reading it over; his office hours, and a little phone number at the bottom.

“Do you have to be a pervert?” you ask, blinking slowly. “It’s just his office hours and office number,” you explain, tossing it back down. 

“My profs have never done anything like that,” she says, shaking her head and clicking her tongue. “I think he wants you to call him,” she smirks, tilting her head to the side.

“Yeah… I’m really sure,” you give her a fake smile, and nod, and she’s lifting her hands in the air like she’s pleading guilty, laughing loudly as you stomp down the hallway and into your bedroom. 

Your bedroom is already a mess when you walk in; papers and textbooks are scattered across your desk, piles of clothing are on the floor, and your bed is still unmade from this morning. You cringe at the sight, moaning at the idea of tidying up any of your own mess. 

The chair squeaks as you sit, your eyes gazing down at your desk. You open up the folded sticky note again, glossing over the numbers–his handwriting is neat. Perfect numbers curled with intent, the word ‘phone’ practically a blob. You toss it into the pile of other papers, but you’re still looking at it out of the corner of your eye. 

Your phone glows as you lift it. Nope, he hasn’t texted you, that stupid boy you went on a date with.

You’re not sure what possesses you; fingers suddenly finding the phone icon, eyes looking at the sticky note, your fingertips dialling it in, typing each number in until there’s a ringtone. You cross one arm over your chest, lightly chewing on the nail of your thumb, and you wait until it stops—a voice.

“Hello?” a deep voice drawls across the line, and it’s like somebody has smacked you across the face. You called your professor at almost nine o’clock at night on your cellphone.

“Uhm–hello,” you awkwardly stutter out, covering your own mouth with your hand as you close your eyes. You’re humiliating yourself in ways you didn’t know you possessed, and you can feel the warmth in your pink cheeks.

“Is there something you need?” he asks, his tone flat and monotone, but deep and heavy, like you can feel his gaze despite him being God knows where, and you’re in your apartment.

“No…” You say quietly, and you’re shaking your head, looking at the ceiling. “I’m… uhm, I’m just making sure this is your number,” you excuse yourself, and you have to stop yourself from bursting into a fit of laughter.

“Staff directory,” he tells you, and you can hear the faintest hint of annoyance. “Google it. You’ll see it, beside my name, confirming this is, in fact, my phone number,” he adds on, and there’s a beat of silence following the pure disinterest in his voice.

“Right… yeah,” you mumble, pulling the phone away from your face as if that would make the situation any better.

“Have a nice evening,” he says politely, but hangs up almost immediately, not even letting you respond to the mess you just made. 

You sit there, listening to the dial tone humming in the background of your quiet bedroom. It seems merely impossible to face the man again, especially since you have to see him tomorrow, right in front of you, as he teaches you about Gothic literature and a variety of other things you won't remember.

The ceiling is a hazy mess as you lie back on your bed, feeling the weight of the world ease off your shoulders. You close your eyes, and suddenly you’re there again, sitting before him, his gaze on you from across his large desk.

You sigh, your mind playing tricks on you, skewing the interaction into a jumbled mess you know isn’t reality; his lips quirking into a smile as he looks at you, until he’s walking over to you, making the effort to walk around his desk, settling right between your legs, large, careful hands gripping at your thighs.

The vision is too clear, and it feels like you’re reaching for it as you lie on your bed, but instead, you reach down, your nimble fingers bypassing the waistband of your skirt and slipping right into your underwear without hesitation. And it’s all to the thought of him: his body clad in a suit, glasses discarded on the table, his tie loosely hanging around his neck after spending all day teaching, an exhausted yet hungry look on his face, finding you.

The feeling has your back arching, mouth opening to gasp his name but you hold back, drowning in the erotic scenario that’s filling your thoughts; his nose dragging along your thighs, and he’s praising you in that low voice, reminding you of the good student you are, how well-displcined you are, giving you that validation you found yourself seeking elsewhere, like lousy dates on Thursday nights to fill the gaps. 

Your fingers work lightly against yourself, just moving in circles, your eyes closed, head tipping back. And you find yourself embarrassed by how quickly you finish. You wish it were that easy with other people, instead of helplessly guiding your ex-boyfriend for an hour and a half. Now, just the thought of your professor kissing your thighs and admiring your effort is enough to get you off. God help you.

You pant heavily, head turning to look at your desk, and you can see it, waiting, unravelled and a stupid mess; his phone number, his room number, the hours, his writing, him. It’s there, waiting for you.

Your alarm breaks the silence, and you immediately sit up, eyes darting around your bedroom, then down at yourself: your skirt and tights still on, your blouse loosely unbuttoned, and your hair a mess you do not want to clean up right now. You must’ve fallen asleep.

Scrambling around your room, you find another skirt and tights, swiftly changing into them, discarding the shameful, dirty underwear that takes you back to last night; yeah, masturbating to your professor just because you heard his voice over the phone. You want to slap yourself across the face.

You fix your hair in the elevator mirror, dragging your fingers through the strands, your backpack unzipped, your entire face a mess of old mascara and smeared lip gloss. 

You’re not sure whether it’s the guilt from last night or the fact that your final isn’t done, but you quickly realize you’re about to be late for class. 

The lecture is already in session when you walk in, a disoriented mess fumbling with your backpack, and he turns his head, looking over his shoulder, noticing the slight disturbance of your arrival. That’s when you suddenly remember the phone call, and he resumes, presumably ignoring your entrance.

Your hands fumble with your notebook as you fish it out of your backpack, quickly pull out a pen, and try to catch up on the material you missed, but your eyes drift from the board, and you’re looking at him instead.

Tall and strong, biceps straining against the white dress shirt. He must’ve already taken his jacket off – it’s hanging loosely on the back of his chair, and he pauses, rolling up his sleeves to reveal his toned forearms and the watch tightly around his wrist. It’s only his behind, but you’re staring at it, head tilted to the side as his hair stays stiff, gel-kept in place.

“That clear?” he says aloud, the chalk hitting the shelf as he turns around, crossing his arms against his broad chest, leaning back against the board. “The test will be on Thursday, no absences, clear your schedule,” he says without concern, already dismissing a student who immediately raised their hand in protest.

You glance down at the notes you didn’t write, clearly realizing you were far more distracted than you wanted to be. You look to your left, the girl beside you having it neatly written out, glitter pen and all, and yours is a mix of words, things you mindlessly jotted down as you drooled over the damn slope of his nose whenever he turned, and the faint amount of stubble on his jaw.

The lecture is over before you can think. You look around as the students immediately leave the room, laughing loudly, and you’re stuck fumbling with your backpack, books, notebook, pen, and your thoughts.

“Excuse me,” the low voice said suddenly, and you freeze, every hair on your body standing up. You brace for impact, turning on your heel to face your professor.

“Late,” he says dryly, still leaning against the chalkboard. “And, your final… where is it?” he asks, eyebrows raising slightly.

You weren’t used to this, attention. High school was a fucking breeze; teachers barely noticed you, and they were shocked when they suddenly realized you were in their class. It was easy to get out of things, lie, and misplace work you just didn't want to do. Now here he was, a professor with a class of 250, noticing you, of all people.

“I know,” you nod, eyes gazing down at your feet.

You hear the chalkboard settle as he lifts his weight off it, and he wanders towards his desk, his eyes glossing over it before looking back at you.

“It’s rude not to look at somebody when they’re speaking to you,” he comments, reaching for his folder full of papers, slowly putting on his jacket. “Don’t make that a habit.”

Your lips part to say something, but he’s not looking at you; he’s much too focused on filling his satchel with his work, large hands placing folders neatly. You notice it; there’s not a ring on that finger, though, that’s quite irrelevant to you.

“I’ll get it in tonight,” you reassure, though you know it’s a lie, and you’re pretty sure he does too.

“Punctuality is key in this course,” he starts, long arms adjusting the bag, sliding it across his chest as he turns to look at you. “If you’re falling behind, then you’re behind. That’s that. It’s going to catch up to you,” he explains, beginning to walk towards you.

He politely gestures for you to walk with him, and your heart stutters, but you follow suit, walking alongside him as he heads out of the corridors. He holds the door for you and begins walking down the hallway, keeping you by his side.

“Sir, I understand,” you explain to him, watching his large hands push open another set of doors until you’re outside again. “It’s chemistry, I swear, it’s not… It’s not like I’m a bad student,” you plead to him, your shoes moving along the pavement.

“You’re right, you are a good student,” he agrees with a nod, and when you look at him, he’s looking at you. You remember last night, suddenly, the stupid thoughts that filled your head, and the way you fantasized about this.

“But, you’re falling behind,” he states, stopping in his tracks, and you stop too, facing him on the sidewalk. The gloomy air is still, a cold breeze wrapping itself around you.

“Listen,” he starts, looking around, before his eyes land on you. “Come by my office, okay? We can talk about… adjusting the due date, yeah?” he relents, leaning his head forward, his eyebrows raised.

You stand there, almost in shock. He seems oddly… nice, a sweet gesture rather than a harsh one, a stark contrast to the man who was in his office yesterday.

You hesitantly nod, swallowing hard. “Thank you… thank you so much,” you shake your head, smiling nervously, and he’s politely smiling, too.

He gives you a soft nod before wandering off in the opposite direction, his gaze averting from other students, and you stand there, as if time has stalled.

He’s just as guilty, though, and that thought doesn’t cross your mind as you head to the library. What would he be guilty of? Virtually nothing. The most professional man, he would not let his guard down for a student, especially you, of all people. That’s what you think, assume.

You weren’t there when he answered the phone last night, hearing your soft, awkward voice whispering something over the line. You didn’t see the smile curling at his lips as he paid close attention to the quiet breaths between your stumbling sentences, each syllable sending a gentle wave through his body.

When he hung up the phone, almost urgently, you didn’t see him tip his head back in frustration, mad at himself for giving in to every urge.

It was simultaneous; you were sliding your hand into your skirt, all while he was at his house, sitting on the recliner in his living room, a glass of bourbon on the coffee table, his own hand fumbling with the clasp of his belt, disappointed in the bulge he noticed in his jeans, all because of your innocent voice.

As your head tilts back, moaning his last name quietly, he’s moaning your first name, a bitter taste on his tongue at the realization that he’s already cum into his hand four strokes in, all because of you. And maybe he feels guilty about it, and that’s why the sudden idea of an extension seems like the best possible make-up.

You know none of this, though.

The library is warm compared to the rest of the campus, and you nestle into a small booth, right against the window. You pull out your notebook, open it, and slump back when you truly realize how few notes you took. Your distraction is evident as you look over the pages; mindless doodles, blobs of words you couldn’t decipher. 

“Didn’t even say bye to me this morning,” a soft voice says, watching as your roommate slides into the booth before you, grinning, a coffee in hand. “What’cha doing?” she asks, adjusting her backpack, sliding her jacket off.

“Going over… my notes,” you mumble, cringing at the sight of them. She snickers behind the paper cup, looking down.

“The lack of them, you mean,” she teases, the cup hitting the wooden table. “What the hell were you doing all class?” she asks, laughing as he tilts her head, trying to make out the name of the course at the type – yeah, she was right.

“Oh! It was he who had you distracted,” she laughs obnoxiously with a nod, and you’re leaning over the table, shaking your head, a look of panic etched across your face.

“Can you shut up?” you say through gritted teeth, sighing loudly as you rest back against the booth, and she has that classic shit-eating grin etched into her face.

“Relax, relax, he’s probably… in a lecture, I don’t know,” she lifts her hands like she’s guilty again, staring down at the table.

“Yeah, but what if someone else is listening, and then they tell him, and then he hates me, and then he gives me a bad grade, and then I fail–”

“Okay, what the hell has gotten into you?” your roommate abruptly cuts in, leaning in closer, her mouth agape. “Yesterday… he was just some asshole who was pissed at you, rightfully so, for not handing in your final, and now his validation matters?”

She calls you out in a way that has you just staring at her, and she nods, permitting you to speak, but you don’t, because all you’re thinking about is how good the thought of him feels.

“I don’t know, I feel bad for being a bad student,” you dismiss with a shrug, flipping over the page of your notebook. “He’s just doing his job, and I’m being… disobedient,” you mumble.

“Disobedient?” She takes a sip of her coffee, looking up at you from the lid. “You sound like you’re his pet,” she teases, a smirk drawn on her glossy lips, dirty innuendo in her tone. Of course, you pick up on it.

“I’m going to his office later,” you casually add to the conversation, and you swear she almost spits out her drink. “He told me to–he says he’ll adjust the due date,” you explain, tilting your head to the side.

“Did you do witchcraft in your bedroom last night?” she prys, a look of disbelief on her face. “My friend is in that class, and she’d probably shoot me, and then you, and then the professor, if she knew you were getting an extension,” she laughs, leaning back into the booth with an exasperated sigh.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s just being kind,” you dismiss, adjusting the sleeves of your blouse, then the buttons at the front.

“Undo the top two,” your friend nods to the top of the shirt, and you grimace at her perverted suggestion. You look at her, and she’s smiling, like she just came up with the most life-changing idea on earth.

“How low do you think of me?” you ask, trying your best to suppress a laugh. “I just want the extension, and then I can go back to… dating apps, and focusing on chemistry instead of…” You pause, waving at the unfinished notes. “...this mess.”

“Right… how was that date? With the guy with the long hair, brown hair, kind of looked like some type of animal, a cute one,” she rambles on, and you’re furrowing your eyebrows at her explanation–she’s right, he did look like a cute animal; big eyes, a charming smile.

“Fine,” you reply plainly, sighing as you flip yet another page of half-written notes. “Hasn’t called me back, though,” you admit, and your friend rolls her eyes.

“Okay, so revenge sex with your hot professor is the perfect idea,” she instantly says, and you’re about to lean over the desk and cover her mouth with your own hand, but you resist, and instead give her no reaction.

“I think you’ve lost your mind,” you say, a short nod following, lips pursed. She analyzes your facial expression and pauses, then agrees.

“I’m just saying, like, imagine… You do this, and then… I don't know, I’m just bored and living through you,” she groans, dramatically resting her head on the table, arms flailing in front of her.

You laugh at the expression and stare at her blonde hair, a golden mess across the desk, and your eyes almost bulge out of your head when you turn to look out of the window; there he is, walking towards his car. 

“Holy shit,” you say under your breath, and your roommate quickly lifts her head, her hands messing with her hair as she follows the direction of your eyes; there he is, now leaning against it, large hands cupped around a cigarette as he lights in.

The two of you watch in silence, admiring the man through the window. You feel guilty, like a sick pervert, for creeping on him while he casually smokes on his break. He doesn’t see you; he can’t see you from where you are. You bite your lip gently, laughing to yourself at the memory from last night, and your roommate looks towards you, joining in on the laughing. If only she knew.

“Okay, whatever happens,” she starts, leaning forward like she’s your lawyer. “Just… tell me everything, please? Nothing good happens, I’m stuck talking to Mrs. Esther about what she did in college, and she’s beating us… by miles, by fucking miles,” she practically explains, leaning back into the booth. “Threesome.. Two German exchange students, back in–”

“Okay, okay,” you flinch in disgust, beginning to pack up your belongings, hoping to God she gets the hint to shut up. “You need new friends, or… a boyfriend, I don’t know,” you shake your head, standing up from the booth, packing away your belongings.

“Text me–no, call me, immediately if anything—” You cut her off with a look: a tilt of your head and furrowed eyebrows, and she instantly understands. “Sorry,” she says, giving you an awkward wave as you walk away from the table.

The next lectures blend, a fluid mess of words and equations, pure nonsense swarming your brain, and you’re trying your best to write it all out without getting distracted by the impending doom, seeing him in his office, alone, again.

You turn your wrist, glancing at the watch, and you bite your lip. Ten minutes until your last lecture ends, and then it’s straight to his office, where you can figure out your extension and maybe a few other things. You bite your tongue next, feeling disappointed in your own thoughts.

Four o’clock, you glance at your watch again, shoes padding along the tile floor, a long hallway, a series of other offices and vacant classrooms. The overhead lights flicker, and you swallow hard, suddenly feeling like this is the worst idea imaginable.

Room 226, his office. 

You’re standing in front of the door, adjusting the collar of your white blouse, and your hands drift down. Two buttons loosen slightly, and you shake your head, immediately regretting the idea, but the door is already opening, and you pause. You look up at him, hands mid-buttoning, and he’s smiling–well, it’s not a smile, it’s amusement.

“How’d I know it was you?” he asks, widening the crack in the door, and you nervously laugh, flattening the rest of your shirt, and he’s watching.

“Well… I don't know,” you laugh nervously again, and he’s opening it even more, his hand waving you in. You give him a small nod as you walk past him, and there’s definitely a reason God didn’t let you notice the way his eyes slid down to the backs of your thighs.

“So,” he starts lowly, the door softly shutting, the leather seat creaking as you sit down. “This is about… the extension, yeah?” he hums, walking around his desk, standing in front of it.

You don’t respond, you’re too busy being enamoured by the man before you; all muscles and rough edges, his tie hanging around his neck loosely, oddly resembling the fantasy. You shift slightly, and he looks up, acknowledging the leather's groan.

“The extension,” he says again, his eyes gazing up at you through the dim lighting.

“Yes–yes, the extension, yes, that’s what I wanted to talk about,” you shyly mumble, nodding quickly, and he’s still standing, looking down at the mess of papers on his desk.

“Do you have any sort of copy of the final? Rough draft, ideas?” he asks, licking the rough callous of his thumb, using it to flip through the folder that he had just lifted.

“Uhm.. yeah, just… a short rough draft, it’s not much, it’s kind of bad actually,” you ramble on again, the words coming out of you like word vomit, and he seems unaffected by all of it.

“Do you have that with you?” he asks, eyes flicking up to you again, his large hand resting on his hip.

“Yes… yes, it’s in my bag,” you nod quickly, eyes glancing at the way his thumb fiddles with the leather strap of his belt, and you’re frozen. He notices.

“I’d like you to get that for me, sweetheart,” he drawls, the tone so casual and flat, but the pet name has your eyes widening as a rush of heat courses through every inch of your body.

You’re thanking your body for autopilot right now, because your hands are completely disconnected as they reach for your bag, shuffling through the many papers hidden deep inside of it. Your mind is elsewhere, adding that to your fantasy list: a professor calling me sweetheart.

“Perfect, thank you,” he says, taking it from you and giving you a polite nod.

He grunts as he finally sits down, his hips lifting as he adjusts himself in the chair, and he sighs; one hand holds the paper, and the other rubs at his jawline again. You wait impatiently, your thigh bouncing up and down, an anxious tremor as he reads over the mess you made, an urgent piece of writing you aren't exactly proud of.

“Is this your best work?” he suddenly asks, looking up from the paper with a displeased expression. “Doesn’t seem like your best work,” he follows up, tossing it onto the desk, his arms folding across his chest.

“No… no, it’s not my best work, not at all,” you admit, your knees rubbing together awkwardly, and you’re staring at him, you’re not sure if you can stop.

“It’s poorly written,” he says plainly, his jaw ticking in distaste. “This is not college-level work, and you don’t have a college-level work ethic,” he adds on, his tone scolding rather than neutral, slight frustration alcing his words.

“I–” you start, in disbelief of the words you’re hearing. You’ve never had a professor pick apart your work like this, not even your chemistry professor after a failed lab.

“No, come here,” he says, setting the paper down and waving you over to his desk.

Thank God for autopilot again because you’re somehow slowly standing up, slow, heavy footsteps leading you towards his desk, and suddenly you’re in his space, standing beside his desk as he sits down.

It’s so incredibly him, the scent you’re getting for the first time; thick, expensive cologne, not the silly, cheap cologne most guys your age wear, and a hint of cigarettes still lingering from his smoke break. You know he tries to hide the habit; your eyes are drifting over his desk, noticing the knick-knacks, like the gum wrapper from the piece he chewed to get rid of the gross taste.

“I want you to read this sentence for me, and tell me a student like yourself wrote this,” he orders, his finger slowly gliding over the paper, underlining a sentence, and you swallow hard, leaning down to get a better view.

It’s silent in the office, just the quiet sound of some students walking by, and the analogue clock ticking behind both of you. You’re reading the mess of words, warmth filling your cheeks out of nervousness.

“Are you reading it?” he asks, turning his head slightly, and you realize he’s far too close to you now, his face just a breath away.

“Yes, sir,” you whisper, and you realize how stupidly erotic that sounded, and he does too; he does not like it, the way his slacks suddenly protest against the growing bulge in them.

“Then why aren't you reading it aloud?” he whispers, following your actions, and he taps the sentence again.

“You… you didn’t tell me to,” you defend lightly, leaning a bit more forward, awkwardly hunched over his desk.

“Do I need to tell you everything to do everything? You’re a big girl,” he tells you with a nod. “Read for me, please,” he tells you, and you heasitently nod, taking in a deep breath.

You begin to speak softly, following his fingertip as it glides along the page, reading each word, watching it as it splinters into a mess that does not make sense. That does not deserve a grade, or even a glance, from a professor in his field. You’re ashamed.

You feel it, and your heart stops; a warm hand finds your lower back, gently rubbing while you read, a comforting gesture, although it’s not comforting at all–your knees are basically buckling, and you lean forward.

“Keep going, didn’t tell you to stop,” he mumbles, rubbing gently through your shirt, lightly dipping onto the fabric of your skirt, too.

You continue to read, stumbling over the words now, taking little pauses where you try to breathe, and he’s basking in it; the stupid hiccups you make when he lightly squeezes, and you’re gripping the edge of the desk. Dear God.

“Reread it for me, slower,” he tells you–he’s not asking you, it’s an order, and you’re instantly giving in.

You start again, and you hear his chair groan. You pause to look, and you notice him standing up, his hand roving across your back and finding the side of your hip; meanwhile, the other one does too; he now has you bent over his desk, standing behind you, gripping your body.

“Good girl,” he breathes out slowly, his eyes tracing down your body: your poorly arched back from a lack of experience, followed by the rip in your tights and the loose, flimsy skirt around your waist.

You grip the desk tighter, knuckles turning white, and you’re still stumbling over the words, trying to get them out in a rush. He’s merely observing from behind, large hands rubbing at your hips, moving lower, almost roving over your clothed ass.

“Again,” he commands quietly, and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying your best to muster the courage even to have a voice in something like this.

This time, though, he’s shuffling forward, and you feel it; he’s hard, and he’s pressing it against you from behind. You gasp, and he bites his lip, testing his own restraint, his own ability to resist groaning at the sound you’re making.

You whimper quietly, head bowed forward, and he squeezes your hip gently. He watches you practically collapse over his desk, and it’s better than what his sick imagination had gathered that night alone.

“Your work is terrible,” he mumbles, and you’re whimpering a bit louder at the harsh words. “But… god, you’re something else,” he groans out, shaking his head as he gives into his urges, and one of his hands finds the hem of your skirt, lifting it, bunching it around your hips in a swift movement.

You look over your shoulder, watching the way he easily maneuvers your body; strong hands gripping and pulling, long fingers tugging and grabbing, and you feel your underwear sliding down your thighs. 

“Keep reading,” he hums, and you turn your head back, mouth agape, eyes widened.

You grip the desk harder, groaning to yourself, hearing the clasp of his belt slowly unbuckling, a soft noise in the room. You swallow hard, hesitantly reading again; stuttering, stammering, breathing between sentences, all nervous and embarrassed, and he’s soaking up the mess you’re already turning into.

His one hand holds your hip, the other one sliding down into the front of his pants, and he’s ashamed of himself; hard, and regretful, but he’s pulling himself out, groaning at just the sight in front of him. It’s his fantasy, too, what he was thinking about that one night. 

Bracing yourself, you close your eyes, softly gasping as he pushes himself against your entrance, warm and meaningful, and it makes you whimper once again. 

One smooth rock forward, and you have stars in your eyes, a slow burst behind your closed eyes, and you let out a loud yelp. A hand instantly comes forward, strong and large, covering your mouth in an urgent movement–other students are still walking around, finishing up some of the last lectures.

“C’mon, don’t disobey me now,” he practically groans, his hand still braced around your hip as he mercilessly moves back and forth, your back curving in a way you didn’t know was possible; he’s mainly forcing you into the position, a hungry motion, contorting you into the vision he saw last night.

You moan into his hand, eyes rolling back, standing on the tips of your toes. His head is tipped back, focused on keeping you quiet while sumtamtemly focused on his pleasure, and your own; it’s a whirl of emotions, guilt and devotion clashing at once, and you’re feeling it all for the first time.

“Good girl, just like that,” he praises quietly, grunting through clenched teeth, and you’re embarrassed by the way you’re basically collapsing onto his papers. It’s even worse, recognizing student names neatly written on essays. Jesus Christ.

Despite his palm helplessly pressing against your lips, the sound of his hips meeting the back of your thighs is louder than you’d like–he’s much too lost in the feeling, the thought, to even notice. You’re whining louder and louder, wails of pleasure in the place where you’ve never found an ounce of pleasure in your fucking life.

“God, look at you,” he groans, his hand sliding up your hip, lightly pressing against your body, forcing your back into an arch. “Stay… stay like that, for me, baby, come on,” he breathes out, his own breath growing heavier and shallower.

Your fingers nails scratch into the edges of the desk, a plead for something, anything, but you’re just as lost as he is in the moment; eyes rolling back, the scent of him wrapping around you, the feeling of his warm skin against yours, the famialirlty of the office, the rush of knowing you’re five seconds away from another student knocking on the door. It’s exhilarating in a way that has your heart sinking into your stomach, almost daring you to cry.

A string of curses leaves his mouth, his hips never stalling, a fluid motion. It almost feels slow, even though he’s persistent, keeping you whining for more and more, begging for something more, and it’s all he can do. All he can do is give you even more.

“Perfect girl, God,” he grunts, his teeth still clenched, his head tipping back, a louder noise he instantly regrets leaving his mouth, and he’s suddenly hunched over you, heavily breathing against the back of your neck.

You feel it, dripping down your thighs, the sticky mess leaving a trail along your legs, and you’re shaking, sprawled across the wooden desk. Your forehead is damp with sweat, a glistening sheen coating your face, and he’s rubbing both of your hips now, his body leaning over yours, but it’s not like he’s finished.

He groans quietly, admiring the work before him; your body limp and exhausted, your knees buckled, and your hand still gripping his desk. He pauses.

“On the desk,” he murmurs, and you don’t listen, not right now at least. You’re limp, your mind and body physically spent from whatever the fuck just happened.

“Not gonna ask you again,” he practically groans, an urgent plea, and you’re peeling yourself off of the desk, breathing heavily as you turn around, and he’s doing the work for you; his hands finding the front of your hips, hosting you up onto the desk, and he’s dipping down, suddenly on his knees.

Your eyes widen in surprise, watching his built frame nudge between your legs, and he’s gripping your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders like it’s a thing in the god damn world.

He’s grabbing at the side of your thighs now, one hand loosely messing around with the hem of your skirt, pushing up the pleats, letting it bunch up, giving him the room he needs.

There is zero hesitation; his mouth is against you, lips hot and warm, using his own cum to make the entire thing easier–it’s slick and sticky, and he’s poking and prodding with his tongue, and you’re pretty sure you’re on another planet, your mind mush and your head tipped back.

He works over you, and you’re looking down, breathing heavier than ever, watching the way he nods, his head working with his mouth; frantic, hungry swipes of his tongue, accompanied by the light suction–he knows your body somehow, like he’s done this time and time again, maybe he has. You’re not sure if that’s with students.

“You taste… unreal,” he groans into you, the vibrations sending a hand into his hair, where you instantly grip it, tugging him closer, and he’s burying his face up against; his firm nose nudging into you, his lips following suit, his mouth engulfing you. It’s something you’ve never felt.

“God,” he murmurs, like he’s praising God more than anything right now, thanking Him for letting this happen; your body unfolding, legs opening in a way that’s just for him, and he’s basking in it.

One hand is rubbing the side of your upper thigh, and the other is finding yours that’s gripping the edge of the desk, white-knuckled and urgent, and he’s taking it in his own. In the midst of the impatient heat, the gentle gesture has you whining out loud, and he’s shaking his head, pinching the side of your leg.

“No… no, baby, shhh,” he pulls away for just a second, his eyes finally finding yours from the low angle, and it’s suddenly like you’re on your bed again, hand in your skirt, imagining this exact scenario. 

You hesitantly nod and swallow hard, biting your lip, your head lolling back once more. You tug on his hair lightly, and his thumb taps your hand, a reassuring touch, calming you down, keeping you grounded while your head feels like it’s floating, and there’s a buzz from your neck down.

Your thighs clench and squeeze, the muscles tense while his tongue is too, delving inside of you, only to flatten out once he slides out. It’s practiced, calculated, like he's unlocking a part of you, and you hate it–almost–being so vulnerable and spread out on your professor’s desk.

“I’m–” you pant out, regretting the warning because he lightly hits your thigh in the middle of your broken words, and he narrows his eyes. 

“Be... a good student, and ask me,” he hums lowly against you, and you squeeze your eyes shut at the thought of forming any coherent sentence.

“May–may… may I… please, please cum,” you whimper, and his eyes soften, like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever heard–it’s that voice, the whisper he heard across the phone when his hand was in his pants, his ice melting in his drink.

“Mhm,” he grants permission with a nod, just as eager to see you finish. 

He’s not sure what it is about you, why suddenly his guard is down, and he’s letting you cum into his mouth, but he is, and the way he’s looking at you is like he’s been waiting for this.

You’re pretty sure that’s the hardest you’ve ever finished in your life; toes curling in your dumb shoes, your thighs squeezing around his head, tightly gripping his hand, while the other one forces his head deeper between your legs, and there’s zero resistance on his end. He’s just as guilty, giving into your pleasure, letting you feel.

He pulls back and stares up at you in the dimly lit room of his office. His mouth and chin are glistening, dripping in his own cum and yours, and his eyes are a hazy mess, chest heaving. He’s still rubbing the side of your thigh, leaning sideways, resting his cheek against the bare inner skin, lightly kissing.

Your friend won't hear about this.

The campus is quiet, your eyes glued to the trail beneath you. Each step is heavier than the last, and you’re trying your best to ignore it–the feeling in your underwear that you pulled up in a hurry, his own hands helping you with it, all while he focuses on adjusting his tie, making it look like he didn’t just have sex with his student against his desk.

Walking into the apartment was more shameful than you wanted it to be. There’s a part of you nagging, convincing yourself that those waiting in the elevator with you know what just happened, that you’re shamefully pressing your thighs together. He didn’t bother cleaning up your thighs–some ramble about liking the thought of you having to walk back with it still on your legs. 

You could’ve stopped at the student washroom, could’ve cleaned it up, but you hated that you didn’t want to.

You slip into your complex and glance down. Your roommate's shoes are missing, a clear sign she’s gone for the evening, and it’s a relief. No explaining why you took longer than you should’ve, or why your cheeks are flushed, and why you’re walking to your bedroom so awkwardly.

You jiggle the nob of your bedroom door, confirming that it’s locked before you begin taking off your skirt, letting it pool at your ankles, and then your underwear. You grimace at the sight, biting your lip; it’s a mess, and you’ve never felt more ashamed for being turned on. 

It’s significantly worse the next day: bypassing your roommate, who is overly concerned about why you’re ignoring her, not even bothering to say hello to Mrs. Esther, who is holding a cigarette outside the apartment. You’re much too focused on that stupid lecture, and seeing him, facing him after his head was buried between your legs, his hands gripping your hips like it’s the first time he’s ever done it.

A deep breath, and you’re pushing open the corridors, the lecture room still half-empty. You are far too early, and he’s sitting there at the front of the room, talking to a few students, and you join the short line; a few girls ahead of you, all ogling him, and it’s hard to believe you’re the first student to have this filthy attraction to him.

“Can I help you?” he asks quietly when it’s your turn, and he’s not even bothering to look up at you, his eyes fixed on the course material he’s going to go over that class.

“Uhm..” you hum softly, hoping he looks up at the familiar softness in your voice, but he doesn’t; he remains flipping through the pages, like it’s nothing.

“If you remember, ask me at the end of the lecture,” he responds dryly, shaking his head slightly. “Other students need help,” he dismisses, nodding for you to go to your seat.

It feels like the air from your lungs has been swept out of you, leaving you a ghost, and you float to your usual spot, the top left, alone. 

He does look up when you walk away; the only girl in the whole lecture hall wearing a skirt at eight in the morning, and he shifts in his chair, a strong hand gripping the arm of it in an attempt to relieve the unfortunate tension that’s building again.

Toji Fushiguro, in apartment 08, right next door, he stepped out the side door with a black garbage bag in one scarred hand, in the same tight black t-shirt you’d seen him in a dozen times before, sleeves stretched tight around thick biceps, fabric clinging to the hard planes of his chest and stomach like it was painted on. Dark sweatpants slung low on narrow hips, the waistband showing a thin strip of tanned skin when he moved. 

That scar sliced the corner of his mouth, pulling slightly when his lips twitched like he was always half a second from smirking at something only he found funny and black hair messy, damp at the temples from the heat or maybe from whatever he’d been doing inside his own place all day. 

He didn’t look your way at first, he just hefts the bag into the big metal bin with one easy toss, muscles rolling under tanned skin, then wipes his forearm across his brow.

You should’ve looked away, should’ve pretended to stare at the sky or your chipped nail polish or literally anything else, but your eyes stayed glued, tracing the way his shoulders flexed when he turned, the slow roll of his neck as he cracked it side to side and maybe he felt it, because those sharp green eyes finally flicked over.

Eyes locking on yours.

Your stomach does a nasty, liquid flip. Not fear, exactly. Something hotter. Hungrier. You feel suddenly very aware of how your shorts are bunched high on your ass, how the hoodie’s ridden up to show the dip of your spine, how your thighs are parted just enough that if he looked lower he’d see the soft inner curve where skin meets cotton.

He didn’t smile, didn’t wave. Just stood there with one big hand still resting on the bin lid, staring like he had all night to decide what he wanted to do about the pretty little thing next door finally looking back.

Then he starts walking.

Not toward his apartment, towards you.

Each step, heavy. Bare feet on gravel and the closer he gets the more details you take in, faint sheen of sweat on his throat, the way veins stand out along his forearms and he stops at the edge of your porch slab, one foot planted on the rickety porch so he’s towering without even trying.

For a second the world narrows to just that look; heavy and unreadable, dragging down the length of your sprawled body like he was cataloging every inch. The hoodie half-open so the thin tank underneath showed the soft dip between your breasts, nipples pebbled from the sudden shift in temperature and maybe something else, your shorts bunched high enough that the plump curve where thigh met hip was on full display, cotton stretched tight across your mound. 

You felt the fabric pull snug there, outlining the soft curve of your pussy in a way that made heat crawl up your neck, shifting your thighs together instinctively — only making it worse. A tiny damp spot had already started blooming at the crotch from hours of lazy daydreams and the sticky summer air.

You swallow. Throat dry. “Hi,” it comes out smaller than you meant.

Toji’s scarred mouth twitches barely. “Hey.”

Voice low and rough around the edges like gravel dragged over velvet. One word and it already felt like he’d put his palm flat on your sternum and pressed.

You sat up a little straighter, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. “You’re… Toji, right? My dad said you’re the quiet one.”

He huffed through his nose, the closest thing to a laugh you’d ever heard from him. “Yeah. That’s me.” He took one slow step closer. “And you’re the kid who’s been runnin’ around in those little shorts all summer.”

Your breath hitched, you're not a kid. Not really, but the way he said it with that lazy drawl, his eyes dropping to where your thighs are pressed together, made your clit throb under the cotton like he’d reached out and thumbed it.

“I’m not a kid,” you mumbled, cheeks burning. “I’m nineteen, almost twenty.”

Toji’s brows lifted just a fraction. “Almost twenty,” he echoed, like he was tasting the words. Another step forward, now he was close enough you could smell him; clean sweat, faint soap, something darker underneath like motor oil and cedar. “Old enough to know better than to sit out here lookin’ like that when it’s just you and me.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You tried to play it cool, tugging the hem of your hoodie down like it would hide anything. “It’s hot. I just wanted air.”

“Mm.” His gaze slid lower again, shamelessly, lingering on the visible outline of your pussy lips printed through the thin shorts, plump, puffy, already so swollen from nothing but his proximity. “Looks like you’re feelin’ more than just the heat, sweetheart.”

The pet name landed like a spark on dry grass, and you squeezed your thighs tighter, but that only made the damp cotton drag against your slick folds. A tiny, involuntary whimper slipped out before you could catch it.

Toji’s eyes darkened. He crouched slowly, his big body folding with surprising grace, until he was eye-level with you on the step. Forearms resting on spread thighs, scarred hands dangling loose between his knees. So close you can see the faint sheen of sweat on his collarbone, the way his happy trail disappears under the waistband, dark and tempting.

He tilts his head, just enough that the dying sunlight cuts across the sharp line of his jaw. Moss-green eyes drag from your bare legs up up up- slowly and unapologetic. Lingers on the bare strip of stomach where your hoodie’s rucked up. On the way your shorts cling to the plump curve of your ass, aaaaall the way up to your face like he’s cataloguing every inch he’s already seen a hundred times through cracked blinds.

“Been seein’ you around,” he says. Voice quieter now and allmost intimate. “You live next door, right? Your old man’s girl.”

Not a question again.

You nod anyway. Tongue feeling too big in your mouth.

“Yeah. I’m… back for summer break.”

He hums, deep in his chest. The sound vibrates through the humid air straight into your bones.

“Didn’t figure you’d be out here lookin’ like that,” his eyes glance to your lips then back up to your eyes, “always out this late too huh, doll?”

You blink. “...You noticed?”

Another almost-laugh. “Hard not to.”

Heat floods your cheeks. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of exposed skin. The way your nipples have pebbled against the thin hoodie fabric from the slight breeze or maybe just from him looking at you like that.

“You been watchin’ me too, huh?” he murmurs. Voice softer than you expect. Almost gentle. “Every time you come out here. Corner store. Back porch. Thought I didn’t notice?”

Your lips parted, no sound comes out at first. Then, barely a whisper, “I… I thought you didn’t.”

“Wrong.” One big hand lifts slow, carefully and the rough pad of his thumb brushes the edge of your hoodie sleeve where it had slipped down your shoulder. Goosebumps erupts across everywhere he almost touches. “Been noticin’ you since the first day you walked by in those jeans. Ass hugged so tight I could see the outline of your panties. Thought about bendin’ you over the railing right then.”

Heat floods between your thighs so fast your vision blurs and you can feel yourself leaking now, slow, syrupy slick soaking through your cotton panties, darkening the crotch of your shorts in an obvious little patch. His eyes drops to it immediately.

“Fuck,” he breathes, almost laboured. “Look at that. Sweet little pussy already cryin’ for me and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

You whimper again, louder this time, hips shifting forward on instinct, chasing nothing.

“You alone tonight?” he asks. Casually, like he’s asking about the weather.

You nod, throat dry. “Dad’s working late again, always is.”

Toji hums, low in his chest. The sound vibrates through the air into your palms.

He reaches out, slow enough that you could pull away if you wanted.

You don’t.

Thick fingers catch the hem of your hoodie where it’s ridden up over your hip and he doesn’t pull it down. Just tugs it a little higher, exposing another inch of soft skin. His thumb brushes the edge of your shorts, barely a graze, but it feels like he’s touching you somewhere much more intimate.

“These are reaaaaal short,” he drawls. Voice gone darker. “You always walk around in shit like this?”

Your heart slams against your ribs. “Sometimes.”

He exhales through his nose, almost a growl.

“Careful, sweetheart.” His thumb presses just barely into the crease where thigh meets ass. “Lots of eyes around here.”

You’re trembling now and its not from fear, its from the sudden, vicious ache blooming low in your belly. Your thighs press together on instinct and he notices. Of course he does.

Toji’s eyes flick down to where your legs squeeze, then back up to your face, that smirk of his deepens.

“You scared of me?” he asks softly, almost sweet — if sweet could be laced with this much danger.

You shake your head, barely.

“Liar,” he says but he sounds pleased.

His hand slides higher, his fingers splaying wide across the small of your back, his palm is hot and rough as calluses drag against your skin like a promise. He doesn’t push you down. Doesn’t need to, you’re already melting into the floor boards, arching just enough that your ass lifts a fraction — offering.

He groans quietly and guttural, the first real crack in that cool exterior.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “You’re trouble.”

You lick your lips, voice barely there. “You gonna do something about it?”

His eyes snap to yours. Dark, predatory.

For one endless second neither of you moves.

Your breath hitches when his gaze drops again — straight to the damp patch you know is starting to show. The cotton’s darker there now, clinging, outlining the plump shape of your pussy lips so clearly it’s obscene. You’re soaked, have been since you noticed him watching. And he can fucking see it.

“Pretty little thing like you,” he murmurs, voice dropping to something dangerous-soft, “sittin’ out here all needy. Drippin’ through your shorts for the old man next door.”

Your mouth falls open on a shaky gasp. No denial. No lie. Just liquid heat, shameful heat — flooding between your legs at his words.

Toji’s eyes darken and hooks one thick finger under the hem of your shorts. Doesn’t pull them down. Just lifts the fabric the tiniest bit, letting it snap back against the crease of your thigh with a soft thwack.

“Bet these panties are fuckin’ ruined,” he says, almost conversationally. “All wet and clingy, pushin’ up against the seam, yeah?”

You whimper high and helpless, hips shifting forward before you can stop them.

He chuckles, low and mean. “Knew it.”

Toji’s hand moves again, this time cupping the side of your face, thumb stroking slow along your jaw. Calluses rough against your soft skin. “Pretty thing,” he murmured. “So shy. So needy. Bet you’ve been touchin’ yourself thinkin’ about the mean neighbour next door, huh? Imaginin’ what these hands would feel like spreadin’ you open.”

Your head tipped into his palm. Eyes fluttering. “Y-yes…”

“Good girl.” Praise hits like honey dripping down your spine. He leaned in closer — close enough his breath fanned your glossed lips. “Gonna kiss you now. Wanna taste how sweet that pouty mouth is before I ruin the rest of you.”

You nodded with frantic little jerks of your head.

Then his mouth is on yours.

Soft at first, just the brush of scarred lips over your glossy ones, tasting artificial cherry and nervous salt. He groaned low in his throat the second your mouths connect, like he’d been starving for it, his big hand slides to the nape of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wants so he could lick slow into the seam of your lips.

You opened for him instantly. Tongue shy and tentative, his is thicker, hotter, curling against yours with lazy confidence. He kisses like he had nowhere else to be, like he could spend hours just licking into your mouth, swallowing every tiny whimper you give him.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he mumbles against your lips between slow, wet kisses. “Taste like summer, like you’ve been waitin’ for this.”

His other hand finds your thigh, palming the plush inner meat, squeezing gently, thumb stroking higher and higher until it grazes the damp edge of your shorts, not pushing inside. Just petting. Soothing. Praising.

“Doin’ so good for me already,” he whispers, nipping your bottom lip. “Letting me kiss you like this. Letting me feel how wet you are just from my mouth. Such a good girl f'me already.”

You moan  into his kiss loud and  needy — hips canting up so his thumb presses firmer against the soaked outline of your pussy. He growls softly, rewarding you with another deep, filthy lick into your mouth.

The kiss turns hungrier. Wetter. His tongue fucks slow and deliberately into yours while his hand kneads your thigh, inching closer to where you ache most — never quite touching your clit, just circling, teasing, making you drip more and more until the cotton’s clinging transparently to every swollen fold.

He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breath ragged, green eyes blown black with want.

“Tell me you want more,” he raspes. Voice wrecked. “Tell me you want my hands on you. My mouth. Everything.”

Your lips trembles, gloss smeared and eyes glassy.

“I want it,” you breathe. “Want you…please, Toji…”

He smiled then slowly, gaze darkening but still so gentle when his thumb brushes your cheek again.

“Good girl,” he purred.

And then he kissed you deeper — claiming, devouring, promising every filthy thing he's about to do to you next.

His mouth is still on yours hot, slow and filthy in the best way. Tongue sliding deep, curling lazy against yours like he's mapping every soft inch of your mouth, tasting the cherry gloss you’d slicked on earlier just because you felt pretty. 

Toji kisses like a man who’s waited too long to taste something sweet and now couldn’t get enough. A big hand cradles the back of your neck, thumb stroking the sensitive spot just under your ear while the other squeezes the plush meat of your inner thigh — fingers digging in just enough to make your hips twitch forward, chasing more pressure against the soaked cotton clinging to your pussy.

You were drowning in it. Brain turning to warm syrup, every thought melting into the wet drag of his tongue, the faint scrape of his scar against your lower lip when he sucks it between his teeth. Soft little whimpers bubbling out of you every time he pulls back just to nip, just to breathe a rough “good girl” against your mouth before diving back in deeper.

Your hands found his shoulders somewhere in the haze, your fingertips digging into hard muscles under that tight black shirt, feeling the heat rolling off him like a furnace. He smells so good up close; clean sweat, faint cologne that clung to his neck, something darker and masculine underneath that made your clit throb harder every time you inhaled.

When he finally eases back — barely an inch, forehead pressing to yours, your lips swollen, gloss smeared across both your mouths, strings of spit connecting when yours part. You were panting, chest heaving under the half-zipped hoodie, nipples tight and aching against the thin tank.

Toji’s green eyes were blown black, pupils eating up the color as he stares down at you like you were the only thing left in the world worth looking at. His thumb brushing slowly over your bottom lip, spreading the mess even more.

“Fuck, look at this mouth,” he murmurs, voice gravel-rough and wrecked. “All glossy and puffy from just my kisses. Bet it’d look even prettier wrapped around my cock.”

The words hit you like a slap of heat. Your thighs clenching hard — slick gushing fresh against your already drenched panties, the cotton so wet now it was sticking transparently to every plump fold. You could feel the outline of your pussy lips print shamelessly through the shorts, fat and swollen… begging.

You tried to speak — tried to be smart, to play it cool, but your brain was mush, words tumbling out careless and needy.

“W-wanna… come inside?” you breathed, barely coherent. “For… for a drink. Or… something. Please.”

Toji’s scarred lips curves slow and predatory, but still so fucking gentle when his thumb strokes your cheek again.

“Yeah?” he rasps. “You invitin’ the old man next door inside while your daddy’s gone? Careful, sweetheart. I might'n wanna leave once I get my hands on you proper.”

Your head bobs, frantical little nods. “I… I don’t want you to leave.”

He groans low in his throat, like the confession physically hurt him in the best way. Then he was standing, a slow roll of his muscles as he rose to his full height, now towering over you on the step. One big hand extended down.

“C’mon then pretty girl. Show me where you live.”

You take his hand, your small fingers swallowed up in his scarred palm and you let him pull you up. Legs shaky, thighs slick where they're rubbing together. The second you're standing he tugs you closer, arm banding around your waist so your soft body presses flush to his hard one. You could feel him, thick and heavy…his cock already half-hard and straining against his sweatpants, nudging insistently against your lower belly.

“Fuck,” he mutters into your hair, inhaling deep like he was trying to memorize your scent. “Smell's so sweet. Bet you taste even better between those thighs.”

He walks you the few steps to your door like that, an arm possessive around you, free hand palming slow over the curve of your ass through your shorts, squeezing the plush flesh like he was testing how soft you really are. You fumble the key with trembling fingers and he just chuckles low against your ear.

“Easy, baby. We got all night.”

The door finally opens. You stumble inside, the dim living room lit up only by the lamp you’d left on, the cheap couch, scattered textbooks from last semester you hadn’t bothered to put away. Toji kicks the door shut behind him without looking, then spun you gently until your back hits the wall beside it.

He didn’t crowd you right away. Just stood there, close enough you could feel his heat, but giving you that one last second to back out if you wanted.

You didn’t.

Instead you tipped your head back, lips parting eyes glassy and pleading.

Toji’s hand came up and cupsyour jaw so gently it made your chest ache, his thumb stroking over your swollen bottom lip again.

“Look at you,” he whispers, voice thick with something almost reverent. “So fuckin’ pretty. So young and soft and already drippin’ for a man old enough to know better. You know how filthy that is, sweetheart? How wrong?”

You whimpered, nodding your hips canting forward so the damp crotch of your shorts brushes the hard line of his cock through his sweats.

“Feels right to me,” you breathe out needy.

His eyes flutters shut for a second — like your words punched the air out of him. Then he was kissing you again, deeper this time, hungrier. Tongue fucking slow into your mouth while both hands slid down to grip your thighs, lifting you easy like you weighed nothing. Your legs wraps around his waist on instinct; he pins you to the wall with his hips, his thick cock grinding slow against your soaked pussy through layers of fabric.

You moaned loud into his mouth, a desperate, broken sound.

“That’s it,” he praises against your lips, rocking slow and deliberately. “Grind on it, baby, let me feel how wet you are for me. Soaked right through these little shorts… fuck, I can smell you. Sweet little cunt cryin’ for cock.”

His hands kneads your ass rough, spreading you open even through your clothes, his fingertips dipping under the hem of your shorts to brush the edge of your drenched panties. You jolt at the contact and he just shushes you softly by kissing the corner of your mouth.

“Doin’ so good,” he murmurs. “Such a good girl lettin’ me touch. Gonna take care of you, yeah? Gonna make this pretty pussy feel so full… but imma take my time. Wanna savor every second of ruinin’ you.”

You were shaking, your whole body trembling with need, clit throbbing against the drag of his cock every time he rolls his hips. Slick had soaked through everything now and you could feel it smearing against him, making the fabric cling obscenely.

“Toji…” His name comes out wrecked, pleading. “Please… need you.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark, tender and filthy all at once.

“I know, sweetheart,” he rasps, pressing one last soft kiss to your forehead. “I know. Gonna give you everything. But first…”

His hand slid between your bodies and cups your pussy over the shorts, his palm grinds slow against your swollen clit while two thick fingers traces the soaked outline of your lips through the cotton.

“Gonna make you come like this first,” he promises, voice low and wrecked with want. “Just from my hand, m'gonna watch this sweet little thing soak my fingers before I even get inside you. You gonna be good and come for me, baby?”

Your head falls back against the wall, eyes rolling, your hips already chasing his palm in frantic little circles.

“Y-yes… yes, please… Toji…”

He smiles slowly, dangerous and adoring.

“That’s my girl.”

And then he kisses you again deeper and filthy, while his hand works unhurried, perfect little circles over your dripping cunt, building you up slow and sweet until you’re trembling on the edge, ready to fall apart for the quiet neighbour who’d finally let you into his world.

Toji didn’t set you down.

Not even for a second.

The second your shaky “yes” left your lips he scoops you up like you weigh nothing, his big scarred hands sliding under the plush meat of your thighs, lifting you clean off the floor so your legs had no choice but to wrap tight around his narrow waist.

Your soaked shorts presses right against the thick, heavy ridge of his cock straining through his sweatpants, and the friction made you whimper into his mouth — high, the needy sound swallowed by another slow, filthy kiss.

Toji doesn’t even glance at the couch, he heads straight for your bedroom door instead. “Wanna take this where I can spread you out proper. Where I can watch every little thing that pretty face does when I make you come apart.”

Your arms loops around his neck — fingers digging into the short black hair at his nape, clinging like he's the only solid thing left in your world. He carries you down the short hallway like that, feet heavy on the cheap laminate, every step grinding his cock against your dripping pussy through the thin layers. You could feel how hard he is — thick, hot and pulsing, already leaking enough that a damp spot had started blooming on his sweats where your slick had soaked through everything.

Your bedroom door was half-open already. Small room — nothing fancy. Twin bed pushed against one wall with rumpled pastel sheets you hadn’t bothered making, fairy lights strung lazy across the headboard from last semester, a cluttered desk with half-finished college notes and empty energy drink cans. Window cracked, letting in the thick summer night air. It smells faintly like your vanilla body spray and the faint laundry detergent on your sheets.

Toji kicks the door shut behind him, a soft click of the latch sealing you both in and crosses the small space in three strides, he didn’t bother with the light. The glow from a dim lamp on your table and those soft fairy lights was enough — warm, hazy, turning his sharp features golden and making the scar on his mouth look even more wicked when he smirked down at you.

He lowered you slow onto the edge of the mattress carefully, almost worshipful, until your ass hit the comforter and your legs dangles off. But he didn’t step back. Just stayed between your spread thighs, towering, broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the room.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with something soft and hungry all at once. Big hands sliding up your sides, under the hem of your hoodie this time, his palms rough and warm dragging slow over the soft curve of your waist, thumbs brushing the underside of your tits through the thin tank. “So fuckin’ soft everywhere. Plush little body just beggin’ to be touched.”

You shiver, your whole body trembling as his hands keep roaming. Up your ribs, over the swell of your breasts, squeezing gently through fabric until your nipples peaks hard against his palms.

Then back down, his fingertips tracing the gentle pooch of your tummy, dipping into the soft dip of your navel, spreading wide to span the width of your lower belly like he was measuring how perfectly you’d fit under him.

His eyes drop lower, locking on the obscene wet spot darkening your shorts. The cotton plastered to your pussy now, every plump, fattened lip outlined clear as day, swollen clit peeking through like a needy little button begging for attention.

Slick soaked all the way through your cotton panties underneath, making the fabric sheer and clinging, showing the glossy sheen of your arousal coating every fold.

“Jesus,” he breathes, almost dazed. “Can’t even hide it, can you? Fat little cunt just printin’ out for me, drippin’ right through everything. Been leakin’ like this since I kissed you on the porch, huh?”

You nodded frantically, cheeks burning, your hips shifting forward on instinct so the soaked crotch of your shorts brushes his thigh.

Toji groans low, a deep rumble in his chest, then leans down, caging you with his arms braced on either side of your hips. His mouth finds your neck — hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing slow from under your ear down the column of your throat. He sucks gently at first, his lips sealing over soft skin, tongue flicking — then harder.

Teeth grazing just enough to sting before he soothes it with slow laps, blooming dark purple bruises one after another like he was marking territory.

“Good girl,” he whispers between sucks, voice muffled against your skin. “Lettin’ me mark you up like this. Gonna look so pretty tomorrow, little love bites all over this sweet neck so everyone knows who’s been takin’ care of you.”

His hands never stops moving, he slides them under your hoodie again, pushing the fabric up slowly until it bunches under your tits. Callused palms dragging over bare skin now, the rough texture making you arch, you let out a faint gasp, as his fingers splays wide over your soft tummy, kneading gently like he couldn’t get enough of how plush you were there.

“Love this,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the corner of your jaw. “This soft little belly. Gonna watch it bounce when I’m fuckin’ you deep later. Gonna feel it quiver when you come all over my cock.”

You were whimpering nonstop now, your brain goopy, thoughts reduced to nothing but the heat of his mouth, the weight of his hands, the slow grind of his hips every time he shifts closer. He was still fully clothed, his tight black shirt stretching over thick pecs and sharp-cut abs, sweatpants slung low but you could feel every ridge of muscle flexing against you when he moved. Solid. Unyielding. Cutting through the thin layers like he was already inside you.

Toji pulls back just enough to look at your face, eyes dark, tender and filthy with want. Thumb brushing over one of the fresh bruises on your throat, a gentle stroke that made you shiver.

“Doin’ so good for me, baby,” he praises, voice low and steady. “Look how pretty you are.” Your eyes were all glassy, lips swollen, pussy so wet he could hear it every time you shift. “Gonna take my time with you, m'gonna touch every inch, talk you through it nice and slow till you’re shakin’ and beggin’.”

One hand slides down, cupping your soaked mound over the shorts, his palm grinding slow against your clit while thick fingers traces the plump outline of your lips through the fabric. Not pushing inside yet. Just petting. Soothing. Building.

“Feel that?” he whispers, pressing firmer so you could feel how your slick squelches against his palm. “That’s all for me. Sweet little thing gettin’ this messy just from my kisses and my hands. Such a good girl. My good girl.”

You moan, loud and broken, your head tipping back as your hips rolls up into his touch.

He kisses you again, his tongue sliding against yours while his hand keeps that lazy rhythm between your thighs. The other stays on your tummy, rubbing slow circles over the soft pudge, possessive and adoring all at once.

“Gonna watch you fall apart, sweetheart,” he promised against your mouth. “Gonna make this pretty pussy cum so hard you see stars. And then I’m gonna do it again. And again. Till you’re too fucked-out to think about anything but me.”

His fingers hooks under the waistband of your shorts slowly tugging it downward, just enough to bare the top of your drenched panties.

“Ready for more?” he murmurs, nipping your bottom lip. “Gonna strip you and kiss every bruise I leave, spread these plush thighs and taste how sweet you are.”

Your answer was a shaky nod, eyes locked on his and pleading.

Toji smiles slow, dangerous and so fucking gentle.

“That’s my girl.”

And then he starts peeling your hoodie off slowly, his hands worshipping every new inch of bare skin he uncovers, mouth following right behind with more soft kisses and praise, ready to unravel you piece by trembling piece on your little twin bed while the summer night presses warm against the window.

Toji pulls back from your neck, his lips shiny with spit, a fresh bruise blooming dark and pretty under your jaw and his eyes drops to your face. You were a wreck already, cheeks flushing hot, eyes glassy and half-lidded, mouth hanging open in soft little pants.

A thin string of drool had slipped from the corner of your lips, trailing slow down your chin like you’d forgotten how to swallow. Fuck. The sight punches straight through him, making his cock twitch hard against the damp front of his sweats, thickening even more until the fat head was outlined clear as day through the gray cotton.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he rasps, voice thick and wrecked. “Look at you droolin’ for me already. Can’t even keep that pretty mouth closed.”

He leans in slow, his big hand cupping the side of your face, thumb sweeping under your lower lip to catch the mess. But instead of wiping it away he just smears it wider and then dips down and licks it up himself, tongue flat and hot dragging slowly from your chin to the corner of your mouth, tasting the sweet-salty mix of your spit and his earlier kisses. You whimper the sound coming out high and broken as he seals his scarred lips over yours again in one sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.

Tongues sliding messy and wet, no rhythm left. Just hunger. He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth with a gentle tug and then plunges back in, licking deep into your mouth like he was trying to drink every drop of you.

Drool spilling between your lips, stringing down your chin again, soaking into the collar of your tank. You're making the filthiest little noises, soft, wet glucks every time his tongue licks into you and he groans low against your mouth, swallowing them all down.

“Such a messy girl,” he murmurs between kisses, nipping your tongue. “Doin’ so good though. Lettin’ me lick it all up. My sweet, sloppy baby.”

He breaks the kiss with a wet pop, a string of spit connecting your mouths for a second before it snaps and he sits back on his heels between your spread thighs. His eyes raking down your body slowly, like he was memorizing every inch. Hoodie shoved up to your tits, tank rucked under them so the soft undersides spilled out.

Shorts still on but soaked dark at the crotch, clinging transparently to the plump mound of your pussy. The fat lips were printed perfect through the cotton — swollen, puffy, glossy with thick gluey slick that had leaked through your panties and was now starting to drip down the crease of your thighs, making shiny wet trails on your sheets.

Toji’s mouth waters so hard he has to swallow. His cock was rock-hard now — veined, fattened, throbbing painfully against his sweats. He palmed it once, roughly squeezed it through the fabric, just to take the edge off. The head leaking more, darkening the gray in a fat wet spot right at the tip. But he didn’t care about himself yet. Not when your pretty soaked pussy was right there, begging for his mouth.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice strained. “Look at this messy little thing.” So sticky. So sappy. “Drippin’ all over your bed like you can’t help it.”

He hooks two thick fingers under the waistband of your shorts, slowly tugging it down your hips. You lifted for him on instinct, — a shaky little arch and he peels them off along with your drenched panties in one go. The fabric stuck for a second — clinging to your slick folds before coming free with a wet schlick. Strings of thick, glossy arousal stretching between the cotton and your pussy, snapping slow as he tosses them aside.

Your legs fell open wider, your knees bent, feet planted on the mattress and there it was; your pussymound all shiny and swollen, lips puffy and parted just enough to show the sticky pretty inside. Slick coating everything — thick, gluey strands webbing between your folds, dripping slow down to your tight little hole that clenched on nothing.

Your clit was begging — fattened, flushed dark, peeking out from its hood like it was throbbing for attention. The whole thing glistened under the fairy lights — sappy, cummy, so fucking wet it looked obscene.

Toji groaned deeply, a guttural sound coming from his chest. His hands slid up your plush thighs, spreading you wider, thumbs hooking under the meat where thigh met hip so he could hold you open. Your pussy lips parted more, the sticky strings stretching, then breaking, revealing the creamy mess inside.

“Goddamn,” he whispers, almost to himself. “Prettiest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever seen. All swollen and leaking for me. Gonna taste every drop, baby. Gonna lick this sweet cunt clean till you’re shakin’.”

You whimper high and desperate, your hips twitching up toward his face.

He leaned in slow, his hot breath fanning over your clit first, making it jump. Then his tongue, flat and wide dragged up the entire length of your slit in one long, slow lick. From your dripping hole to the tip of your clit. Thick gluey slick coated his tongue instantly, sweet, tangy, so fucking much of it he had to swallow hard. He groaned against you, the vibration rumbling straight through your core.

“So sweet,” he praised, voice muffled as he licked again — slower this time, savoring it. “Taste like fuckin’ heaven. My good girl’s pussy all creamy and ready. Doin’ so perfect for me.”

His tongue circled your clit, with gentle flicks at first, then slower, broad laps that made your hips buck. One big hand slid up to your soft tummy, his palm spreading wide over the plush curve, holding you down gentle while his mouth worked. The other kept your thigh spread, thumb stroking soothing circles on the inner meat while he sucked your clit between his lips, a soft pull, then releasing, then pulling again.

You were moaning nonstop loud and  wrecked, the sounds filling the small room. Slick gushing  fresh with every lick — thick ropes of it coating his chin, dripping down his neck. He didn’t stop, just kept on lapping messy and hungry, his tongue dipping into your tight hole to scoop out more of that gluey cream, then dragging back up to suckle your clit like it was candy.

“Look at her clenchin’,” he murmured between licks, eyes flicking up to watch your face. “So tight and needy. Gonna come for me like this, yeah? Gonna let me drink all this pretty mess while you fall apart?”

His tongue plunged deeper, fucking slow into your hole, then he pulled out to circle your clit again, the hand on your tummy pressed firmer, feeling the way your muscles quivered under his palm.

“That’s it, baby,” he cooed, voice thick with praise. “Doin’ so good. Such a sweet girl lettin’ me eat this pussy. Gonna make you come so hard you soak my face. Then I’m gonna do it again. Gonna keep goin’ till you’re cryin’ my name.”

He sucked harder, his lips sealing around your clit, tongue flicking faster now and your whole body arched, your thighs shaking, hands fisting the sheets, drool slipping from your open mouth again as the pleasure coiled tight and hot in your belly.

Toji didn’t let up, he just kept licking slow and filthy, worshipfully talking you through every tremor, every gush of slick, every broken whimper.

“My perfect girl,” he rasped against your dripping cunt. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me taste how good I make you feel.”

And with one more long, slow drag of his tongue — circling your begging clit just right — you shattered.

You came hard, harder than you ever had alone in this little bed with your fingers or with that cheap little vibe tucked in your drawer. Your whole body seized up like lightning hit your spine, thighs clamping around Toji’s head on instinct, plush hips bucking wild against his mouth while thick ropes of slick gushed straight onto his tongue.

Your clit throbbing against his lips — fat, swollen, pulsing like a second heartbeat — and he didn’t pull away. Didn’t even flinch. Just groaned deep into your cunt like the taste of your orgasm was the only thing he’d been starving for all summer.

“Thaaat’s it,” he rasped, voice muffled and wrecked against your dripping folds. “Come all over my face, sweetheart. Fuck, look at her spillin’ for me. So sweet. So fuckin’ messy.”

He kept licking slow, greedy — greedy laps through the aftermath — cleaning up every fresh gush like he couldn’t bear to waste a drop. Your pussy lips were puffy and flushed dark now, glossy with spit and cum, parting easy every time his tongue nudged between them. Slick coated his chin, dripping down his scarred neck in shiny trails, soaked into the collar of his black shirt. The fairy lights caught it all — turning the mess iridescent, obscene, beautiful.

You were shaking, overstimulated already, clit so sensitive it hurt in the best way, but Toji wasn’t done. Not even close. Man-starved didn’t even cover it, he ate like he’d been denied pussy his whole life and yours was the first real meal he’d ever had. Toji after a moment hooked his fingers into the underside of his shirt and pulled it off in one fluid motion.

Then his big hands shoved your thighs wider, thumbs hooking under the crease where thigh met hip, spreading you so open your tight little hole winked at him with every clench.

He pulled back just enough to look, eyes black with hunger, pupils blown wide watching the way your fattened lips trembled, the way thick gluey strings of your arousal stretched between them like spider silk every time you fluttered.

“Goddamn,” he breathed softly. “This pretty cunt’s still cryin’ for more. Look how she’s clenchin’… all tight and needy even after comin’ that hard. Fuck, baby… you’re killin’ me.”

He dove back in — lips sealing over your clit again, sucking soft at first, then harder. Wet, filthy pulls that made your hips jerk, made your back arch off the mattress until your tits spilled free from under the rucked-up tank. His tongue flicked fast over the swollen bud — quick little lashes — then slowed to broad, dragging circles that had you sobbing.

“Toj i— f-fuck — too much — s’too much — ”

“Shhh,” he soothed without stopping, voice vibrating straight through your core. “You can take it. Doin’ so good for me. My perfect girl. Just lemme taste a little more. Gotta drink every drop this sweet pussy’s givin’ me.”

He licked lower, his tongue plunging slow into your tight hole, fucking in and out with lazy thrusts that made obscene wet squelches fill the room. Your walls fluttered around him greedily, sucking at his tongue like they wanted to keep him inside forever. He groaned — deep, guttural — then pulled out just to spit right onto your clit. A thick glob of his saliva landed hot and heavy, mixing with your slick, running down your folds in slow rivulets.

You whimpered, high and broken when he blew a soft puff of air over the mess, his cool breath hitting your overheated, spit-slick clit like ice on fire. Your whole pussy jolted — clit jumping, hole clenching hard enough to push out another bead of thick cream that dripped slow down your ass.

“Fuck yeah,” he growled, watching it with dark, fascinated eyes. “Look at her twitch. Sensitive little thing. Love how she jumps when I blow on her. Gonna make her come again just like this.” You were overstimulated and shaking.

He sucked your clit back into his mouth, gently this time, lips soft around the swollen bud while his tongue lapped slow, soothing circles. One hand slid up your soft tummy, his palm spreading wide over the soft give of skin, fingers splaying to feel every quiver of your muscles.

The other kept your thigh pinned, thumb stroking slow, reassuring circles on the inner skin like he was petting you through the overstimulation.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured between sucks, pulling off just long enough to speak before diving back in. “Lettin’ me eat this messy cunt even when it’s too much. Takin’ everything I give you. So pretty when you cry for me like this.”

He licked into you again, deeper this time, his tongue curling to scoop out the thickest parts of your cream, feeding it back to your pussy with slow, filthy thrusts. Then he pulled out, lips shiny, chin dripping and spat again. Right onto your hole this time, watching it slide in, mixing with your slick until everything was glossy and obscene.

“Breathe, baby,” he cooed, blowing another soft puff over your clit, watching it throb, watching your hips buck helplessly. “Just breathe. M'gonna make you come again. Gonna suck this pretty clit till you’re soakin’ the sheets even more. Wanna see how many times I can make her gush before you’re beggin’ me to fuck you.”

Your hands flew to his hair — fingers tangling in the black strands, pulling hard enough to make him growl against you. But he loved it, loved the way you were falling apart and drooling again, spit slipping from the corner of your mouth, eyes rolling back as another wave built fast and brutal in your belly.

He sucked harder — lips sealing tight, cheeks hollowing — tongue flicking relentless over your clit while he hummed low, vibrations rumbling straight through you. His free hand pressed firmer on your tummy, feeling the way your muscles clenched, the way your whole body trembled on the edge.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he praised, voice thick and wrecked. “Give it to me. Come all over my tongue again. Let me taste how overstimulated this sweet pussy gets for me. My good girl, my perfect, messy, drippin’ girl.”

One more long, slow drag of his tongue, circling your clit just right, then plunging back into your clenching hole and you shattered again. Harder. Louder, your whole body convulsing, thighs shaking around his head, slick gushing in thick spurts that coated his mouth, his chin and the sheets beneath you.

Toji drank it all — groaning like a man possessed — licking slow through the aftershocks, soothing your twitching clit with soft kitten licks while you sobbed his name, overstimulated and wrecked and still so fucking needy for more.

He finally pulled back — lips swollen, face a mess of spit and cum, his eyes locking on yours with that dark, adoring hunger.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped, crawling up your body slow, caging you under his broad frame. “You taste like sin. Like every filthy thing I’ve ever wanted.”

His mouth found yours, in a slow, deep kiss letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Thick fingers sliding between your thighs again and petting your soaked, puffy pussy gentle now, soothing the oversensitive folds.

“Still shakin’,” he murmured against your lips, smiling soft and filthy. “Still drippin’. Think you can take my cock now, sweetheart? Or you need me to eat this pretty cunt one more time first?”

Your answer was a broken whimper — hips canting up toward his hand, begging without words.

He chuckled low, dark and tenderly.

“That’s my girl.”

Toji had finally pulled his mouth off your wrecked pussy — lips swollen dark red, his chin still glistening with thick ropes of your slick and his spit that stretched and snapped every time he moved. 

He gave you one more slow, sweet savouring kiss to your sweet little lips before crouching back down between your trembling thighs for a second longer, just staring at the mess he’d made; your fat pussy mound all shiny and puffy, lips parted and drooling slow streams of cream down your ass, onto the already soaked sheets.

Your clit was a throbbing little pearl now — fattened up dark and glossy, peeking out like it was begging for one more touch even after two brutal orgasms. Your tight hole kept clenching on nothing — suckling air, pushing out fresh beads of gluey slick that made obscene wet sounds in the quiet room.

He groaned low, the sound ripping out from deep in his chest and he palmed his cock through his sweats again. Harder this time, giving it a rough squeeze that made the thick vein along the underside jump under his hand.

The front of the gray fabric was wrecked — a dark wet patch spreading from the fat, leaking tip, glossy pre soaking through in thick globs that clinged to the cotton like honey.

You saw the outline perfectly now; his fat fuckin’ cock all hardened up for you, swollen and heavy, curving slightly to the left, the round mushroom head so chubbed and probably flushed it looked angry.

“Fuck, look what you did to me, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice gravel-thick with want. “Got me so hard it hurts. Leakin’ like a faucet just from tastin’ this pretty cunt. You see how much pre I’m givin’ you? All for this messy little pussy.”

He shoved his sweats down slow enough to free himself, then kicked it off completely. His cock sprang out heavy the thick base dusted with dark curls of hair, shaft veined and ridged, fattened tip glossy with a fat pearl of pre that beaded at the pink slit and dripping slow down the underside.

It bobbed once, smacking wet against his abs, before he wrapped one scarred hand around the middle and gave himself one lazy stroke. More pre welled up — thick and clear — dribbling over his knuckles.

Your mouth watered. Your pussy clenched hard — sappy walls fluttering, clit jumping at the sight. You were so wet still — thicker now, gluey strands webbing between your lips every time your hips twitched.

Toji crawled back up your body, slow and carefully caging you in, under his broad frame. One thick forearm braced beside your head, the other hand guiding his cock down between your thighs. He didn’t push in…not yet. Just rubbing slow, filthy drags of that fattened round tip through your glossed folds.

The head was scorching hot — swelled up so big it parted your puffy lips easy, spreading them wide around the blunt crown. Your clammy, glued pussylips sucked at him, clinging wetly every time he dragged back, strings of your slick stretching from your hole to his tip like they didn’t want to let go. He nudged your clit with the slit, smearing thick pre over the aching bud — making it throb harder, making you whimper high and broken.

“Feel that?” he murmurs, voice low and mean-teasing as he rocked slow. “Fat fuckin’ cock all hardened up just for you.” Rubbin’ right through your glossy folds. “Y’er sweet little pussy’s kissin’ me back, suckin’ on the tip like she’s tryin’ to pull me in.”

You nodded — desperately, drool slipping from your open mouth again, hips canting up to chase more friction. Your clit was so achy, fattened and sensitive, every glide of his swollen head over it sent sparks shooting up your spine.

Toji chuckled, the sound breathless and dark — then pressed firmer. The round tip notched right at your entrance, stretching the tight ring just enough to make your hole flutter and suckle greedy around him. Not inside. Just teasing…just enough to feel how hot and wet and ready you were.

“Look how she’s grippin’,” he praised, eyes locked on where your pussy lips hugged the head of his cock — clinging, glossy, dripping. “Tight little hole sucklin’ like she’s starvin’. Fuck, baby, you’re so so wet. Drippin’ all over my dick before I even get in. Such a needy girl.”

He rocked against you slowly again, dragging that fattened tip up your slit to bump your clit, then back down to nudge your hole. Pre mixed with your slick, making everything slippery, obscene, the wet schlick, schlick, schlick filling the room every time he teased. Your clit throbbed harder, achy and begging, every time the ridge of his crown caught it just right.

“Toji…please—” Your voice cracked — high, pleading. “Need it… need you inside…”

He groaned, the deep rumble vibrating through both of you, then leaned down to kiss you lovingly, slow and sweet, his tongue sliding against yours while he kept that mean, teasing rhythm; fat tip rubbing through your folds, bumping your clit, nudging your hole, spreading you open without giving you what you craved.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” he whispered against your lips, voice wrecked with restraint. “Gonna tease this sweet pussy a little longer. Wanna feel how much wetter you get. Wanna watch this fat little cunt cry for my cock till you’re shakin’ and sobbin’.”

One big hand slid under your ass, lifting your hips just enough to change the angle. Now every slow drag had his swollen tip catching right on your entrance — stretching the rim, making your walls flutter desperate around nothing. Your clit dragged along the thick underside of his shaft, veins bumping the sensitive bud, sending fresh gushes of slick coating him.

“Feel how hard I am for you?” he rasped, rocking firmer. All his thick pre leakin’ “Just thinkin’ about sinkin’ into this tight, pretty cunt. You’re so fuckin’ wet, baby. So ready. But I wanna hear you beg a little more. Wanna hear how bad my good girl needs this fat cock stretchin’ her open.”

Your hands flew to his shoulders — nails digging into hard muscle, your hips rolling up frantically to chase his teasing. Slick squelching loud between you, gluey strands clinging to his shaft, dripping down his heavy balls that brushed your ass with every rock.

“Toji… please… fuck m’need you so bad —” You were babbling now, voice wrecked, drool slipping down your chin. “Want your cock… want it deep… please —”

He smiled slow, adoringly and mean, then kissed you again, deep and claiming — while his hips kept that torturous rhythm: fat fuckin’ cock rubbing slow through your glossed folds, teasing your achy clit, nudging your suckling hole, making you drip and clench and beg for the stretch you were dying for.

“Soon, baby,” he promised, voice thick with hunger. “Gonna give you every thick inch. Gonna ruin this pretty pussy so good you’ll feel me for days. But first… keep beggin’. Keep drippin’. Show me how desperate my sweet girl is for it.”

And he kept teasing, relentless — until your whole body was trembling, pussy clenching empty and greedy, clit throbbing achy and swollen, slick pooling under your ass in a sticky puddle while he watched you fall apart under his mean, loving touch.

Toji’s hips stilled for a second, his fat, glossy cockhead still notched right at your entrance, stretching the tight ring of your hole just enough that it fluttered desperately around him. Your clammy, slick walls were sucking greedily at the swollen tip, like your pussy was trying to pull him deeper even while fighting the stretch. He was so fuckin’ thick, the round mushroom head bloated and veined, ridged crown — catching on every soft fold as he pushed forward slowly, agonizingly slow.

You gasped high and sharp the sound cracking into a whimper — back arching off the mattress, plush thighs trembling where they were hooked over his hips. Your hole clenched hard on instinct — clammy, hot and so so tight it made his breath hitch rough in his throat.

“Fuck.. easy, sweetheart,” voice low and wrecked, one big scarred hand sliding under your ass to lift your hips just a fraction higher. “You’re grippin’ me like a vice already and I’ve barely got the tip in. So fuckin’ tight… this pretty little cunt’s never taken anything this big, huh?”

You shook your head — frantic little jerks — drool slipping from the corner of your mouth again as you stared up at him with glassy, pleading eyes.

Your clit still achy and swollen from his teasing, throbbing every time the base of his shaft dragged against it on accident. Slick poured out around his tip — thick, gluey strands coating the fat crown, dripping down his heavy balls in slow, shiny rivulets.

Toji groaned gutterally, his forehead dropping to rest against yours for a second while he fought not to just slam home. His cock throbbing hard inside that tiny stretch — veins pulsing against your clenching walls, pre leaking in fat drops that mixed with your cream and made everything even messier.

“Look at you tryin’ so hard for me,” he praised, voice soft and thick with adoration even as his hips rocked in tiny, teasing nudges. “Takin’ just the tip like such a good girl. Feel how she’s suckin’ on me? Fuck…your hole’s so tight and wet, baby. Grippin’ like she don’t ever wanna let go.”

He pushed forward another fraction — barely an inch more and your pussy resisted, walls fluttering wild around the fattened ridge of his crown. The stretch burned sweet — hot, the aching fullness made your toes curl and your nails rake down his broad back. A fresh gush of slick squirted out around him, coating his shaft, dripping onto the sheets in a sticky puddle.

“Haaah —Toji ” Your voice broke, high and wrecked, hips twitching up like you couldn’t decide if you wanted more or needed a second to breathe.

“Shhh, I got you,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth gently-sweet — tongue flicking out to catch the drool on your chin. “Doin’ so perfect. So so tight for me… gonna make it fit, yeah? Gonna stretch this sweet little pussy slow till she’s huggin’ every thick inch. You’re my good girl, my perfect, drippin’ girl. Just breathe for me.”

His free hand slid up your soft tummy, his palm spreading wide over the plushness there, fingers splaying to feel the way your muscles quiver under him. He rocked again — tiny, shallow thrusts that barely moved the tip in and out, just enough to let your walls flutter and adjust around the blunt head.

Every nudge made obscene wet sounds, — schlick- schlick-schlick — your slick squelching loudly around him, strings of it clinging to his veined shaft like they were trying to keep him buried.

“Feel that burn, baby?” he cooed, voice low and praising as he watched your face — eyes locking on every flutter of your lashes, every tremble of your lips. “That’s me openin’ you up. So tight it’s squeezin’ the cum right outta me… fuck, you’re leakin’ all over my cock. Such a messy, needy cunt. Love how she’s fightin’ me and still beggin’ for more.”

He pushed again — slower this time — watching with dark, hungry eyes as another inch sank in. Your hole stretched wider, your puffy lips hugging the thickest part of his crown, clinging glossy and white-knuckled around him. The stretch was obscene — your clit jumping every time the ridge dragged over it on the way in, fresh cream bubbling out to coat him.

“Haaah — fuck — there we go,” he breathed, thumb stroking slow circles over your lower belly where he could feel the faint bulge starting to form just from the tip and a little more. “Look at that… already makin’ a pretty little bump and I’m not even halfway. So fuckin’ tight, sweetheart. Takin’ me like you were made for it.”

You were sobbing softly now, broken little sounds as your hips canted up helplessly, trying to take more even as your walls spasmed around the invasion. Slick pouring steadily, thick and gluey — drenching his balls, soaking the sheets under your ass in a warm, sticky mess.

Toji leaned down and kissed you deep and slow, his tongue sliding against yours while he kept those tiny, rocking thrusts. Just the tip popping in and out, stretching you open, teasing your clenching hole, making your clit throb against the veined underside every time he pulled back.

“Doin’ so good,” he whispers  into your mouth between kisses. “My sweet girl takin’ just the tip so perfectly. Gonna keep goin’ slow, gonna make it fit inch by inch till this fat cock’s buried deep where you need it. You feel how hard I am for you? How much I’m leakin’? All ‘cause this tight little pussy’s grippin’ me like she never wants me to leave.”

One more gentle push and another thick inch goes sliding in and your back bows, a moan ripping out loud and raw as your walls flutter wild around him. He stills again, letting you adjust, his forehead pressing to yours, breath ragged.

“Almost there, baby,” he praises, voice thick with restraint and adoration. “So so tight… but you’re takin’ me so good. My perfect girl. Gonna fill you up soon, m’gonna stretch this sticky hole till it’s huggin’ every veiny inch. Ahh — Just a little more… just breathe and let me make it fit.”

His thumb finds your clit, and circles over the swollen bud slow and gently while he rocks another inch in shallow, keeping you on that razor edge of stretch and pleasure. Slick gushing fresh with every tiny thrust — coating him, dripping down, making the slide just a little easier even as your pussy fights to keep him right where he is.

“Tell me how it feels, sweetheart,” he murmurs, kissing your tear-streaked cheek. “Tell me how full you are already… how much you need the rest.”

Your answer is a broken whimper, your hips rolling up desperately, pussy clenching hard around just the tip and a little more now.

“Need… need all of you… please, Toji —”

He smiles slow, filthy but so fucking tender, then kisses you again, deep and claiming while his hips started that slow, relentless push forward again.

“That’s my girl,” he rasps against your lips. “Gonna give you everything. Gonna make this tight little cunt take every thick inch till you’re cryin’ and comin’ all over me.”

And inch by torturous inch he keeps making it fit. Slow. Sweet. Praising you through every clench, every gush, every trembling stretch until your pussy finally starts to yield — walls fluttering open, sucking him deeper, greedily and wrecked and so so ready for the rest.

Then Toji’s patience snapped like a thin wire, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest as his big scarred hands clamped around your soft waist. No warning. No gentle coaxing. Just raw, starving need. He grabs your little body like it was his to manhandle, his rough palms digging into your plush hips, flipping you onto your side in one swift yank that made the mattress springs squeak protest.

“Fuck ah I-I can’t take it anymore,” he rasps, voice thick and wrecked. “Need to go deeper. Need this tight cunt stuffed full, m’gonna make her take every fuckin’ inch now.”

He drags you down the bed, the sheets tangling around your ankles, until your ass hangs off the edge just enough, cheeks jiggling from the rough pull. Your face mashed into the rumpled comforter — cheek smushing against the soft fabric, drool already pooling under your agape mouth.

One hand flew out on instinct, your fingers clutching the fluffy stuffed bear you keep on the pillow (the one with the little bow tie you’d had since middle school), knuckles white as you gripped it like a lifeline while your body arches helplessly.

Toji presses your legs together, his thick thighs pressing your plush ones tight, forcing your chubby little cunt to pucker even more obscenely. Your fat pussy lips squished together now, glossy and swollen, the plump folds mashed into one slick, puffy seam that barely parts for the fat pink tip still teasing your entrance.

The position makes everything tighter — your gummy walls clenching harder, clit trapped between those squeezed-together lips, throbbing achy and trapped against the pressure.

He lines up, his veined, thick cock — throbbing heavy in his fist — and pushes in.

No slow tease this time.

The fat crown spears past your puckered entrance with a wet, filthy pop — stretching those mashed-together lips wide around his girth. Your hole sucking greedily and clenching so tight it made his eyes roll back,  but he doesn’t stop.

Just keeps feeding inch after thick, veined inch into your poor stuffed cunt, the squeeze so intense it forces thick ropes of your gooey cream to bubble out around him, coating his shaft in shiny white strands that drip slow down your inner thighs.

“Haah… fuck — listen to her,” he groans, hips snapping forward harder now that the angle let him sink deeper. “This chubby little cunt’s cryin’ so loud for me. Squeezin’ like she’s scared I’ll pull out… but she’s suckin’ me right back in. Fuckin’ perfect.”

You wail high, lewd and broken, your cries muffled into the mattress — voice cracking every time his cock punches deeper. Never been fucked like this, with legs squeezed shut making your pussy feel impossibly smaller, every ridge and vein dragging slow and mean along your gummy walls.

Your fat lips puckering tight around his base — stretching thin and glossy, clinging desperately like they were made to mold to his shape. The pressure mashes your clit right against the thick underside of his shaft — rubbing it raw with every brutal thrust, sending sparks shooting up your spine until your toes curl hard.

Toji loses it completely.

Big hands gripping your hips — fingers sinking into soft flesh hard enough to bruise, and he starts pounding. Deep, mean strokes that bottoming out with a wet slap every time his heavy balls smacks your clit.

Precum and your thick cream mixing into a frothy mess squirting out around his cock with every pull-back, dripping in sticky webs down your thighs, soaking the edge of the bed where your ass hangs off.

“Goddamn, look at this mess you’re makin’,” he pants, voice rough and praising all at once. “Gooey little pussy just spillin’ everywhere f’me. So fuckin’ cute how she’s creamin’ all over my dick… takin’ it so deep even when she’s squeezes this tight. My good girl…my filthy, drippin’ girl.”

Your cries turn desperate — muffled sobs into the stuffed bear you are clutching, tears streaking hot down your cheeks. Every thrust punches the air out of your lungs, his cockhead kissing your cervix mean and relentless, stretching your gummy walls wide around his veined thickness.

Your clit rubs mercilessly against him — trapped between those puckered lips, swollen and throbbing, building that coil tighter and tighter until your whole body shakes.

“Feel that?” he growles, leaning over you, his broad chest pressing to your back, sweat-slick skin sliding against yours. One hand slides up to cup your soft tummy — palm pressing down so he can feel the bulge of his cock moving inside you. “Feel how deep I am, baby? Stuffin’ this chubby cunt so full she’s leakin’ like a faucet. Gonna make you come like this.” legs squeezed tight, clit rubbed raw and pussy stretched mean around every thick inch of his.

He snaps his hips harder, the angle perfect now, his cock dragging right over that spongy spot inside while his shaft grinds against your trapped clit. Slick squelches loud and obscene, wet slaps filling the room, your gooey cream frothing white at the base of his cock, dripping in thick strands every time he pulls back.

You shatter hard.

Whole body convulsing, walls clamping down like a vice around his pounding cock, milking him greedily as you scream into the mattress. Fresh gushes of slick squirting out around him, hot and messy, soaking his balls, drenching the sheets, making every thrust even sloppier. Your clit throbs wild against him — overstimulated and raw, sending aftershocks after aftershock rippling through you until your legs shake uncontrollably.

Toji groans deep and feral, his hips stuttering as your pussy sucks him in tight.

“Fuck… Aaah yeah, come on my cock, sweetheart,” he praises, voice breaking with how close he was. “Squeezin’ so fuckin’ tight… makin’ such a cute mess f’er me. Good girl, my perfect, pretty girl. Gonna fill this stuffed cunt up soon… gonna pump you so full you’ll be leakin’ me for days.”

He didn’t stop, Toji kept fucking you through it, with mean, deep thrusts that made your ass jiggle, made your cries turn hoarse and wrecked. His veined cock dragged slow and filthy through your fluttering walls — still so tight from your legs squeezed together and clit still rubbing helpless against him with every slam.

“Haah mhnm fuck…m’not done yet,” he rasps, hand sliding down to spread one cheek, exposing where you were stretched obscene around him. “Gonna keep, ah goin’. Gonna ruin this pretty pussy till she’s cryin’ for more… till you’re so full of cum you can’t move.”

And he did — pounding harder, deeper, meaner all while you clutched your stuffed bear tighter, face buried in the mattress, drooling and sobbing and coming undone again and again around his thick cock that finally fit all the way inside your chubby, gooey, perfect little cunt.

Toji’s hips roll in one long, deliberate drag — pulling back just enough that his thick, veined cock starts to slip free from your stuffed little hole. Your sloppy pussy doesn't want to let go. Gummy walls clenching down hard — squeezin’ greedy around every ridge and bump like they’re scared he’d leave you empty.

His foreskin bunches up soft and slick around the fattened base of his crown as he withdraws — pink tip glistening obscene with a thick coat of your cream and his own sappy pre, strings of it stretching taut between your puffy lips and his shaft before snapping wetly against your inner thighs.

You whine high and utterly broken, face mashed deeper into the mattress, your cheek smushed against the soft fur of your stuffed bear, fingers clutching the little plush thing so tight the seams strained. Drool still pooling under your slacked maw, soaking the fabric while your hips twitch back helplessly, chasing the stretch even as he teases you with the slow retreat.

“Fuck haah… listen to that,” he rasps, voice low and filthy-thick with awe. “This nasty lil’ pussy’s makin’ the sloppiest sounds just ‘cause I’m pullin’ out. Squelchin’ like she’s beggin’ me to stay buried. So fuckin’ greedy, baby.”

He didn’t let you go empty for long.

Right when the fat pink tip was almost out — your hole fluttering desperately around the ridge, he leaned over you again, his broad chest pressing hot to your back — and spat. A thick, heavy glob of spit landing right on your stretched entrance — hot and messy — sliding down the puffy seam of your mashed-together pussylips before dripping slow into the clenching ring still hugging his crown, the added slick made everything even nastier, your syrup-thick cream mixing with his spit, bubbling white and frothy where your walls gripped him.

Toji groans deep, a rumble that vibrates straight through you as he pushes forward again. Slow and mean, feeding every thick inch back into your pussy until his hips slapped flush against your ass, his balls heavy and wet smacking your clit trapped between those squeezed thighs. Your pussy sucking him in greedy — gummy walls fluttering wild, clinging so tight it made his eyes roll back.

“Haah…there we go,” he praises, hands clamping harder on your soft waist — fingers sinking into plush flesh like you really are his personal fleshlight, something soft and warm and perfect to use. “Takin’ me all the way again. Feel how deep I am, sweetheart?” His cockhead now kissin’ your cervix… — mngh "Stretchin’ this sloppy hole wide. God your pussy’s so fuckin’ good. So tight even after all that cream you just gushed.”

He drew back again slowly and torturous, watching the way your fat pussylips dragged along his veined shaft, clinging glossy and swollen, trying to keep him inside. Nasty lil’ squelches filling the room — wet, obscene pops every time he pulls out halfway — your syrup-thick pussy noisily protesting, cream bubbling out in thick white rings around his base, dripping slow down your inner thighs in sticky trails that soaked the edge of the mattress.

Your sobbing is muffled into the stuffed bear, your whole body trembling as he manhandles you deeper into the bed. One big hand slides up your spine — pushing your face firmer into the comforter, while the other grips your waist harder, yanking your hips back to meet every slow, punishing thrust.

He spreads your fat pussylips wider with his thumbs — peeling them apart even as your legs stay squeezed tight together — exposing the glossy pink inside where his thick cock splits you open.

“Look at her stretch,” he growls, voice wrecked with how good it feels. Your plump lil’ lips puckering so tight around him… huggin’ every veiny inch like she was made for his cock. “Fuck mhng baby, you’re ruinin’ me. This pussy’s too perfect… too sloppy… too fuckin’ tight.”

He bottoms out again, harder this time, his cockhead bullying deep until you feel that familiar bulge in your lower tummy, the faint swell under his palm when he presses down. Your clit rubbed raw against the underside of his shaft — trapped and throbbing — every drag sending fresh sparks through your overstimulated nerves until your thighs shake uncontrollably.

Toji didn’t speed up. Didn’t rush. Just kept that slow, deep pace — drawing back until only the fat tip stretched your entrance, then sinking all the way in with one long, filthy glide. Each pull-out made your pussy squelch louder — cream frothing white at his base, dripping in thick ropes — each push-in forcing more of your gooey slick to bubble out around him, coating his balls, soaking your ass cheeks, turning everything into a warm, sticky mess.

“God mhm feel that?” he rasps, leaning down to nip the shell of your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “How your pussy’s clenchin’ every time I try to pull out? Squeezin’ like she doesn't ever wanna be empty. My good girl… my perfect, drippin’ girl. Takin’ this thick cock so deep… makin’ such cute, nasty noises for me.”

His hands tighten on your waist — using you like he owns you — pulling your hips back to meet every slow, punishing thrust while he grounds deeper, letting the fat crown drag over that spongy spot inside until your cries turn hoarse and wrecked.

Your stuffed bear was crushed against your chest now, your fingers white-knuckled and face buried so deep in the mattress you could barely breathe around the drool and tears.

He spat again, a thick glob landing right where you were stretched widest around him — watching it slide in, mixing with the mess until everything was even slicker and messier.

“Not stoppin’,” he promises, voice low and filthy-sweet. “Gonna keep fuckin’ this little pussy… till she’s cryin’ and cumin’ again. Till you’re so full of my cum you can’t move, doll Till every time I pull out you’re squirtin’ that syrup-thick cream all over me.”

One more long, slow drag out and your pussy noisily protests with wet, lewd squelches, then he sinks back in deep, bottoming out with a wet slap that made your ass jiggle, clit grind hard against him, walls fluttering wild around every thick, veined inch of his.

“Haah…fuck t-there’s my girl,” he groans, kissing the back of your neck soft and filthy. “Takin’ it so good… makin’ me lose my fuckin’ mind. Gonna keep usin’ you just like this… slow… aah… till you’re nothin’ but a creamy, shakin’ mess for me.”

And he did, he kept that torturous rhythm, his hands bruising your waist, cock stretching your sloppy hole wide, foreskin bunched… slick, spit and cream mixing into the nastiest mess while you clutch your stuffed toy for dear life, sobbing his name into the mattress, pussy clenching greedily and wrecked around his thick cock that owned you completely.

Toji’s hips stayed buried deep, his thick cock throbbing hot and heavy inside your stuffed pussy, every veiny inch hugged so tight by your gummy walls that pulling out even an inch felt like fighting gravity. But he didn’t need to thrust right now.

Not when he had you exactly where he wanted; face-down, ass-up on the edge of your bed, legs squeezed shut, chubby pussy lips puckered and swollen around the base of his shaft like a glossy, creamy ring.

Your pretty little hole was still fluttering around him — suckling greedily on every ridge, even after the last brutal orgasm ripped through you, leaving your thighs trembling and slick dripping in slow, syrupy ropes down the insides of your legs.

He leaned over you, his broad chest pressing hot to your back, sweat-slick skin sliding against yours, until his scarred lips brushed the shell of your ear.

One big hand stayed clamped on your soft waist, fingers digging possessive bruises into plush flesh, while the other slid down between your squeezed-together thighs.

Rough callused fingertips found your puffed-out clit immediately — swollen, fat and glossy from all the rubbing, peeking out from between those mushed puffy lips like a needy little button begging for more.

“Fuck haah… look at this messy thing,” voice low and wrecked with hunger. “So puffed up… so gooey and sappy from comin’ all over my cock. Can’t even hide how bad she wants it.”

His fingers started moving in filthy, lazy circles right over your swollen bud. Not fast. Not rough. Just slow, perfect rubs that made your clit jump and throb under the pad of his middle finger.

He smeared your own thick cream around it — mixing it with the frothy white ring still clinging to his base — making every glide slicker, hotter, nastier. Your pussy clenched hard around his buried cock in response — walls fluttering wild, milking him greedy even though he wasn’t moving yet.

You whimper high, the broken sound muffled into the stuffed bear you were still clutching like it could save you from how good it felt. Drool soaked the plush's fur, tears streaking hot down your cheeks, whole body shaking as those filthy circles kept coming — round n’ round, a slow pressure that built the ache back up fast.

“Haah… m’can’t stop touchin’ you, baby,” he groaned against your neck, nipping the soft skin where he’d already left dark bruises. “Even if I tried… fuck, this little clit’s too perfect. So fat and slippery… jumpin’ every time I rub right here.”

He pressed firmer, his middle finger circling tighter now, thumb hooking under to spread your puffy lips just enough to expose more of that sensitive pearl.

The motion dragging his cock the tiniest bit inside you — barely a rock, just enough to let the fat crown nudge your spongy spot while his fingers worked your clit relentlessly. Fresh slick gushed out around him, thick and syrupy — coating his hand, dripping down his wrist in warm rivulets that soaked into the sheets.

Your hips bucked back helplessly, your ass jiggling against his pelvis, trying to grind into his touch even as your pussy clenched tighter around the thick intrusion splitting you open.

Every filthy circle sent sparks shooting straight up your spine, your clit throbbed so hard it hurt in the sweetest way, walls spasming around his cock like they were trying to pull him even deeper.

“Goddamn…ya feel that?” he murmured, voice thick with praise and filth. “How your cunt ’s grippin’ me every time I rub this pretty clit? Squeezin’ like she’s beggin’ for more even though she’s already stuffed full. My good girl… my perfect, drippin’ mess. Look how she’s leakin’ just from my fingers. So fuckin’ sensitive.”

He sped up just a fraction, circles turning tighter, faster. The pad of his finger flicking quick over the swollen tip of your clit before smoothing back into those slow, filthy loops.

Your cries turned desperate, hoarse and wrecked, sobs muffled into the bear as your thighs shook harder, pussy fluttering wild around his cock. Thick cream bubbled out with every clench — frothing white at his base, dripping in sticky strands that clung to his heavy balls.

Toji groaned deep and feral, his hips finally rocking once, a slow, deep grind that dragged every veined inch along your gummy walls while his fingers never stopped. The dual sensation punched the air out of your lungs, clit rubbed raw and throbbing, cunt stretched wide and filled to the brim.

“Can’t get enough of touchin’ you,” he confessed, voice breaking with how wrecked he was. “This puffed-out little clit… so gooey and sappy… jumpin’ under my fingers like it’s alive. Fuck…baby, you’re gonna come again just like this. Gonna make this fat pussy squirt all over my hand while I’m still buried balls-deep.”

He pinched your clit gently, rolling it between thumb and finger, then went right back to those filthy circles, smearing more of your cream around the swollen bud until it glistened obscene under the fairy lights. Your whole body seized, your back arching hard, ass pressing back desperately against him, your narrow walls clamping down like a vice around his thick cock.

“That’s it ahh…come for me again,” he praised, lips brushing your ear, breath hot and ragged. “Let me feel this pussy milk me while I rub this pretty clit raw. My sweet girl… my filthy, pretty girl… gush for me, baby. Show me how much you love it when I can’t stop touchin’ you.”

One more tight, filthy circle pressed hard right over the tip and you shatter.

Whole body convulsing, pussy clamping down brutally around his cock, walls fluttering wild as thick spurts of slick squirted out around him, hot and messy — soaking his hand, drenching his thighs, pooling warm under your ass on the already wrecked sheets.

Your clit throbbed helplessly under his fingers, overstimulated and raw, sending aftershock after aftershock ripping through you until your legs gave out completely.

Toji didn’t pull his hand away. Just kept those slow, soothing circles, gentler now — petting your puffed-out clit through the tremors while his cock stays buried deep, throbbing hard inside your fluttering, creamy cunt.

“Haah…fuck…there’s my girl,” he sighs, kissing the back of your neck soft and filthy. “Comin’ so hard just from my fingers… makin’ such a cute, sloppy mess. Can’t stop touchin’ you, baby. Not when this little clit’s still jumpin’ for me… not when your pussy’s still grippin’ me like she never wants me to stop.”

He rocked once, letting you feel every thick inch while his fingers kept circling lazy, keeping you right on that overstimulated edge.

“Gonna keep goin’,” he promises, voice low and wrecked with adoration. “Gonna keep rubbin’ this pretty clit… keep fuckin’ you slow… till you’re cryin’ and squirting again. Till you’re nothin’ but a shakin’, creamy mess for me. My perfect girl… my filthy little thing… all mine.”

And he did, his fingers never stopping those filthy circles, cock grinding deep and slow, turning you into a drooling, trembling puddle while your stuffed bear stayed clutched tight in your shaking hands, soaked with tears and drool and the endless proof of how good he made you feel.

Toji’s cock was buried to the hilt, his thick-veined base flush against your swollen puffy lips, heavy balls pressed hot to your clit like they belonged there. Your little fat pussy was stretched obscene around him, your gummy walls parted wide, clinging desperate to every ridged inch like they’d forgotten how to close.

You were gaped already, your poor hole fluttering open every time he stayed still too long, the rim puffy and flushed dark pink, glistening with thick layers of your syrupy cream and his endless pre. Slick dripping steady from where you were joined, slow, sticky ropes that clung to his shaft, webbing down to his balls, pooling warm under your ass on the wrecked sheets.

Shaking, your whole body trembling, face still mashed into the mattress, drool soaking the stuffed bear you clutched like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. Your cries had turned hoarse, soft and wrecked whimpering every time his cock throbbed deep inside, nudging that spongy spot that made your toes curl and your tummy quiver.

He groans low, the sound ripping from his chest like it hurt to feel how tight you still were even after all the pounding, big scarred hands gripped your soft waist harder, his fingers sinking into plush flesh, holding you exactly where he wanted while he started to pull out.

Slow.

Agonizingly slow.

The drag was filthy, every veined inch sliding free with wet, obscene schlicks that filled the room. Your pussy lips dragged along his shaft, puffy and glossy, clinging greedily like they didn’t want to let go. The fat pink crown caught on your rim, stretching it wider one last time before popping free with a lewd, sucking pop.

Your hole gaped open immediately, pink and wrecked, fluttering helplessly around nothing, thick strings of cream stretching from your entrance to his dripping tip like obscene bridges before snapping wet against your inner thighs.

“Haah…fuck…look at that,” he said disbelieving,“This little hole’s gaped so pretty for me… still clenchin’ like she’s missin’ me already. So fuckin’ sloppy, baby. Drippin’ everywhere just ‘cause I pulled out.”

You whimpered, hips twitching back instinctively, chasing the emptiness even as your walls fluttered wild. But Toji wasn’t done teasing.

He lined up again, the fat tip nudging your gaping entrance, smearing thick pre over the stretched rim, then he pushed.

Deeper.

Harder.

One long, brutal glide that sank every thick inch back inside until his hips slapped flush against your ass, cockhead bullying past your cervix, stirring your guts up in that dizzying, overwhelming way that made your eyes roll back.

You felt him everywhere. Hot, heavy fullness stretching from your stuffed hole all the way up like he was rearranging you from the inside. Your tummy bulged faintly under his palm when he pressed down, feeling the outline of his cock moving deep, claiming every inch of your soft insides.

“Fuuuck…there it is,” he growled, hips grinding slow circles now, letting you feel him throb against your deepest walls. “Feel me in your throat, sweetheart? Stirrin’ up your guts… makin’ this pretty pussy taking me so deep she’s cryin’. My good girl… my perfect, stretched-out girl.”

Your cries turning guttural and raw, sounds muffled into the bear as he starts thrusting again, long punishing strokes that pull almost all the way out every time, only to slam back in deeper, harder, stirring your insides into a gooey, creamy mess. Slick squirting out with every pull-back, thick and white-frothed, coating his shaft, dripping down your thighs in warm rivers that soaked everything beneath you.

Then his thick thumb found your tight puckered asshole.

He didn’t ask…Didn’t tease.

Just pressed the blunt pad right against your clenched ring — hot, callused pressure that made your whole body jolt. Your hole fluttering instinctive, tight and untouched, trying to push him out even as your pussy clenched harder around his pounding cock.

“Shhh…relax for me, baby,” he murmured, voice low and filthy-sweet against your ear. ‘m'gonna plug this pretty little hole too. Keep you so full… till you’re shakin’ and sobbin’ for me.”

He pushes in so…so carefully, his thick thumb breaching the tight ring with a soft pop. The stretch burning sweet… the foreign fullness made your back arch hard, ass pushing back desperately onto both intrusions. Your asshole clamping down greedily around his thumb, sucking him into the first knuckle, while your pussy flutters wildly around his thick cock, walls spasming so hard it milks another thick spurt of pre deep inside you.

“Haah…fuck y-yeah,” he groans, thumb sinking deeper, and a slow twist of his thumb... has your hole clenching and fluttering around him. “Takin’ my thumb so good… tight little ass huggin’ me just like your pussy. Feel that? Both holes ngh stuffed f-full”… his cock stirrin’ your guts, thumb pluggin’ up your pretty asshole. “You’re mine, baby. All fuckin’ mine.”

He starts moving — thumb rocking shallow in time with his deep thrusts, cock slamming home every time his thumb pushes in, pulling out together in a filthy rhythm that makes your whole body rock forward into the mattress. Your clit rubbed raw against the sheets now — trapped and throbbing — every grind sending fresh sparks through your overstimulated nerves until tears streamed hot down your cheeks.

Your cries were nonstop, hoarse, wrecked sobs into your stuffed bear, your body trembling violently as he fucked you deeper, thumb plugging your ass, cock stretching your gaped pussy wide. Slick gushing with every thrust, thick, creamy ropes squirting out around his base, soaking his hand where it worked your plugged hole, drenching the bed in a warm, sticky puddle.

“God…look at you,” he praised, voice breaking with how close he was. “Takin’ everything… Such a good girl… my girl. Gonna make you come like this… gonna feel you milk me till I’m pumpin’ you full.”

He ground deeper, thumb twisting slow inside your tight ass, bulbous cockhead bullying your cervix, stirring everything up until the pressure coiled unbearable in your belly.

“Come for me, baby.” he says softly, lips brushing your tear-streaked cheek gently.

One more deep, brutal thrust, thumb sinking to the base, cock slamming home fully and you shattered.

Whole body convulsing, pussy clamping like a vice around his thick shaft, asshole fluttering wild around his thumb, clit throbbing helpless against the friction. Thick spurts of slick squirts out around him — hot and messy — soaking everything as you scream his name into the bear, tears and drool mixing on the sheets.

Toji goes all breathless, hips stuttering as your walls milked him ruthlessly.

“Fuck...yeah…take it, baby,” he pants, grinding deep through your orgasm. “Gonna come… gonna fill this pretty little cunt… gonna plug you so full you’ll feel me for days.”

And with one last deep thrust, thumb buried in your ass, cock throbbing hot and heavy inside your stuffed, creamy hole he starts to spill. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooding your gummed walls — pulse after pulse — stirring your insides even more as he keeps grinding slow, keeping you plugged front and back while you shook and sobbed and came undone completely around him.

And Toji Zenin still wasn’t done touching you.

Not by a long shot.

Toji finally eased his thumb out of your twitching little asshole, slow and careful, letting the tight ring flutter shut with a soft, wet sound that made your whole body shiver one last time. His cock slipped free next, his thick length dragging along your ruined walls until the fat crown popped out with a lewd, sucking pop.

A hot gush of cum followed immediately, thick, creamy ropes spilling from your gaping pussy in slow, obscene waves, dripping down your inner thighs, pooling sticky and warm beneath your ass on the already-soaked sheets.

You were trembling, completely spent, limbs heavy and breath coming in shaky little pants, face still buried halfway into the rumpled comforter with drool stringing from the corner of your swollen lips. Your stuffed bear was crushed, forgotten against your chest, fur matted and damp from tears and spit and everything else.

Toji didn’t move away.

He rolled you gently, almost tenderly — onto your back, big scarred hands sliding under your soft thighs and waist to lift you like you weighed nothing. He settled between your spread legs again, kneeling tall over you, sweat-glistening chest heaving while he looked down at the absolute mess he’d made of his pretty girl.

Your pussy was wrecked, lips puffy and dark, gaping open just enough to show the creamy white mess inside, clit still swollen and flushed, twitching with aftershocks. Cum leaked out in lazy pulses, mixing with your own slick, running in glossy trails down your perineum.

But his eyes softened when they reached your face.

All tear-streaked cheeks, glassy eyes, puffy lips still shining with spit.

“My pretty girl,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked but so fucking gentle now it made your chest ache.

He leaned down slow, his big heated body blanketing yours without crushing you and cups your face in both rough palms. Thumbs brushed away the fresh tears clinging to your lashes, smearing them gently across your flushed skin.

Toji didn’t pull out.

Not even a little.

He stayed buried to the root, his thick, heavy cock throbbing slow and deep inside your stuffed cunt, every veiny inch hugged so tight by your gummy walls it felt like your pussy had forgotten how to exist without him filling it. The fat pink crown was pressed right up against your cervix — hot, insistent pressure that made your tummy flutter every time his heartbeat pulsed through the shaft.

Cum was already leaking — thick, sticky ropes of it flooding your insides from the last brutal spill, so much that you could feel the warm, syrupy weight of it pooling deep in your guts, pressing against your walls like liquid heat.

Your poor hole was gaped just enough around his base, puffy lips stretched thin and glossy, clinging desperate to the thickest part of him like they were scared he’d slip free. But he wasn’t going anywhere, he just held you there, his hips flush to your ass, one big scarred hand splayed wide over your soft tummy so he could feel the faint swell where his cock and all that cum was making you bulge ever so slightly from the inside.

“Shhh… just like this, sweetheart,” he murmured low against the back of your neck, lips brushing damp skin in soft, lazy kisses. “Just cock warming. No more fuckin’ right now. Gonna let this pretty pussy soak in every drop I gave her… keep her nice and full, yeah?”

You whimpered — soft, a wrecked little sound muffled into the stuffed bear still clutched tight to your chest. Your whole body was trembling, overstimulated, oversensitive, thighs quivering where they were still squeezed shut and held down beneath his weight.

Slick and cum mixed into a warm, sticky mess between you, dripping slowly out around his base in thick, pearly strands that clung to your inner thighs, soaking the sheets in a warm puddle that smelled like sex and him and you all tangled together.

He shifted then, just a tiny rock of his hips, not thrusting, just enough to let his cock stir the cum inside you. The movement made a wet, filthy squelch, your walls fluttering greedy around him, milking another thick bead of leftover seed that oozed deeper into your guts.

You felt it, hot and slippery coating every inch of your gummy insides, threatening to drool out if he moved too much, but he didn’t. He just held you closer — arm banding around your waist, palm pressing firmer over that soft little bulge in your tummy like he was proud of how full he’d made you.

“Look how cute you are,” he whispered, voice rough and tender all at once. “Face all flushed… droolin’ on your lil’ bear… pussy so full of my cum she’s practically purring. My pretty girl… my perfect girl.”

He turned your face gently with scarred fingers under your chin, tilting you just enough so he could lean over your shoulder and kiss you slow. Soft at first — scarred lips brushing yours, tasting the salt of your tears and the cherry gloss long smeared away. Then deeper, tongue sliding lazy against yours, swallowing every tiny whimper you gave him while his cock stayed perfectly still inside you, just throbbing, just warming, just owning.

You moaned into his mouth, a soft and needy sound as another warm trickle of cum leaked out around his base, sliding slow down your puffy lips. Your clit still swollen and achy, brushed the underside of his shaft with every tiny shift, sending little aftershocks through your core that made your walls flutter and clench around him again.

“Haah…fuck — there she goes,” he groaned against your lips, kissing you deeper, filthier. “Clenchin’ so sweet even when she’s just holdin’ me. Feel all that cum sloshin’ around inside you? So warm… so sticky… gonna keep it all plugged up in there till it’s leakin’ out slow outta you.”

His free hand slid up and cupped the side of your face, thumb stroking slow over your tear-streaked cheek while he kissed you again and again. Forehead pressed to yours now, breath mingling hot and ragged, his green eyes dark and soft as he stared down at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“You’re so fuckin’ cute like this,” he murmured, pressing another soft kiss to your forehead — lingering, reverent. “All hugged up on my cock… pussy threatenin’ to drool my cum everywhere but still grippin’ me so tight. My good girl… my sweet, stuffed girl. Just stay like this for me, yeah? Let me keep you warm… let me feel how full I made you.”

He rocked once, barely a movement, just a slow grind that stirred the thick load inside you without pulling out. More cum bubbled out hot and slippery coating your puffy lips, dripping slow down to where your clit throbbed against him. You whimpered high and broken — hips twitching instinctively even though you were too spent to chase anything.

Toji shushed you gently, lips brushing your temple, your cheek, your mouth again in soft, endless kisses.

“Just this. Just me inside you… keepin’ all that cum nice and warm where it belongs. My pretty girl… my perfect little thing… all hugged up and full for me.”

He wrapped both arms around you then, pulling your soft body back flush to his chest, cock still buried deep, still throbbing slow, still leaking the last drops into your stuffed, creamy pussy. Forehead kisses rained down, soft, sweet and lazy in the best way, while he held you close, letting you feel every heartbeat through his shaft, every warm pulse of cum settling deeper inside you.

“Stay just like this,” he whispered one last time, lips lingering on your forehead. “My cute, sweet girl… mine.”

And he didn’t move.

Just held you there — thick cock warming your poor, gaped, cum-stuffed pussy while you trembled and whimpered and clung to your bear, face buried in his neck, soaking in the sticky, overwhelming heat of being so perfectly, completely full of him.

Toji’s arms locked around your waist like steel bands, scarred hands splaying wide over the soft curve of your lower belly, fingers digging in just enough to bruise the plush skin as he yanked you down hard, with no warning. No slow descent. Just raw, possessive force that slammed your dripping pussy all the way onto his thick, throbbing cock in one brutal, claiming drop.

The stretch hit like lightning — your poor gaped hole, forced to swallow every last veiny inch at once, walls parting wide around the fattened girth until his heavy balls slapped wet against your clit and the fat pink crown punched right up against the deepest part of your cervix again.

You felt it everywhere — hot, overwhelming fullness stretching from your stuffed entrance all the way up into your guts, making your tummy bulge visibly under his palm where he pressed down firmly to feel himself buried inside you.

“Haah…f-fuck — there it is,” he growled low against the shell of your ear, voice wrecked and deep, breath scorching your neck. “Takin’ every thick fuckin’ inch, sweetheart. All of it. No more teasin’. Just my cock stuffed deep where it belongs.”

Your cry ripped out raw and broken — high, desperate wails muffled into the crook of his shoulder as your body jolted from the sudden depth. Your gummy walls fluttered wild around him, clenching helpless. Spasming like they couldn’t decide if they wanted to push him out or suck him deeper.

Slick and leftover cum from before gushed out around his base in thick, creamy ropes,frothing white at the stretch, dripping slow down his heavy sack in warm, sticky trails that soaked into the sheets beneath you both.

He didn’t let you adjust. Just held you there, impaled, trembling, your  pussy clenching greedily around the full length of him — while one hand slid up to fist in your hair, yanking your head back gently but firm so he could see your face.

Tears streaked hot down your cheeks, lips swollen and parted in endless soft whimpers, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth again like you’d forgotten how to swallow.

“Look at you,” he says proudly, green eyes dark and blown with hunger as he stared down at where your puffy lips were stretched thin and glossy around his base — clinging so tight the rim looked almost white-knuckled. “My pretty girl takin’ everything… pussy so full she’s shakin’. Feel that? Feel how deep I am?” His cockhead kissin’ your womb and stirrin’ up all that cum he already pumped in you.

He rocked his hips once, a slow grinding roll that dragged every ridge along your fluttering walls without pulling out. The motion made a wet, filthy squelch, your stuffed pussy protesting the fullness even as it clenched harder, milking him greedy. More thick cream bubbled out — syrupy and white — coating his shaft, dripping down to where your clit throbbed helpless against the veined underside.

“Nngh…Toji —” Your voice cracked,hoarse and wrecked, nails raking down his broad back again, leaving red trails over hard muscle. “S’too much… s’too deep —”

“Shhh, I know, baby,” he murmured, scarred lips brushing your tear-streaked cheek in soft, filthy kisses. “Doin’ so good though. Takin’ this fat cock like you were made for it. Feel how your pussy’s grippin’ me? Squeezin’ like she don’t ever wanna let go. My perfect girl… my sweet girl.”

He pulled you down harder, another sharp yank that seated him impossibly deeper, crown bullying against that spongy spot inside until your back bowed, thighs trembling violently around his hips. Your clit grinding raw against his pelvis — swollen and achy — every tiny shift sending sparks shooting through your core that made your walls flutter and clench harder around him.

Toji groaned deep, the guttural sound vibrating straight through you, then wrapped both arms around your waist, crushing your soft body to his chest. One hand slid down to cup your ass, fingers spreading the plush cheeks wide so he could feel where you were stretched obscene around him, while the other pressed firm over that faint bulge in your tummy, thumb stroking slow circles over the spot where he could feel himself moving inside.

“Fuck…look at this,” he breathed, voice thick with praise and filth. “My cock makin’ a pretty little bump right here… fillin’ you up so good you can see it. Gonna keep you right here… just like this”… Cock-warmin’ you deep while he kisses your sweet mouth.

He tilted your chin up, scarred thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip, then claimed your mouth in a slow, filthy kiss. Tongue sliding deep, tasting the salt of your tears and the cherry gloss long gone, swallowing every broken whimper you gave him while his cock throbbed hot and heavy inside your stuffed pussy.

No thrusting. Just deep, possessive grinding — tiny rolls of his hips that stirred the thick load of cum already flooding your cunt, making it slosh warm and sticky against your walls.

You moaned into his mouth, soft needy sounds, as another warm trickle leaked out around his base, sliding slow down your puffy lips to where your clit pulsed against him. Your pussy clenching helpless and fluttering wild — threatening to drool more of that creamy mess if he moved even a little, but he didn’t. Just held you impaled, full, trembling, while he kissed you deeper, tongue fucking slow into your mouth in the same lazy rhythm his cock was grinding inside you.

“So fuckin’ cute,” he whispers against your lips between kisses, forehead pressing to yours, breath mingling hot and ragged. “All hugged up on my dick… pussy so full she’s shakin’. My pretty girl… my perfect little thing… takin’ everything I give her. Gonna stay just like this… keep you warm and stuffed… let you feel everything while I kiss you stupid.”

Wanting to feel you constantly, he kept pressing soft kisses to your forehead, then your temple, to your cheek and your mouth again — endless, filthy affection while his arms stayed locked around you, cock buried to the hilt, cum sloshing warm and sticky deep inside your gaped, creamy pussy.

“Mine,” he murmured one last time, lips brushing your forehead in a final, claiming kiss. “All fuckin’ mine.”

And he didn’t move.

Just held you there, thick cock warming your stuffed, trembling pussy, while you whimpered and clung and soaked in the overwhelming heat of being so completely, perfectly taken.

The room had gone quiet except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan stirring the thick summer air, fairy lights flickering lazy gold across the rumpled sheets like dying embers. You were out cold — completely fucked-out and boneless, face half-buried in the crook of Toji’s neck, one arm slung loose over his chest, legs still tangled with his like you couldn’t bear to let go even in sleep.

Your breathing had evened out into those slow, deep little puffs that made your lips part every exhale, drool already pooling at the corner of your mouth onto his collarbone. Cute. Wrecked. His.

Toji hadn’t moved much since he’d pulled you down onto every thick inch and held you there, his cock still buried deep, warming your cum-stuffed pussy while the last pulses of his cum settled heavy and hot inside you.

Your walls kept fluttering around him in tiny, sleepy spasms — soft little squeezes that milked another lazy bead of seed from his tip even though he wasn’t thrusting anymore.

The mess between you was obscene; thick ropes of cum and your syrupy cream leaking slow out around his base, coating his heavy balls, dripping in warm, sticky trails down your inner thighs and soaking the sheets beneath your ass in a cooling puddle that smelled like sex and salt and him.

He stayed like that for a long while, his arm banded around your waist, scarred palm resting possessive over the faint swell in your lower tummy where his cock and all that cum made you bulge just enough to feel under his hand.

Every time you shifted in your sleep, tiny and little unconscious rolls of your hips, your pussy clenched tighter around him, gummy walls sucking greedy like even unconscious you didn’t want him to leave. It made his cock twitch — still half-hard, still leaking the last sluggish drops into your overflowing heat.

Eventually the ache in his thighs and the way your breathing had gone soft and even, told him you were really gone, deep in that post-orgasm haze where nothing existed but warmth and fullness and him.

Toji exhaled slowly through his nose, a low satisfied rumble in his chest, then started to move.

Careful. So fucking careful.

He slid one big hand under your thigh, lifting it just enough to ease the angle, while the other stayed splayed over your tummy, thumb stroking slow circles over that soft pudge like he was soothing you even in your sleep. Then he pulled.

Slow…

Inch by torturous inch.

The drag was filthy, your poor gaped hole clinging desperate to every veiny ridge as he withdrew, gummy walls fluttering weak protests around the retreating thickness. Slick and cum made obscene wet sounds, soft schlicks and squelches that filled the quiet room, thick white cream bubbling out around his shaft the second he started to slip free.

Strings of it stretched taut between your puffy lips and his glistening cockhead — snapping slow and wet against your inner thighs as he kept pulling.

When the fat pink crown finally popped free with a lewd, sucking pop, your hole gaped open, pink and wrecked, fluttering helpless around nothing. A thick gush of cum followed immediately — hot, sticky ropes drooling slow out of your stretched entrance, sliding down your ass crack in pearly trails, pooling warm under you on the already soaked sheets. Your clit, still swollen and flushed, twitched once at the sudden emptiness, a tiny bead of cream clinging to the tip like a pearl.

Toji stared, breath catching rough in his throat at the sight of his cum leaking from your used little pussy. So much of it. Thick and white and endless, proof of how deep he’d fucked you, how full he’d kept you. Your pussy looked ruined in the prettiest way — lips puffy and parted, hole still trying to clench shut but too stretched to close completely, just drooling his load in slow, obscene pulses.

“Fuck,” he breathed voice low, wrecked, almost reverent. Toji finally took a long inhale, eyes locked on the sight. His pretty girl’s pussy all sloppy and leaking his cum like she couldn’t help it even asleep. Fuck… it made his cock twitch soft against his thigh, already half-interested again for just looking.

He leaned down slow and carefully…not to jostle you too much, breath fanning hot over your sensitive skin and pressed the softest, filthiest kiss right to your swollen clit. Gentle. Worshipful.

Lips barely brushing the swollen bud…a warm, lingering press that made your hips twitch tiny in sleep, a soft whimper slipping from your throat. He kissed it again…slower, tongue flicking out just once to taste the mix of your cream and his cum still clinging there. Salty-sweet messy and perfect.

“My pretty girl,” he whispered against your pussy, voice so low it was more breath than sound. “Took me so deep… kept me warm all night. Look at you leakin’ my cum even when you’re sleepin’. So fuckin’ cute.”

Scarred lips brushing the sensitive bud, gentle and lingering, his tongue flicking out once to taste the mix of your cream and his cum clinging there. You whimpered in your sleep, a soft, needy little sound. Your hips twitched forward instinctively even when unconscious, thighs trembling once before settling again.

One more kiss, open-mouthed this time…lips sealing soft around your clit for a heartbeat, sucking the tiniest pull that made your thighs tremble before he let go. 

Toji smiled against your pussy…slow, dangerous and so fucking tender, then kissed higher; one soft press to your puffy mound, another to the soft dip of your lower belly where the bulge was slowly fading. 

“Fuck… gotta move, baby,” he rasped, voice gravel-thick with leftover lust and something softer underneath. “Your dad’s gonna be home soon. Can’t leave you lookin’ like this… all fucked-out and leakin’ me everywhere.”

He didn’t let you wallow in it.

He moved careful, almost gentle, sliding off you and scooping your limp, trembling body into his arms like you weighed nothing. Your legs dangled uselessly; your head lolled against his shoulder; your ruined pussy leaked a slow, sticky trail down his abs as he carried you to the tiny attached bathroom.

He set you on the edge of the tub softly with utter care, then ran warm water over a clean washcloth. No rough scrubbing. Just slow, careful wipes, dabbing away the cum and slick smeared across your inner thighs, between your ass cheeks, over your swollen mound. He was thorough, gentle thumbs parting your puffy lips just enough to clean the creamy mess still oozing from your gaping hole, wiping slow circles around your clit until you whimpered and twitched.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured, kissing your forehead while he worked. “Gotta get you all clean… can’t have you drippin’ all over the place when your dad walks in.”

When you were as clean as he could get you, skin still flushed and sensitive, pussy still puffy and tender, he carried you back to the bed. He stripped the worst of the soaked sheets (bundling them into a ball to deal with later), flipped the comforter over the damp spot, and tucked you in slowly, pulling the soft blanket up to your chin, smoothing it over your trembling body like you were something precious.

He knelt beside the bed for a long minute, just watching you, then leaned down and pressed a final, lingering kiss to your swollen lips. Slow. Drooly. Tongue brushing yours one last time like he was memorizing the taste.

He pulled the rumpled sheet up over your body, tucking it around your shoulders gentle and careful, like you were something precious he didn’t want to break even though he’d just spent hours fucking you… making sure your shoulders were covered, your bare feet hidden under the blanket.

He smoothed a hand over your soft tummy, feeling the faint bloat still there from how full he’d left you and then leaned down to kiss your forehead too. Long, tender press of scarred lips.

“My good girl,” he whispered against your mouth, forehead resting against yours. “Took me so fuckin’ well… let me ruin you so pretty… now sleep, yeah? I’ll handle the rest. You just stay tucked in and dream about how full I made you.”

He kissed your forehead again, soft and possessive, then stood.

You watched through heavy lids as he pulled on his sweatpants (still stained, still smelling like sex), grabbed the bundled sheets, and slipped out the door quiet as a shadow.

The room smelled like him.

Like cum and sweat and summer heat.

Your pussy still ached, emptier… now but throbbing with the memory of how thick he’d been, how deep, how much he’d filled you.

You curled tighter under the blanket, legs pressing  together to keep the lingering warmth inside and drifted.

ಇ.author's note: reupload from @/torusbabe

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Blueberry cheesecake, the sweet and sour flavor that melts on your tongue… your favorite cake, the one Jungkook gets for you every birthday without fail, because he memorized your order long before he memorized his own.

Pastel pink, the soft girly color that clings to every part of you. Your clothes, your bedsheets, your hair clips, every little thing you own carries a touch of pink somewhere. Whenever Jungkook spots the shade in public, his thoughts find their way back to you.

Romantic novels, anything that leaves your heart racing and your feet kicking against your mattress. Jungkook always finds himself wandering into bookstores because of you, scanning shelves for stories he thinks you would like, only to end up buying more books than he originally planned.

Makeup, oh you love makeup. Pink glitter brushed over your eyelids, glossy lips shining beneath the light, sparkly blush dusted across your cheeks. Jungkook swears he finds traces of your glitter everywhere… on his hoodies, on his fingertips, sometimes even on his face after you hug him too close.

Vanilla oatmilk latte, the coffee you order every single morning before school. Jungkook learned how to make it himself after watching you drink it so often, memorizing the exact measurements because you love them.

Powder cologne, soft, delicate and comforting. A scent Jungkook knows too well, one that settles into his hoodies whenever you steal them, one that drives him crazy whenever you lean too close without realizing what you’re doing to him.

Countless things. 

Your habits, your favorite foods, the songs you replay until you get sick of them, your random mood swings, your little mannerisms, the way your nose scrunches when you laugh too hard, the way you avoid eye contact whenever you lie. 

As your childhood best friend, Jungkook almost knows you better than you know yourself.

You were seven when you first met him, while Jungkook was already twelve.

Your mothers were close friends, living in the same village with houses only a few blocks apart. The first time your mother introduced you to Jungkook and his parents, you were painfully shy. Tiny hands clutching your barbie doll against your chest, pink shoes tapping nervously against the floor, you hid halfway behind your mother’s leg while peeking at him.

Jungkook, on the other hand, only looked at you with indifference. 

He had been building legos upstairs before his mother called him down to greet the guests, and judging by the slight furrow between his brows, he was more irritated about being interrupted than interested in meeting you. 

Dressed in a baby blue jumper, he looked like a tiny builder himself, big round eyes already drifting elsewhere as if he couldn’t wait to go back to his room. 

You were an only child, and so was he, which was exactly why your parents thought the two of you would get along perfectly. They insisted you become playmates, excited over the idea of their children growing up together.

The problem was that the two of you liked completely different things.

You wanted barbie dolls, toy kitchens, dollhouses and tea parties. 

Jungkook liked legos, robots, mini cars and toy dinosaurs.

So sitting inside Jungkook’s bedroom for the first time felt painfully awkward. Your mothers stayed downstairs, happily chatting over coffee while the two of you remained trapped upstairs in complete silence. 

You sat on a small soccer-ball bean bag, clutching your barbie tightly in your lap, glossy eyes wandering around his room filled with boyish toys and shelves crowded with action figures. Your pink glittery dress looked so out of place, matching the headband resting neatly in your hair and the tiny dress your barbie wore.

This was not your kind of playtime.

Meanwhile, Jungkook sat at his tiny blue table, completely focused on stacking legos together like you didn’t exist. His brows pinched together in concentration, lips slightly puffed out as he connected the pieces one by one, so serious for a twelve-year-old boy.

You stayed quiet for nearly fifteen minutes, too shy to disturb him despite desperately wanting someone to play with. But as the minutes dragged on, boredom slowly began to creep in. You carefully stood from the bean bag and walked towards him, still hugging your barbie doll against your chest.

“C-Can I join?” you asked softly, curiously staring down at the colorful legos despite not understanding what he was even trying to build.

Jungkook glanced up at you, brows furrowing immediately.

“No,” he dismissed flatly before returning to his legos again.

Jungkook was serious about legos. His playtime revolved entirely around building them, fingers busy connecting tiny pieces together for hours without getting bored. Before that, he had been obsessed with dinosaurs, carrying them everywhere around the house, but eventually he discovered a new fixation. He realized he liked building things. Finishing a set only to display it proudly in his room like a trophy.

You pouted beside him. “Do you have barbies?”

Jungkook frowned immediately, glancing between you and the barbie doll smiling brightly in your hands as if the question itself offended him.

“No,” he said bluntly. “But I have dinosaurs.”

Maybe it was a strange combination.

You were sitting on the soft floor mat with barbie dolls while dinosaurs surrounded them like predators.

He only let you borrow the dinosaurs to keep you occupied enough not to disturb him while he played.

Still, you were entertained.

Cute little noises left your mouth as you imitated roaring dinosaurs and dramatic barbie voices, completely immersed in your own little world. Your giggles often filled the room while Jungkook remained focused on his legos, though sometimes his eyes would flicker towards you for a second before returning to his build.

And somehow, it became a routine.

Every Saturday, your mother would bring you over to Jungkook’s house… excitement would bubble inside you the moment you stepped through the front door because it meant running upstairs to his room again. By then, you already expected the sight waiting for you.

Jungkook sitting in his usual spot near the little blue table, focused on a brand new lego set.

And the dinosaurs already arranged neatly on the floor mat for you.

The two of you barely talked. But neither of you minded. 

At your age, all that mattered was having toys to play with. While for Jungkook, happiness meant building something piece by piece until it was complete.

So every weekend, you would bring over a handful of barbies for the dinosaurs to chase around while Jungkook built something different each week. 

Sometimes it was a car. Sometimes a house. Sometimes an entire little town slowly formed beneath his careful little hands.

It was one quiet afternoon when you finally decided to talk to him properly.

You had just entered his room, wearing your usual pink puffy dress with your hair tied into cute pigtails. After setting down your backpack filled with barbie dolls beside the bean bag, your eyes immediately landed on a brand-new set of dinosaurs arranged carefully across the floor mat.

Your eyes widened. “New dinosaurs!” you exclaimed excitedly, small hands already grabbing one of the unfamiliar dinosaurs to inspect it closer.

Across the room, Jungkook looked up from his lego table. His hands paused mid-build the moment he saw your expression. Your wide sparkling eyes, your bright smile, the way your excitement completely lit up your face over something as simple as mini dinosaurs.

For a second, he only stared. Then he quickly looked back down at his legos with a small pout tugging at his lips.

“M-Me and my mom went toy shopping for a new lego set,” he mumbled. “I saw a new edition of dinosaurs.”

A soft giggle escaped you as you hurried towards his table, clutching the dinosaurs tightly in your small hands. “Really?” you asked happily. “I thought you didn’t play with dinosaurs anymore?”

Jungkook glanced at you from the corner of his eye, slightly distracted by how close you suddenly were to him.

“Yeah,” he muttered quietly. “But you like them.”

He almost fell from his seat when you suddenly crouched down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, a sweet habit of yours whenever your parents did something for you.

“Thank you, Koo!” you giggled, hopping back towards the soft mat while Jungkook remained completely stunned.

Slowly, heat crept across his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. His boba eyes wide and sparkly like a candy was given to him. His cute brows furrowed, and when he picked up a lego block… all he could think about was your cute smile and soft kiss.

At first, you truly thought you and Jungkook would never become close.

He was too quiet, too focused on his own little world of legos and building sets while you lived inside glittery barbie dream houses and dramatic dinosaur adventures. But as the months slowly passed, you found yourself growing fond of him. And somehow, Jungkook slowly grew fond of you too.

The distance between the two of you became smaller little by little. 

From sitting separately in silence, you were now beside him at his table helping him build lego sets together, your tiny fingers handing him blocks while he taught you where they belonged. It felt almost special, like Jungkook had finally lowered the invisible walls around himself enough to let you into his space.

Quietly, you started wondering if maybe one day…he would want to play barbies and dinosaurs with you too. 

“A brachiosaurus!” you gasped happily, excited when you realized what the two of you were building together.

Jungkook tried to hide the smile threatening to tug at his lips, the tips of his ears and the back of his neck slowly turning red.

"Y-You like it?'' he said in a small voice.

You nodded happily, eyes sparkling as you held up the long-necked lego dinosaur. 

Jungkook smiled, unconsciously leaning closer, his cute bunny teeth showing as he made a mental note to buy more lego dinosaurs for you.

As the weeks passed, moments like those became more common. Then one Saturday, your tiny dream finally came true.

“Hi, Koo!” you greeted softly after entering his room, only to freeze slightly when you noticed his lego table untouched for once.

Instead, Jungkook was crouched beside the floor mat near the dinosaurs.

Your eyes widened.

“Wanna play with you,” he said with a shy smile, as he held a few dinosaurs in his tiny hands.

For months, you played alone while he focused on his lego sets. 

The first time he finally let you help him build one, you were so happy that you started looking forward to every new set the two of you would make together.

It quickly became your favorite part of visiting him.

So seeing him willingly sit beside you now… actually wanting to play with your barbies and dinosaurs instead of his beloved legos—made excitement bubble in your chest.

It felt special, like he was stepping into your world the same way he had once invited you into his.

“O-Okay,” you said excitedly. “You can be the spinosaurus and I’ll be barbie.”

Your small hands shakily arranged the dinosaurs into a circle while Jungkook quietly watched you.

And the truth was, for the past few months, Jungkook had already been watching you more than he should.

Whenever you weren’t looking, his eyes would drift away from his legos just to watch you playing on the mat by yourself. Your cute little dinosaur noises, your giggles, the way you became completely immersed in your stories somehow made him happier than finishing any lego set ever could.

Sometimes he took days to finish builds that normally only needed hours, just because he kept getting distracted by you.

And whenever you paused your playing to look over at him with one of your cutest smiles, his chest would start beating strangely fast.

A small, innocent crush began to bloom in the little boy whose heart had only been filled with lego blocks—the very first piece quietly clicking into place inside him, setting the shape of something he didn’t yet understand.

At the age of eight and thirteen, the two of you became inseparable. 

Whenever your mother got too busy with work, you would immediately beg her to drop you off at Jungkook’s house instead of leaving you home alone, and eventually it became normal for you to spend almost every weekend there. Your mothers didn’t even question it anymore. If you disappeared, they already knew you were upstairs in Jungkook’s room.

And somewhere along the years, you got to know him better. Jungkook only looked snobbish at first glance. Quiet, a little intimidating, always serious whenever he focused on something. But once someone truly got close to him, they would realize how sweet he actually was.

Especially with you.

As your friendship grew, so did the amount of time you spent together. Before long, sleepovers became common too.

The two of you would lie beside each other beneath the blankets, talking about random things for hours instead of sleeping. Sometimes you hid underneath the covers with a flashlight between you, pretending you were camping in the middle of a forest while whispering ghost stories and silly secrets to each other.

Jungkook would pull you close while you giggled uncontrollably, pressing playful kisses against your cheeks before dramatically pretending to die in your arms whenever you hugged him too tightly. 

“I like the stars on your ceiling,” you murmured sleepily one night, while lying beside him on his bed. “Mine is just plain pink.”

Tonight was another sleepover. Your sleepy eyes struggled to stay open because you wanted to spend more time with him before falling asleep. The two of you were even wearing matching pajamas, yours covered in tiny pink hearts while his had blue ones, a matching set you had begged your mother to buy days before the sleepover.

Jungkook turned his head towards you, smiling softly when he noticed your eyes slowly drooping shut.

“You’re sleepy,” he giggled, poking your cheek gently with his finger when your eyes closed for a second too long.

You immediately pouted at him. “Am not,” you mumbled stubbornly. “We still have to play camping later, Koo.”

Playing camping beneath the covers with a flashlight was one of your favorite bedtime routines together, but tonight exhaustion was beginning to betray you. School had drained you completely, your body heavy against the mattress no matter how much you tried to stay awake.

Jungkook's lips curled into a small smirk, an evil little prank brewing in the back of his mind.

With a mischievous grin, he suddenly grabbed his throat dramatically, choking and panting before going completely still on the bed, eyes shut and tongue sticking out slightly like a fish… as if he had died.

“I think it would look cute to have planets too, what do you thin—Koo?” 

The drowsiness vanished from your body the moment your eyes landed on him… frozen beside you.

“Koo?” you whispered, sleepy brows furrowing.

When he didn't move, panic bloomed instantly in your chest.

You sat up so fast the blankets tangled around your legs, tiny hands immediately grabbing his shoulders as you shook him desperately.

“Koo! Wake up, Koo!” you panicked.

Your glossy eyes widened further when he refused to move, his face still scrunched into that horrible dead fish expression. Heart pounding loudly inside your chest, you grabbed his cheeks with both hands, trying to wake him up while tears quickly gathered in your eyes.

“Boo! I got you—” His laughter stopped halfway when he saw your face. Fat tears rolled down your flushed cheeks while you stared at him in genuine fear.

A soft sob escaped your lips. “T-That’s, that’s not funny,” you sniffled quietly. “I thought you were dead!”

Jungkook instantly softened. Though he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling at how adorable you looked.

“Aww, baby...” he chuckled softly, opening his arms for you. “Come here.”

He always called you his baby. Partly because you were younger than him, but mostly because you acted like his cute little girl half the time, clinging onto him whenever you got scared or upset.

When you glared at him through your tears, he only chuckled quietly instead of feeling guilty. Seeing your pouty face, your sleepy swollen eyes and pink cheeks somehow made his chest feel weirdly warm.

It made him want to hug you forever.

Jungkook moved behind you, wrapping his arms around your smaller body until your back rested against his chest. His laughter became softer when he caught your deadly glare again, leaning closer just to press a small apologetic kiss against your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, peeking at your face with the cutest pout.

When you still didn’t answer, he immediately resorted to the one thing he knew you could never say no to.

“Hmm, do you want some ice cream?” he whispered beside your ear, wiggling his brows playfully. “Mom bought some earlier.”

You stayed silent for a moment, still pretending to be upset while staring down at his hands tracing little circles against your palm.

Then your pout slowly weakened. “Okay,” you mumbled. “What flavor?”

Jungkook grinned immediately, bunny teeth appearing the second you gave in. He always knew how to melt your heart. Always knew exactly how to make you smile again.

And just like you spent countless days at his house, Jungkook spent plenty of time at yours too.

The first time he stepped inside your room, he looked completely stunned by the overwhelming amount of pink surrounding him.

Pink walls, pink blankets, shelves lined with barbie dolls, and plushies piled so high on your bed that there was barely any room left to sleep. Even the little lamp on your bedside table was dusted with glitter.

Meanwhile, Jungkook stood in the middle of it all, clutching a backpack filled with toy dinosaurs and looking painfully out of place in your princess-like bedroom. His usual blue jumper was the only thing that didn't blend into the sea of pink.

During sleepovers, you would force him to hug one of your teddy bears while you cuddled your favorite bunny plushie against your chest, proudly telling him it reminded you of him. Jungkook would always pout whenever you said that, his nose scrunching at the sight of you kissing the bunny.

Quietly, somewhere inside his heart, another tiny lego piece snapped into place whenever he watched you hold that bunny so tightly.

Most nights, neither of you slept early anyway. Your mother would occasionally scold the two of you after hearing nonstop giggles coming from your room late at night, the sound muffled beneath blankets while you whispered stories to each other instead of sleeping like you were supposed to.

You and Jungkook were always entertained by each other’s presence. And as the years slowly passed, both of you began to change. Your hobbies evolved just as naturally as you grew older together.

Jungkook slowly drifted away from legos and video games, while you traded barbie dolls and dress-up games for makeup and novels.

It wasn't surprising when Jungkook pursued engineering. He had always loved building things, ever since he was a little boy…carefully connecting blocks together at his tiny blue table.

The rooms that once overflowed with toys changed too.

Jungkook’s room became crowded with sketches, papers, blueprints and a laptop constantly left open on his desk. While your room transformed from shelves of dolls into a vanity covered with makeup, skincare products, perfumes and stacks of romance novels scattered across every surface.

And by the time you were eighteen and Jungkook was twenty-three, something between the two of you had quietly shifted.

Jungkook became protective over you in a way he never was before. Maybe it was because you were no longer the tiny little girl who followed him around with barbie dolls clutched in your hands.

Your cute colorful headbands became dainty little hair clips. Puffy dresses turned into soft sundresses that showed off the softness of your legs, always paired with small heels that made you look older than he was prepared for. Even your eyes had changed. Still sparkly and sweet, but now carrying a teasing playfulness beneath them. A bratty little glint that appeared whenever you wanted something.

But despite everything changing, some things about you stayed exactly the same.

You still hugged him constantly. Still kissed his cheeks whenever he did something sweet for you. Still clung onto his arm whenever you got excited over something small.

To you, those gestures were innocent, familiar, and natural.

But for Jungkook, they no longer felt innocent at all. 

Somewhere throughout the years, your harmless affection had started affecting him differently.

A simple kiss against his cheek suddenly made heat spread through his body in ways that felt wrong to him. Your random hugs made his muscles tense instantly, his breath hitching whenever you pressed your soft chest against him, completely unaware of the effect you had on him.

And whenever you played with his hair while sitting a little too close beside him, or wore those cute little sundresses that clung softly to your curves and showed off your legs, Jungkook would find himself swallowing hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to ignore the strange tightness spreading through his pants.

You were still the same sweet little girl. But Jungkook was no longer looking at you the same anymore. 

The lego pieces inside his heart were stacking faster now, building into something so deep and overwhelming that even he could no longer keep track of it.

“What’s cuter, this one… or this one?” you asked, holding up two dresses for Jungkook to see.

Today, the two of you were spending the day at the mall. After having lunch at your favorite restaurant, you immediately dragged Jungkook into a boutique, eager to shop for new dresses—your latest obsession.

Jungkook tilted his head, “The pink one,” 

“I know! Okay, I’ll get this.” you smiled brightly.

By the time you finished shopping, you had already bought three more dresses from the boutique alone. Meanwhile, Jungkook sat patiently on the couch outside the fitting rooms, paper bags hanging from both of his hands while he waited for you without a single complaint.

When you finally turned to look at him after paying, your expression softened slightly. His head rested against the couch, eyes closed as if he had accidentally fallen asleep while waiting for you.

He looked exhausted. Lately, Jungkook had been reviewing nonstop for his engineering board exam, barely getting enough sleep between studying and helping around the house. 

You were still in college, while Jungkook was already preparing for the next stage of his life.

It made you a little sad sometimes.

Weekends had become your favorite days because those were the only times he was fully free for you anymore.

You quietly sat beside him, and the moment the cushion dipped, Jungkook’s eyes immediately opened.

“You done, baby?” he asked softly, still half sleepy while instinctively reaching for your shopping bags to carry them himself.

You pouted… he looked so tired—wearing a black shirt that was a bit wrinkled from the day, his glasses slightly slipping down his nose and his hair a little disheveled. He still looked utterly handsome.

Without thinking much about it, you scooted a little closer to him. His brows furrowed immediately as your soft, powdery scent wrapped around him.

“Yup!” you smiled softly while fixing his slightly messy hair. “Let’s go home.”

His lips twitched. “Thought you wanted to visit the bookstore after this?” 

You shook your head. “No, wanna rest.” Your voice turned softer. “Let’s take a nap at your house?”

Jungkook’s jaw immediately tensed. His tongue briefly swiped across his lower lip before he looked away for a second, something unreadable flickering across his face as he tried to gather himself together. 

“Hmm…” he bit his lower lip, heavy-lidded eyes staring back at you. “You’ll go home after, okay?” he said, his voice coming out raspier than intended. “I still need to finish some reading, baby.”

A small sigh of relief escaped him when you nodded innocently. You never really noticed the change in him.

To you, Jungkook was only becoming busier as he got older. You didn’t notice how quickly he started declining sleepovers once his feelings for you began changing into something deeper. 

He spent most nights trying to break the blocks apart—convincing himself it was wrong to think about you that way, trying to shatter the lego pieces inside his heart that kept snapping back together every single time he looked at you.

But he was failing, miserably. The little boy who was so good at building legos cannot break his own blocks apart.

Jungkook learned how to make the perfect vanilla oatmilk latte simply because you loved drinking them every morning. 

He once rushed across three different bakeries just to buy blueberry cheesecake after hearing you complain over accidentally receiving strawberry cheesecake instead.

He started buying powdery perfumes, candles and diffusers whenever he saw them because every scent reminded him of you. He even found himself wandering through makeup stores looking at glittery products because your eyes always lit up whenever something sparkled.

You wanted something? He gave it to you. 

Almost every single time.

Still, he buried his feelings carefully beneath years of friendship because the last thing he wanted was to ruin what the two of you already had. 

He tried to stay close without wanting too much. Tried to act normal despite the growing warmth that spread through his chest and cock whenever you touched him carelessly. Tried to ignore the dangerous thoughts beginning to bloom inside his mind whenever you leaned too close, smiled too sweetly or hugged him for too long.

And some days, Jungkook truly thought he was doing a good job at hiding it.

“But Koo, I missed you…”

You followed Jungkook around the kitchen with a pout, trailing behind him like a lost puppy while he tried to ignore the way your voice instantly weakened his resolve.

It was summer break, and all you wanted was a sleepover.

Lately, Jungkook has been declining every single time you asked.

At first, you tried to understand. He was busy drowning himself in thick engineering books and endless papers for the upcoming board exams. But eventually, even weekends became off limits, which felt strange because Jungkook had always found a way to make time for you no matter how busy he was.

“Baby, I have some reading to do,” Jungkook said slowly while grabbing two mugs from the cupboard.

You groaned dramatically, folding your arms while leaning against the kitchen counter, eyes following his every movement as he prepared coffee for the two of you.

One black. One vanilla oatmilk latte. 

“I won’t disturb you,” you insisted stubbornly. “Promise I’ll behave!” You whined softly, stepping closer before lightly tugging on the sleeve of his shirt. 

It’s not like you would stop him from reading, you just wanted to be around him.

Jungkook sighed deeply before finally turning to look at you properly. “I really can’t, baby…promise I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

Your pout deepened immediately, heart slightly breaking when you saw his brows furrowing at you.

With a defeated sigh, you gave him a small nod. “Alright.” 

The second your shoulders dropped sadly, Jungkook’s grip unconsciously tightened around the milk carton in his hands.

His eyes lingered on your face, a tiny pout forming on your lips as disappointment clouded your sparkling eyes.

God, it almost made him give in immediately.

The last sleepover had nearly cost him his patience. That night, he forced himself to stay awake, reading until sunrise just to avoid looking at you too much while you slept in his bed. But no matter how hard he tried to focus on the words in front of him, his eyes kept drifting back to you.

Your soft body was sprawled across his mattress, your pretty face nestled against his pillows, your hair fanned out messily like a constant temptation pulling at him.

The next morning, you were disappointed to find him asleep on the couch. You assumed he had stayed up late reading and eventually drifted off there, too exhausted to make it back to bed.

In reality, he had locked himself in the bathroom, guiltily jerking his aching cock before the temptation of sharing a bed with you became too much to bear.

“Baby…” Jungkook said slowly, voice rough from exhaustion as he lowered the teaspoon and carton of milk onto the counter.

You pouted. “If you don’t want me sleeping over, then can I at least visit you every day?” you asked softly. “I really, really miss you, Koo. I don’t have school anymore and I miss coming here.”

Jungkook closed his eyes briefly at your words. The urge to take back what he said just to see your pretty smile again was strong.

But no. 

Another sleepover meant another guilty night spent in bed, every time he can still smell your scent on his sheets, his hand would wrapped around his throbbing cock, burying his nose against the pillow because it smelled like you, his cock leaking whenever he recalls how your sleepwear would rise up every time you moved around his bed.

It made him so guilty, but it was better than corrupting you.

“Alright,” he finally sighed in defeat. “But I come home late these days, baby… you know that.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

Lately, Jungkook practically lived in the library. He spent most nights surrounded by thick books, highlighters scattered across tables while he studied until sunrise just to become the best engineer he could possibly be. Everyone around him already knew how hardworking he was.

And you knew it better than anyone. That was why your chest softened instead of growing upset.

You missed him terribly, missed the days when the two of you spent almost every second together without responsibilities pulling him away from you. But at the same time, you never wanted to become a distraction standing between Jungkook and his dreams.

You had always supported him. Always believed in him. And the last thing you wanted was to become the reason he couldn’t reach the future he worked so hard for.

You smiled immediately, happiness softening your features now that he wasn’t completely stopping you from visiting him every day.

“Okay, Koo. That’s fine!” you chirped happily. “I’m visiting Mama Jeon too, you know!”

Jungkook chuckled softly at your playful tone, warmth spreading quietly through his chest now that your pout had finally disappeared.

Sometimes Jungkook genuinely feared he would eventually cross boundaries he shouldn’t… just to keep you happy.

And honestly, maybe he already was. Because after that conversation, you truly didn’t miss a single day at the Jeon's house during summer.

Some days you baked desserts in the kitchen while laughing with Mrs. Jeon. Other days you helped water flowers in the garden beneath the afternoon sun, your sundress swaying gently while dirt stained your fingertips. Sometimes you stayed quietly in Jungkook’s room, reading books while waiting for him until sunset painted the windows orange.

And every evening, Jungkook would come home to you waiting for him. A warm meal already prepared. Your bright smile greeting him at the door before he could even set his bag down.

Every single time, it made his heart feel unbearably full. 

The sight of you peeking excitedly through the living room window the moment you spotted him outside. The way you lightly bounced on your feet before greeting him with a soft hug. The way you always asked him about his day first before talking about your own.

The way you asked what food he was craving just so you could attempt cooking it for him afterward. 

The way you loved him through the smallest things without even realizing it.

And Jungkook kept falling deeper and deeper for you because of it.

“Are you gonna wait for Jungkook?” Mrs. Jeon asked one evening after finishing dinner. “You sure you don’t wanna eat first?”

You shook your head immediately. You always ate dinner with Jungkook.

He usually arrived home around five in the afternoon, which wasn’t too late, so waiting for him became another small routine you loved. During weekends, he sometimes studied at home instead, filling the house with the sound of flipping pages and keyboard typing while you quietly stayed nearby.

Your Kookie was very smart and hardworking after all.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Mrs. Jeon smiled warmly while cleaning the table. “Good thing he’s been coming home early these days.”

Early?

Your brows furrowed immediately. “Early?” you repeated slowly, leaning against the table in confusion. “Isn’t that his normal schedule at the library?”

You knew Jungkook’s routine almost by heart, which was exactly why her words caught you off guard.

Mrs. Jeon nodded before taking a sip of water. “Yes, that used to be his normal schedule,” she explained casually. “But before summer started, he was staying until eight p.m because he wanted to aim for topnotcher.”

She laughed softly afterward, shaking her head fondly. “I kept telling him it’s okay even if he doesn’t become one, but my son always wants to be the best at whatever he does.”

Your lips parted slightly, realization crashed into you all at once. 

Jungkook had been coming home early because of you.

Because you said you missed him. Because you wanted to visit him every day.

Your chest tightened painfully, you hadn’t realized his original study schedule changed at all. Hadn’t realized Jungkook was cutting hours from his studying just so he could spend more time with you.

The realization made your heart ache in two completely different ways at once. Guilty. And terribly, terribly happy.

When Jungkook got home that evening, he expected you to greet him the same way you always did. A bright smile, soft eyes, your little footsteps rushing towards him before wrapping your arms around him in a hug that somehow always managed to melt the exhaustion off his body. 

But the second he stepped inside and looked at you properly, he noticed it immediately. The smile on your lips looked smaller than usual, hesitant, not quite reaching your eyes. And Jungkook knew you too well not to notice.

“I cooked teriyaki chicken today,” you smiled softly, quickly turning away from him to open the lid of the food on the dining table. “Mama Jeon loved it.”

Jungkook followed behind you quietly, his tired eyes never leaving your figure. You were about to grab a glass of water when his hand suddenly wrapped around your arm gently, stopping you in place. 

“Is there something wrong?” he asked softly, brows furrowing with concern. 

He was exhausted from studying all day, his navy green sweater slightly wrinkled, glasses a bit foggy, hair messy from constantly running his fingers through it. Yet the moment he sensed something was wrong with you, the exhaustion vanished beneath concern.

You shook your head quickly. “Just…” Your voice trailed off when your eyes landed on the small paper bag hanging from his other hand. “W-What’s that?”

Jungkook glanced down at the bag before looking back at you carefully. “Are you okay, baby?” he asked again, quieter this time.

With shaky hands, you slowly reached for the paper bag in his hand.

Blueberry cheesecake. 

Tears instantly welled in your eyes at the sight of it, your heart aching so badly it almost overwhelmed you. 

“K-Koo…” your lips trembled softly as tears blurred your vision.

Jungkook’s eyes widened immediately. “Hey, hey—” he quickly set the paper bag down before gently holding your arms, thumbs soothing over your skin. 

“What’s wrong with my baby, hmm?” he whispered softly, crouching down so he could properly look at your face.

And God, he looked so handsome like this. Tired but still so soft for you. 

His sleepy doe eyes behind his glasses, messy hair falling over his forehead, large hands holding you so carefully like you were something fragile enough to crack beneath his touch. 

You lowered your gaze, lips forming into a pout. “Y-You were coming home early for me…” you whispered quietly, guilt curling painfully inside you. “You don’t have to do that, Koo.”

Jungkook’s thick brows furrowed deeply. “Is that why you’re crying?”

Avoiding his gaze, you nodded slowly while staring down at your own fingers. Jungkook looked at you for a moment before gently tilting your chin upward, forcing your eyes back to his. Amusement slowly softened his tired features despite the concern still lingering there.

“Stop pouting.” he bit his lower lip, a low chuckle escaping beneath his breath as he listend to your tiny sniffles, almost relieved that his poor little baby was crying over something he didn’t even consider serious.

“Jungkook, I’m serious,” you protested, weakly hitting his chest. “We’re talking about your future here! Why would you do that?”

He caught your hand easily before you could hit him again, fingers wrapping around your fist while his thumb slowly traced circles against your skin. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he murmured softly. “I can handle my studies just fine, okay?”

You frowned harder instead. “But you’re coming home early, Koo. How is that good?”

You tried hitting him again, but Jungkook only tightened his hold around your wrist, enough to stop you without hurting you. 

He leaned closer, lowering his head until your faces were only inches apart, as if getting nearer would somehow make you understand him better.

“Need to see my baby for motivation,” he admitted softly.

Your heartbeat stumbled violently inside your chest. Jungkook grabbed the paper bag again before carefully placing it into your hands. “So I can work hard,” he continued quietly, eyes never leaving yours, “and buy you all the things and blueberry cheesecakes you want.”

Your eyes widened instantly, heat rushing across your cheeks and ears while your heart pounded so loudly it almost frightened you. 

“Do you want that?” Jungkook asked gently, his eyes lowering to your quivering lips.

“O-Of course I do, but I swear—”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” he interrupted quietly, like your answer alone was enough for him. 

Enough to make every sacrifice worth it.

When uni started again, you still never missed the chance to visit Jungkook whenever school wasn’t too hectic, and whenever days passed without seeing you, he would be the one visiting instead. 

At first, you tried giving him space because of the boards, but Jungkook always insisted on meeting somehow. Like your presence alone kept him going. Like every sleepless night, every exhausting study session, and every struggle he endured became worth it the second he saw your smile waiting for him at the end of the day. 

Only sleepovers of course is where he drawled the line.

Sometimes, while staring at blueprints and thick documents until dawn, Jungkook would imagine finally succeeding, finally becoming the best engineer he could be, earning enough money to spoil his baby with everything you wanted. And somehow, those thoughts alone were enough to keep him going.

At twenty-one and twenty-six, both of you had changed so much from the children you once were. 

The boyish softness he used to carry had long disappeared, replaced by tattoos and piercings that contrasted almost unfairly against the intelligent image everyone had of him. 

His once lean frame broadened into toned muscles that stretched beneath his shirts, shoulders wider now, veins more prominent across his hands and arms. The boy who once ate lollipops while building legos now smoked cigarettes absentmindedly after stressful nights at work. 

And the engineering student who used to stay awake studying until sunrise had officially become the topnotcher everyone admired.

You still remembered the exact moment he first mentioned wanting his arms decorated. You used to tease him constantly for being such a nerd, especially with his glasses, organized notes and old obsession with building legos. 

Which was exactly why you nearly choked in surprise the first time he casually mentioned wanting tattoos and piercings.

“Huh? Really?” you immediately sat up straighter from the picnic mat, staring at him with wide eyes.

The two of you were spending the afternoon at the park, sunlight pouring warmly across the grass while snacks and drinks were scattered around your little picnic setup. Jungkook looked unfairly handsome sitting there beneath the sun, sleeves pushed slightly upward, dark hair messy from the breeze, soft eyes following your every move.

“Yeah,” he answered casually. “I also plan on getting piercings.” he tilted his head, waiting for your opinion.

“You are not serious,” you gasped loudly, quickly scooting closer towards him in disbelief.

Jungkook glanced down instinctively the moment your body moved closer to his. You were wearing a short pastel sundress perfect for the sunny weather, your hair tied into a loose side braid while your glossy lips formed into the cutest pout he had ever seen.

He swallowed harshly before quickly looking away. Sometimes it genuinely amazed him how you could still sit this close to him so innocently while he struggled to keep his thoughts clean.

“And tattoos?” you continued dramatically, eyes sparkling with excitement now. “Like… what kind? This is bomb info, Koo. Thought you were too nerdy for that.” you teased.

The thing is, he never forgot that moment—the time you were shopping for toys and spotted a limited-edition Ken doll with sleeve tattoos, immediately saying how good Ken would look beside Barbie. His little child mind, his wide doe eyes, quietly took that in and stored it somewhere deep. 

And somewhere in that simple, fleeting comment, his stupid lego heart decided that when he grew up, he wanted tattoos too.

So Jungkook would look good beside his Y/N.

Jungkook pouted slightly at your teasing. “Thought they looked pretty,” he admitted shyly. “I think I want my arms decorated.”

Your eyes widened immediately. “That’s a baddie move right there!” you giggled.

Without hesitation, you grabbed his right arm excitedly, examining it carefully like you were already planning the tattoos yourself. 

Jungkook stared down at your smaller hands wrapped around his arm, heart beating strangely harder inside his chest while your soft perfume drifted towards him beneath the warm summer air.

He bit his lower lip, staring at you through heavy-lidded eyes. “You think I’ll look good with them?” he drawled lazily.

You rolled your eyes dramatically. “Course you will! You’ll be a baddie nerd,” you teased, fingers lightly grazing the muscles of his arm.

Jungkook’s eyes slowly softened at your touch, his gaze growing hazier by the second. Not because he was tired, but because you were intoxicating him again. 

“Stop calling me a nerd,” he groaned, though there wasn’t a single ounce of annoyance in his voice. If anything, his tone sounded far too fond to be offended.

“You are,” you giggled immediately, poking his cheek playfully. “You’re so smart. My smart Koo.”

Before he could respond, you suddenly stole the glasses off his face, laughing to yourself while slipping them onto your own nose. The prescription immediately blurred your vision, making you squint dramatically while Jungkook stared at you in complete adoration.

“Hello,” you mimicked in a deeper voice, trying to imitate him. “I’m Jungkook and I love math.”

You burst into laughter at your own joke while Jungkook only watched you. God, you looked so cute wearing his glasses.

“Baby, stop it,” he chuckled softly, finally reaching towards you to take them back.

You quickly leaned away from him with another laugh, refusing to give them up. Jungkook sighed through a smile before grabbing your waist without thinking, pulling you closer against him, wrapping his arms around your waist while you squealed in surprise.

“Koo!” you giggled loudly, twisting your body away so he couldn’t reach your face. But in the motion, your neck tilted back, your throat exposed right in front of him.

His eyes narrowed, staring at the soft skin of your neck as he bit his lower lip hard, leaning in closer… his pointed nose slowly grazed your skin, his eyes fluttering shut. 

Fuck.

“You smell good,” he whispered, already distracted.

Since you and Jungkook were close, you didn’t think much of it, still giggling as you tried to dodge him, unconsciously giving him more access to your neck. “Koo! That tickles.”

He was getting lost in it, inhaling your scent like he was getting addicted, his nose brushing down towards your collarbones. 

You were moving too much, wriggling in his hold, but his hands on your waist only tightened. “Stop moving,” he groaned, now pressing soft kisses along your throat, his nose burying deeper against your skin.

When a soft gasp escaped you, he stopped immediately, like he’d been pulled out of a trance. His jaw tensed as realization hit him, fear flickering across his expression at the thought that he might have made you uncomfortable.

But you were still oblivious, treating it like nothing more than a game so he wouldn’t get his glasses back, unaware that his soft kisses had already crossed a line—no longer innocent like the soft shallow kisses you shared when you were little.

“Let’s go home,” he suddenly muttered, gently pushing you away from him while clearing his throat. 

“What?” your giggles slowly faded, confusion replacing the smile on your face. “Why?”

You carefully removed his glasses from your face, leaning closer to place them back on him properly, but Jungkook instinctively moved back slightly before you could.

Your expression fell immediately.

“A-Are you mad?” you asked quietly, lips forming into a small frown.

Jungkook swallowed harshly at the sight. “I’m not,” he answered quickly, taking the glasses from your hands this time before putting them back on himself.

But your frown only deepened. “Then why do you suddenly wanna go home?” you asked, sadness creeping into your tone so naturally.

Jungkook nearly groaned out loud. He wanted to kiss you so bad.

Wanted to pin you down against the picnic mat beneath the warm sunlight and lose himself completely in you. His body was reacting so badly to you that it was becoming painful to sit this close without crossing boundaries he had no right crossing.

Still, even while it was slowly killing him, Jungkook reached for your hand again. His thumb traced slow circles against the back of your palm, the familiar motion instantly soothing you the way it always did.

“I don’t,” he sighed quietly. “I just-” 

“Don’t be mad, Koo… please?” you murmured softly, tilting your head slightly to peek at his face while your eyes stayed focused on his hands holding yours.

Fuck. He was so hard.

“I’m not,” he groaned, trying to smile at you despite the chaos inside him. “You know I won’t get mad at my baby.”

Piercings and tattoos suited Jungkook almost unfairly well. He looked more manly now, sharper in a way that made people stare a second too long without realizing it. 

The ink on his right arm wrapped around his skin like it had always belonged there, and the silver piercings he wore caught the light whenever he moved, subtle flashes that only made his presence more noticeable. The lip ring sat against his lower lip in a way that somehow emphasized his natural pout, softening the intensity of his face just enough to be dangerous. And yet, despite all of it, he still wore his glasses when he needed to work, the familiar frames making him look serious and composed while his eyes still carried the same quiet shine they always had when you were kids.

After passing the boards, everything had changed quickly for him. Phone calls from companies came one after another, clients stacking up so fast it barely gave him time to breathe. Within a short span of time, Jungkook had saved enough to buy a brand new house for his parents, choosing to live alone in his childhood home afterward. 

It was almost ironic, how the boy who once built lego structures on a small table was now designing real ones for a living, turning imagination into something tangible and permanent.

Not realizing he wasn’t just building things with his hands—but quietly building a lego heart of his own while watching you grow, piece by piece, until you became the only design that ever made sense.

On his first payday, he didn’t think twice about how to spend it. He took you out to your favorite restaurant, the same one you used to mention randomly in passing, and spoiled you with gifts you didn’t even ask for. 

Because that was always his dream in the end. 

At twenty-one, you had stayed mostly the same… still girly, still drawn to pastel pinks and soft colors, still wearing dresses that made you look like you stepped out of a memory he refused to forget. Your body had also changed in ways that made you more aware of yourself, curves developing naturally and beautifully.

In college, people noticed you too. A lot of them, actually. 

Guys who tried a little too hard to make you laugh, to impress you, to take up space in your attention the way they wanted. You went on dates here and there, curious more than anything, but none of them ever stuck. 

None of them ever felt right.

You were laying on Jungkook’s bed while he worked at his desk, fingers playing with his pillows as you babbled about college life. 

About lectures, assignments, and then, eventually, about the guys who kept asking you out.

“He's not even bad, I guess,” you said with a small shrug, “just… kind of clingy? I tried to give him a shot cause he's kinda cute you know.” you giggled.

Jungkook had always been the one person you could talk to without filtering your words, without rehearsing your tone or worrying how you sounded. 

So you kept going, still unaware of the way his pen had slowed in his hand, or how his gaze had subtly shifted towards you instead of the papers and laptop on his desk.

He didn’t interrupt you. Instead, he just listened, nodding occasionally, offering soft hums at the right moments like he always knew how to make you feel heard. 

He didn’t want to hold you back. You weren’t his. 

Instead, Jungkook kept his distance exactly where it needed to be.

He even asked questions sometimes—small ones, careful ones—because he wanted to understand, wanted to know what kind of people were entering your life. 

Not to control it. Never to control it. Just to make sure you were okay. To make sure no one hurt you.

And every time you smiled about something new, every time you tried something different, he swallowed whatever it did to him and smiled back.

Because loving you, for him, had never been about possession.

It’s about standing at the edge of something he desperately wanted to step into, and choosing not to, again and again, because you deserved freedom more than you deserved him holding you too tightly.

Even when it hurts.

“Do you plan on going on a date with him again?” he rasped, eyes still fixed on his laptop even though the words on the screen had long stopped making sense. 

You rolled your eyes. “No! Like I said, he’s so clingy,” you groaned dramatically, turning onto your side. “He kept texting me during class too. And he was kinda touchy.”

Jungkook froze, Touchy.

He raised a brow, slowly… he turned his swivel chair away from his desk to face you fully.

“Say that again,” he commanded.

You blinked, sitting up a little on his bed and smoothing out your pleated skirt. “Huh? Which part?”

Jungkook’s eyes dropped briefly to your bare legs before lifting back to your face. His expression was unreadable now, serious in a way that made your teasing mood falter slightly.

“Touchy?” he repeated, almost like he was testing the word on his tongue. 

He knew you had never had a boyfriend. 

Picky in your own quiet way, always rejecting people politely, never really giving anyone the chance to stay. 

That was something he had always told himself was a good thing. But there was one thing you told him once that lingered longer than it should have.

Your first kiss. 

You had laughed it off back then, saying it was just stolen during a stupid drinking game in high school, something meaningless, something you didn’t even care about anymore. But Jungkook had gone still in a way you didn’t notice fully at the time. And after that night, the thought never really left him.

The first broken lego piece in his heart.

Jungkook never acted on it. Because he knew where the line was, even if it blurred more and more every time he looked at you. 

Every time he imagined someone else touching you, his mind would go blank for a second, like something inside him short-circuited and restarted wrong. 

His love that was freeing, turning into something selfish and possessive. 

Jungkook knows that he was no better.

Even if he acted like the responsible one, the always-focused engineering nerd with books and goals, there were parts of him he couldn’t control. 

The desires, the sexual frustration, the way he had nowhere to put everything he was feeling for you. 

So he let it out elsewhere… hard, rough and merciless—like he was always unsatisfied. Because no matter what he did, no matter who he fucks, it was never you.

“Well...y-yeah, I thought it was sweet since he seems to be very kind and perfect,” you started, shifting slightly on his bed as you tried to recall your date earlier. “But it was starting to get irritating—”

“Where did he touch you?” Jungkook cut in sharply.

His tone made you pause immediately. You blinked at him, a little stunned by how fast and firm it came out. “Uh… just my thighs—”

He cursed under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration, jaw tightening like he was trying to hold something back.

At your bratty age, you had tried to explore, you would let them kiss you, let them touch you a little, only when you thought there was something there—some special connection, some feeling that made it worth it. But it always disappeared too quickly, leaving you bored, unimpressed, or just… disconnected.

And sometimes, in the quiet parts of your mind, a small thought would surface.

Why had no one ever truly impressed you? Why did everything feel like it was missing something you couldn’t name?

But you always pushed it away.

Because growing up, it had always been Jungkook.

What you didn’t know, what you never really saw—was that Jungkook had already fallen long before you ever started trying to figure yourself out.

He ended up fucking every women who looked like echoes of you—same powdery scent, similar hair length and color, soft features that almost resembled yours if he stared long enough. He didn’t realize it at the time, how every fling carried traces of you in them, like he was trying and failing to recreate something he couldn’t replace. He never stayed long enough for anything serious. Because none of them were you.

His lego hearts were never complete without you filling them.

“I mean, it wasn’t that bad—”

You blinked slowly when his gaze dropped to your thighs again, his eyes lingering a little too long, scanning like he was replaying something in his head. Instinctively, you tugged your plaid skirt down a bit more, suddenly aware of your own body in a way you weren’t before.

“Kookie—”

“Were you uncomfortable?” he asked, voice strained.

His hand came up to his temple, rubbing slowly as if he was trying to steady himself, jaw tightening slightly. You could see it in him clearly now—the tension he always tried to hide whenever it came to you.

You shook your head quickly. “No.”

“Come here.”

You hesitated for a second, then slowly walked towards him. “I swear, Koo, I’m fine—”

“You know what to do when you don’t want something, right?” he sighed, voice lower now, almost careful, like he was choosing every word with restraint.

He reached for your hand, holding it gently before squeezing them. Like he was trying to calm himself through the contact just as much as he was trying to calm you.

“Course, I do,” you replied in a small voice.

And you did. Because this wasn’t new.

The same Jungkook who used to patch your scraped knees when you fell in the backyard. 

The same Jungkook who always made sure you weren’t left out when his friends came over. Even if his friends, Jimin or Taehyung teased you too much and made you cry. 

The same Jungkook who would sigh, drag you away from them, wipe your tears with frustrating gentleness, and buy you ice cream like it would fix everything.

Like a good older brother who never let anything truly hurt his little sister.

You would come to Jungkook when something confused you, when something annoyed you, when something made your chest feel too full and you didn’t know where to put it. You would talk, ramble, complain, overthink out loud, and Jungkook would just listen. Always.

He never really stopped you from anything. He never imposed his choices on you in a way that felt forceful or strict. 

Instead, he would give you advice, calm and steady, letting you talk yourself through your own thoughts. And when you reached the end of it, he would always say the same thing.

“As long as my baby’s happy.”

And somehow, every time, you did exactly that.

Neither of you really questioned it. It just felt like balance. Like the dynamic between you had always existed in that shape and was never meant to change.

His quiet dominance, your easy submission to his judgment—it fit too well to ever feel wrong.

“I think red hair would look good on you,” you murmured, sitting beside him as you absentmindedly played with the back of his hair while he stayed focused on your papers.

The two of you were at a quiet library near your school that day. You had told Jungkook you needed help with math, and like always, he gave in without much resistance. He finished his own work earlier than planned just so he could sit with you, his pen already marking through your problems with that effortless confidence that made everything look easy.

“Or maybe blonde again?” you continued, tilting your head slightly as you tugged at a few strands. “Remember when you went blonde?”

Ken Doll. He remembers.

Jungkook let out a low groan. “Do you want me to finish your papers or not?” he reprimanded.

You pouted immediately, leaning back slightly in your seat, your peach-manicured fingers tapping lightly against the wooden table. 

A color he had picked for you before.

“I do,” you said softly, looking at him through your lashes. “I’m behaving.”

He raised a brow at you, finally glancing up from your papers. His gaze flickered down for a second—too quick to be casual—landing briefly at your neck before returning to your eyes.

“Then behave,” 

You pouted… but still sat properly, letting out a small huff as you adjusted yourself in your seat.

Jungkook, meanwhile, looked completely absorbed in your work. His thick brows were slightly furrowed behind his glasses as he scanned your notes, lips pressed into a thin line while he analyzed every mistake. He looked older like this…serious, composed, almost intimidating in a quiet way. 

His crisp white long sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, tattoos peeking through with every movement of his hand as he turned the page. Dark slacks fit neatly against his frame, and his hair was styled back with gel, though a few loose strands had fallen onto his forehead anyway, softening the sharpness of his face.

He looked like he had come straight from work without even stopping to breathe.

The lip piercing caught the light whenever he moved, a small glint against his pinkish lips as he exhaled quietly through his nose. 

Everything about him felt controlled, grounded, intentional.

And sitting beside him in your school uniform—white button-down slightly loosened at the collar, plaid skirt resting neatly at your thighs, makeup soft and sparkly pink—you couldn’t help but feel like you didn’t belong in the same frame as him. 

Like you were trouble sitting next to something dangerously stable.

“Answer this,” he said finally, sliding a paper towards you.

You frowned immediately, staring at the equations like they had personally offended you. “Huh? I thought you’d answer it for me.”

Jungkook poked the inside of his cheek, clearly unimpressed but still patient. “You need to learn. Once you’re done, I’ll check it and teach you how to do it properly.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back slightly. “But Koo! It’s hard, my head is literally aching from all these numbers.”

He raised a brow at you, expression flat but not unkind. “How are you going to pass math if I keep answering everything for you?”

“But—”

Your protest died the moment you met his gaze. There was that look again. Calm, firm, unbothered in a way that made it impossible to argue for long.

You sighed dramatically and took the paper anyway. “Fine,” you muttered, already giving in. “But you’re buying me oat latte after this.”

Jungkook’s lips curved slightly, good girl. 

“Only if you get it right,” he raised a brow.

You groaned under your breath and finally focused on the equations, forcing yourself to concentrate.

Most of your homework was done by him, even when math wasn’t even involved.

And whenever Jungkook did try to refuse, you always found a way around it.

You’d show up at his house with his favorite ice cream, lingering by the doorway like you weren’t already certain he would let you in. 

Sometimes you’d lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek, gentle and quick, like it meant nothing at all. Other times, you’d just look at him with those puppy eyes of yours—smiling in a way that made it seem like he was the only thing in your world.

And Jungkook would always fold. Every single time.

It didn’t even feel like a decision anymore. It was instinct. The way his expression would soften the moment you appeared. The way his shoulders would loosen, like all the tension he carried everywhere else had nowhere to stay when you were near. 

If you asked him for the stars, he would’ve probably tried to figure out a way to reach them.

He didn’t just like you. He prioritized you. 

You were very spoiled. Jungkook’s hard-earned money always ended up on you—whenever he got his salary, he would immediately take you out for a nice dinner, shop for clothes and makeup you liked, buy your favorite cheesecake, get you more books—everything you wanted, and half the things you didn’t even realize you wanted yet.

It made you happy. Every time you showed up at school with a new bag or a new pair of shoes, your friends already knew Jungkook had bought them for you. Every time you got perfect scores, they would roll their eyes, assuming it was because of Jungkook’s help and hard work behind it.

At first, your friends were very nice to you—almost overly so. They tried to get close quickly, always lingering around you, laughing a little too loudly at your jokes. 

And it wasn’t hard to understand why.

Because they noticed Jungkook first.

They would see him picking you up from school in his black shiny Cadillac, the kind of car that made people turn their heads. They would watch his tall, lean figure step out, his arms decorated with tattoos that became more visible when he rolled his sleeves up, silver piercings catching the light, jet-black hair neatly styled, and sharp honey doe eyes that softened the second they landed on you.

Sometimes he would smoke a cigarette while waiting, immediately putting it down when he saw you coming. He wasn’t someone people could ignore. Not with the way he looked, and not with the way he carried himself.

And when they found out he wasn’t just good-looking but also the top engineer in town, already successful and earning far beyond most people his age, their curiosity shifted into something heavier. So they stayed close to you—not always for you, but for the possibility of him.

Then, when they finally realized you weren’t related, everything changed. 

The smiles faded just slightly, the energy dropped, shoulders slacking like something they thought they could reach had suddenly been pulled away. It was subtle, but you felt it. That quiet shift in how they looked at you, like you had become the reason they couldn’t get closer to him.

From there, the judgment slowly followed. To them, you were just a spoiled girl, someone using Jungkook for attention, comfort, or material things. Something easy to label rather than understand. And over time, that assumption hardened into quiet resentment.

But you were never trying to be anything more complicated than you were. You were kind in a way that came naturally, warm without effort, too soft to notice when someone’s intentions weren’t pure. You didn’t see the resentment clearly, because you were too friendly, too open, too willing to believe the best in people. And that very same softness made it easy for others to either like you quickly… or envy you just as fast.

“Another bag?” Sana raised a brow at you the moment you walked into the classroom, eyes landing immediately on the new pink bag hanging from your arm.

You grinned without hesitation, completely unbothered by their stares. “Yes! It matches my nails, see?” you said excitedly, holding your hand out so they could see your freshly done manicure.

Your friends leaned in slightly, but the look in their eyes wasn’t as excited as yours. It was something sharper…envy, carefully disguised under curiosity.

“Was your nails paid by Jungkook?” Riri asked, her tone slipping into something almost accusatory.

You pouted a little, tilting your head. “Yup,” you admitted. “I accidentally told him I needed a fresh set, so…”

Over the weekend, Jungkook told you he had just received his pay. You always told him to save it—a detail your friends didn’t know…but he still insisted on treating you to dinner, telling you not to worry and to just buy whatever you wanted.

In passing, you mentioned your nails, how you wanted a fresh set for the upcoming semestral break. You didn’t mean it as a hint for him to pay; you always tended to babble randomly around Jungkook.

But then he immediately handed you his card.

“Koo, you don’t have to…” you pouted, though your smile was already forming before you even finished the sentence.

Jungkook didn’t even answer you properly. His large hand simply took yours, fingers warm and steady as he guided you through the mall. 

“What design are you gonna get?” he asked once you reached the nail salon.

You pouted, “Maybe flowers? what color do you prefer?” you asked now, giggling as you showed him your hands cutely.

He didn’t even hesitate. He always leaned toward soft, pastel tones for you, like he already knew what would look best on you before you even decided.

Light pink.

You nodded immediately when he said it, already excited again, rambling about adding tiny hearts and small details on top. Jungkook just watched you softly, expression unreadable in a way you didn’t notice, before he glanced away and told you he’d walk around for a bit while you got your nails done.

You blinked. That was new.

Because usually, when you were in treatment or stuck in a salon chair for hours, Jungkook would be waiting for you nearby. Either waiting on the couch or answering work calls outside the salon.

But this time, he left.

“Thank you, have a nice day,” you smiled at the staff, not surprised when they told you everything had already been paid for. That part was normal by now. Sometimes you even tried to sneak and pay yourself, but it never worked. Jungkook always stayed one step ahead of you.

When you stepped out later, freshly done nails drying as you adjusted your bag, you were about to text Jungkook when you suddenly saw him coming.

A little distance away with multiple paper bags in his hands.

Your eyes widened instantly. Jungkook lifted the bags slightly when he noticed you, a small smile tugging at his lips as he walked closer.

“Done with your nails, baby?” he asked softly, eyes briefly dropping to your hands like he was checking them properly.

“What’s that?” you asked, voice already shaky, excitement mixing with confusion as your heart started to pick up.

He handed you the paper bags, and you immediately looked inside, your heart thumping when you realized he had bought everything you had been eyeing earlier—the bag, the clothes, the makeup… it was all in there.

“Koo…” you said weakly, your voice trembling the moment you realized he really bought everything, even the lipstick you had only tried on for fun.

Without thinking, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms tightly around him. Your face buried itself against his neck, hiding away like you didn’t want him to see how emotional you were getting. 

“Thank you,” you muffled against his skin, your cheeks burning from how overwhelming it all felt.

Jungkook buying you things wasn’t new. It happened often enough that you were used to it by now. 

But this felt different. 

Because you had told him earlier you didn’t need anything. You had insisted you already had enough—bags, shoes, books still brand new at home. You had tried to sound firm about it too.

And for once, Jungkook had actually listened. Or at least, you thought he had.

Because instead of arguing like he usually would, he had simply taken you to all your favorite stores anyway. Letting you walk around, letting your eyes wander, letting you stop for a second too long at things you pretended not to want. You kept telling yourself you were just window shopping. That you didn’t need anything. That you were being responsible.

But Jungkook was watching you closely, knows what his sweet girl wanted. 

He was unintentionally making you fall harder for him. 

Your young, innocent heart once again threatened to climb his walls. Without realizing that you were already standing too close to where you belonged.

Jungkook chuckled lowly at your reaction, smiling when you clung to him a little too tightly, like you didn’t want to let go yet. His hands gripping your waist in place.

“You okay, baby?” he asked softly, voice close to your ear.

You finally loosened your grip just a little, pulling back enough to look at him. Your eyes were still wide and sparkling, cheeks flushed pink, lips slightly parted like you were still trying to process everything.

“I… I’m so happy,” you whispered.

His gaze softened immediately, heavy-lidded eyes dropping briefly to your lips before lifting back up to your face.

“Really,” he murmured, pulling you slightly closer again, just enough that there was no space left between you.

You nodded quickly. “So happy, Koo…”

The following school week, you showed up to class with the new bag already in use, carefully placed on the chair beside you. Your nails were freshly done too, and every time you looked at them you couldn’t help but think of Jungkook. 

“You almost have a new bag every month, do you even know how much that costs?” Nayeon said, leaning back in her chair as she glanced at you with raised brows.

You couldn’t even argue with that. It was true. 

Every month, it was either a new bag or a new pair of shoes, sometimes both.

“And those are branded,” Sana added. “I know Jungkook has a good job, but don’t you think that’s… too much?”

There was concern in her voice, but not really for you.

For him.

To your friends, it looked like he was just spoiling you. Babying you because you were childhood friends, because your families were close.

And from the outside, it probably did look like that.

Like you were simply receiving too much. Like you were just letting it happen.

But what they didn’t see was that Jungkook never hesitated when it came to you. Never treated it like a burden. Never acted like it was something he was losing from.

If anything, it was the opposite. And that was the part you couldn’t explain to them.

Because they only saw what he gave. Not what he felt when he gave it.

“If you keep on doing that, I won’t be surprised if he grows tired of you,” Riri said, shaking her head as her gaze dropped briefly to your bag like it had suddenly become something unpleasant.

The words didn’t land softly. Tired of you.

“That won’t happen,” you said quickly, a little too quickly, like saying it out loud would make it true.

But your friends didn’t look convinced. They rolled their eyes almost in sync.

“Even if you’re close, he’ll still grow tired of you eventually,” Sana added. “Especially if it’s always like that. He’s probably just too nice to say no to you.”

“I honestly feel bad for him,” Riri agreed, leaning back in her chair. “Those things he’s buying? Gosh, he could probably buy a new car already. Everything’s branded!"

The laughter that followed wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t kind either. It sat somewhere in between—light enough to pass as a joke, heavy enough to stick.

You stayed quiet. Because for the first time, the thought didn’t bounce off you like it usually did.

The dresses hanging in your closet. The bags lined neatly on your shelves. The shoes you barely had reason to wear but still owned anyway. The perfumes that smelled like soft powder and familiarity. The little pieces of gold jewelry he had given you on birthdays without fail.

All of it. All from him.

Your friends kept talking, but their voices blurred into the background. You tried to smile at lunch, tried to pretend you were fine, tried to focus on your notes later like you always did when your mind got loud.

But it kept coming back anyway.

What if he gets tired of you? What if he’s just too nice to say it? 

You were so used to Jungkook spoiling you that it took you a while to even recognize the thought creeping in—maybe you were too much. Maybe you were asking for too much without meaning to. And once that idea settled, it didn’t just sit quietly. It spread.

The possibility that he might look at you one day and feel burdened? That the person you trusted most might start seeing you as a responsibility instead of someone he chose?

That possibility hurt more than anything else.

Because even though, deep down, you knew Jungkook wouldn’t easily do something like that… you were still afraid.

So for the following weeks, you changed.

You stopped calling him for help with your assignments. You stopped texting him every small thing that happened in your day. You tried to answer things on your own, figure things out without leaning on him, even when your first instinct was to reach for him.

You were trying, quietly and stubbornly, to be less.

And Jungkook noticed.

At first, he convinced himself you were just busy. School, friends, life—it made sense. He told himself not to read too much into it, not to assume anything, not to disturb you.

But then it continued.

“It’s okay, Koo. I swear I can do it by myself,” you said over the phone one night when he had offered to come over and help you with your assignment.

Jungkook paused at that, leaning back in his chair, one hand still resting near his laptop. He had just finished working overtime, exhaustion still sitting heavily on his shoulders.

“You sure, baby?” he asked more carefully this time. “What is it about? Maybe I can help.”

Three weeks.

It hadn’t even been that long. Not for most people.

But for you and Jungkook, it felt different.

Because since you were seven years old, you had always been there. Always reaching out. Always calling. Always texting. Even during vacations, even during trips, even during the smallest moments of the day—you were part of each other’s rhythm.

And he was used to it. Used to you.

He missed you in a way he didn’t really know how to admit, even to himself. Sometimes he would catch himself checking his phone in the middle of meetings, expecting your name to appear out of habit, confused when it didn’t.

But more than that, he was starting to overthink.

Because he didn’t want to come off as clingy. He remembered what you had said about your dates before. So he held back.

But you holding back too? That didn’t feel right.

Because you were never like that with him. 

Always and exceptionally, his sweet clingy girl.

His frustration was leading him to pump his cock every night. After going home from work, he would lie down on the bed still wearing his glasses, not bothering to change his clothes or remove his silver wristwatch. With a grunt, he would pull out his cock from his dark slacks, spitting on his tip in frustration, pumping it hard and fast with the thought of you. 

“Fuck, what’s wrong, baby?” he whispers, squeezing the tip of his cock to coax out more precum. His teeth sink into his lower lip as he imagines burying himself between your thighs, determined to eat your wet pussy until you finally tell him what’s been bothering you.

He wanted to please you so badly, kiss your problems away, wanted to fuck you so hard that all your pretty little head would think about was him.

The one-night stands and occasional hookups were not giving him a proper release. He would push the other girls’ heads down harshly on his cock so he wouldn’t see their faces, always fucking them from behind so he could imagine it was you. He would bend their bodies into positions that would make him think it was your sweet little body he was fucking. He always had the stamina to go for multiple rounds because his cock was always so hard even after he came, his mushroom tip pulsing and leaking for you. 

It was so bad, so sinful, so dirty.

He wanted to know what was wrong, the urge to tie you down with his chains growing stronger. Yet he was afraid to do that to you, afraid to scare his precious little girl.

“No need, Koo, it’s an easy project. Besides, I have a girl’s date tomorrow so I kinda need to prepare,” you said in a small voice. That was a lie—you didn’t have a girls’ date tomorrow… but you’d rather stay at home than see him.

For the past weeks, he had noticed that he didn’t receive any of your random texts anymore, your silly calls for help with assignments, your usual chocolate chip cookies whenever you stopped by his house, or your clinginess to convince him to sleep over even when he would always decline.

The fact that you were going out with your friends this weekend was also very unusual. Although you still spent time with friends and other people occasionally, three weeks without seeing him at all, felt odd.

The chains of possessiveness wrapped around him once again.

“Can I at least stop by to see you tonight?” he almost pleaded. “I miss my baby.”

You shut your eyes tight, clutching your phone in your hands at his words. The wild beating of your heart betrayed you.

“I m-miss you too, Koo. But… maybe next time. I’m really busy,” you reasoned, hoping he would just drop it and let it go.

Jungkook groaned. Your sweet “I miss you” went straight to his cock, his jaw ticking in frustration as he loosened his black tie to regulate his breathing.

“Koo?” you said nervously when he didn’t answer, biting your lip hard when he stayed silent on the line.

“Where are you?” he rasped, his serious tone almost making you jump.

It was Friday, and you were rotting in your room. In fact, you had no piled-up projects or assignments due because you finished them all just to preoccupy your mind from Jungkook. 

The urge to disturb him and spend time with him was strong, but you wanted to prove to yourself and your friends that you were not using him. You were wasting a perfectly boring Friday lying on your bed while thinking about… Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook.

“I-I’m in my room, why?”

“I’ll be there in fifteen. Don’t go anywhere,” he said in a dismissive tone.

“Huh? Koo, you can’t—”

He dropped the call.

Your eyes widened when you realized he would actually come here. 

You quickly scanned your room, sighing in relief when you remembered you cleaned your mess yesterday. Standing up, you looked at yourself in the mirror—your cheeks were flushed, your hair a bit messy from lying down, wearing matching ruffled short shorts and a pastel pink spaghetti strap top. You leaned closer, checking if you should apply lip gloss or not.

“Ugh, why am I panicking! it’s just Kookie,” you grunted, pacing around your room, a bit excited that you would finally see him after a long while.

You brushed your hair, cringing when you applied a little bit of lip balm, debating if you should change your clothes or if you would look stupid for getting ready too much.

Your thoughts were interrupted when your phone beeped with a text.

Kookie: Do you want anything? I can bring you something to eat.

A loud squeal came out of your lips, and you immediately placed your palm over your mouth in case your mom would come check if you suddenly fainted or something. You read the text over and over again like it would change its meaning.

“This is the reason why no one compares to you, ugh!” you groaned to yourself, comparing his sweet gesture once again to all the boys you had tried dating.

You were about to reply when another text came in, not from him but from your good friend Hoseok, also a guy who had expressed his feelings for you before, which you rejected. He was good-looking, kind and sweet, but with his radiating energy and personality, you only saw him as a friend. You were glad he didn’t take the rejection seriously, though… sometimes he acted a bit too sweet with you.

Hoseok: hEY CUTIE! I’m downstairs!!!! Let’s hang out!

“What the fuck?!” your eyes widened immediately, rushing to the bedroom window only to see Hoseok outside your house, waving at you with a bright freaking smile.

You rushed downstairs and quickly opened the door, ready to scold him, but he only laughed at you.

“Hobi! What are you doing here? It’s late!” you hissed, grabbing his arm to shake some sense into him.

He only smiled brightly, laughing at your panicking tone. “Chill, it’s only like… 9 PM? Besides, it’s Friday! Let’s go out!”

You shook your head. Although he was very sweet and it wasn’t really bad to go out with him, you didn’t want Jungkook to see him here. The fact that you had just told him you were busy and now you had a friend over would make you look so bad.

“I can’t, Hobi- I-I have stuff to do,” you said, pulling his arm again, almost shaking it.

He rolled his eyes. “Since when did you become so boring? Unless…”

His eyes squinted as he leaned closer to your face. “Do you finally have a boyfriend coming over?”

“Hoseok!” your ears turned red. You were about to push him away when you suddenly saw a familiar black Cadillac pulling over.

Jungkook opened the driver’s seat door, his dark eyes immediately landing on your small hands holding Hoseok’s arm.

You gulped harshly and pushed Hoseok away. The way Jungkook looked at you made you feel small—his dark eyes slowly dragging over your exposed skin. In your panic earlier, you didn’t bother changing out of your sleepwear since you rushed out to scold your friend.

“Uhh, I think I should go.” Hoseok chuckled nervously, stepping aside when he saw Jungkook’s serious glare on him. The way Jungkook’s jaw tightened made it look like he could punch Hoseok at any moment.

With a bright, awkward smile, he quickly left, leaving the two of you alone.

Jungkook stepped closer, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “You were busy, huh?” Jealousy dripped from his tone.

“Koo—”

“Are you dating him?”

“What? No, he’s just a friend,” you panicked.

He raised a thick brow at you, stepping dangerously close and invading your personal space, leaning down to whisper near your ear.

“Then why was he leaning this close to you, hmm?” he mocked, his nose grazing your neck.

Hoseok had been close to your face earlier, but not like this. 

Jungkook’s hands circling your waist, pulling you closer until you could smell his cologne mixed with a hint of cigarette, a sign that he only smoked when he was either bored or stressed.

“He wasn’t, Koo, I swear…” you pleaded, your hands clutching his shirt.

You gasped when he softly bit your neck, his hands gripping your hips.

“How about me? Would you let me be this close to you?” he murmured, his voice dripping with heat, rational thoughts flying out of the window.

You nodded almost immediately, eyes soft. “O-Of course, Koo.”

A quiet chuckle slipped from him, low and faint. “Yeah?” he asked, gaze lifting to meet yours for a brief moment before dropping again. “Why is that?”

“Cause you’re my K-Kookie,” you said shyly, the words coming out smaller than you intended, but honest in a way that left no room for pretending. It wasn’t just habit when you called him that—it was attachment, something that had grown with you over the years without you even realizing how deep it had become.

He groaned, squeezing your hips tighter. “Yeah? Then why are you avoiding your Kookie, hmm?” he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss on your neck. “Been thinking if I did something wrong baby,” he grunted against you, inhaling your soft scent.

“I’m s-sorry… I just thought you’d get tired of me,” you said quietly, voice breaking as your eyes began to glass over. “I always cling to you Koo… relying on you like this.”

Jungkook stiffened, the fact that you would think about something like that pained him, when all he wanted was for you to cling onto him, to rely on him, to stay close to him.

His gaze lifted slowly, and the moment he saw your face properly—the way your lips trembled, the way you were trying so hard not to cry—it hit him harder than anything else.

“Who put that thought in your pretty little head, baby?” he asked softly, but there was a quiet firmness underneath it, like he didn’t even want the idea to exist. His thumb reached up instinctively, wiping away a tear that slipped down your cheek. “You know that’s not true.”

You sniffled, trying to breathe through it. “I-I know… I just got scared because…” your voice cracked again, and you hesitated, fingers curling slightly as you looked away for a second before forcing yourself to continue. “B-Because I really like you… and I don’t want that to happen.”

Fuck.

Suddenly, there were bricks in your hands you didn’t remember picking up… stacking themselves, one after another, forming something warm, terrifying and inevitable.

Your small hands reached for him then, hesitantly tugging at his shirt like you needed him closer just to feel steady again.

Jungkook exhaled slowly, something tightening in his chest at the sight of you trying so hard to hold onto him while thinking he might let go.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned, pulling you closer. “I like you too,” he said softly, so softly that you almost didn’t catch it.

Your glossy eyes widened, the legos he was trying to build were now finally coming together.

Like your hands had been there all along, quietly sorting through the scattered pieces he didn’t know how to organize, fitting them into gaps he didn’t even realize were empty. 

And Jungkook just looked at you—really looked at you—like something in him had finally stopped pretending too.

Your mother had been pleasantly surprised when she saw him walk in, quickly turning into the kind of delighted smile she always had whenever Jungkook came around. After all, it wasn’t often that he visited you directly anymore—you were usually the one going to him.

The two of them ended up talking for a bit downstairs, catching up on things in that familiar, comfortable way that made it feel like he had never really stopped visiting your home.

And then, eventually, you brought him upstairs.

You were sitting awkwardly on the edge of your bed, bunny plushie on your lap while Jungkook stood near your shelves, quietly taking in the changes in your room. It looked different from the last time he had properly paid attention to it—more grown, more you, but still carrying little traces of the little girl he grew up with.

After earlier, your heart wouldn’t slow down, panic lingering beneath your skin at how intimate his presence felt in your room now.

He felt like he was finally your Ken now, but to you, he was the dinosaur to your barbie.

“You still have this,” he said softly, a small smile forming on his face when he picked up the small dinosaur he gave you when you were little.

It was cute, a pink little dinosaur he saw in the mall and gave it to you as a small gift for your eleventh birthday. It was sitting beside your bookshelf, along with some of your favorite books that were given by him.

You let out a small giggle, the tension in your chest loosening just slightly. “I actually still have some of your dinosaurs in my storage box,” you admitted softly. “I didn’t throw them away.”

That made him pause. 

He stopped looking around the room and turned his full attention back to you. His dark eyes drifted over your figure, taking in the way your short sleepwear softly clung to your body. 

The gentle curve of your breasts, the softness of your thighs and the bunny plushie resting in your lap—the one you insisted looked just like him.

Jungkook swallowed harshly, tilting his head to regulate his thoughts. “Then why is this the only one out here?” he asked, raising a brow slightly while pointing at your pink dinosaur.

You let out a small giggle, putting your bunny aside and swinging your legs a little where you sat. “That’s my favorite. You gave it to me on my birthday, and it’s pink!”

There was something warm in your voice when you said it, something soft and nostalgic that made it feel less like you were talking about a toy and more like you were talking about a memory you had kept safe all this time.

Jungkook’s gaze softened for a second. 

His cheeks picked up the faintest dust of pink, almost unnoticeable if you weren’t looking closely. His tongue brushed briefly against his lip ring out of habit as his eyes stayed on you, growing heavier-lidded the longer he looked.

Jungkook took a step closer, the space between you shrank without either of you really acknowledging it, like it was becoming natural to be near each other again in a way that felt different from before.

His hand lifted gently, fingers brushing your cheek with a kind of care that didn’t match how intense his gaze had become. “My sweet girl,” he murmured, almost like he wasn’t fully aware he said it out loud.

You looked up at him, his thumb slowly tracing over your bottom lip, your lips parting on instinct.

“Sometimes I still play with them,” you said shyly. “but not like before, I just… talk to them sometimes.”

‘’You do?’’ His brow lifted slightly, but this time there was something darker flickering behind his gaze—interest, amusement, and unadulterated desire.

You nodded, giggling under his touch. “Yeah, I kinda find them cuter than barbies now.”

He shifted his weight, stepping even closer until his hand slid from your cheek down to your jaw, holding you there gently but firmly, like he wanted to make sure you stayed exactly where you were.

“Hmm, I miss playing with you.” he drawled lazily, his fingers twirling the ends of your hair.

You smiled, innocently nodding your head. “Me too!’’

He sat down on the bed, a tiny gasp escaping your lips when he easily lifted your body until you were straddling him. The way he moved you so effortlessly sent a shiver down your spine, both of your hands landing on his shoulders for balance.

“Yeah?” he whispered, leaning in to press a small peck against your lips.

Your eyes widened. It was so quick, so light, like a feather brushing against your lips. Heat rushed to your cheeks when you noticed how dilated his pupils were.

“Was that okay?” he rasped.

You blinked, and then, slowly, a small smile formed on your lips. Leaning in, you cutely pressed a soft kiss to his lips in return.

“Okay,” you giggled, your eyes sparkling.

Lego butterflies erupted on his stomach.

Jungkook took his sweet time with you. His kisses were slow, shallow, and soft, as though he was waiting for you to feel comfortable. When your lips parted slightly, he slowly slipped his tongue into your mouth, gently sucking on your lower lip and earning a soft whimper from you.

The moment he felt your body relax against him, he deepened the kiss, his brows furrowing as his hands tightened around your waist to keep you steady.

Your breath caught in your throat, the cool metal of his lip ring brushing deliciously against your bottom lip, slick with saliva every time his mouth moved against yours. Whenever soft sounds escaped you, he swallowed them instantly, kissing you deeper as if he couldn't get enough. The wet glide of his tongue against yours became the only sound filling the room.

“Koo…” you murmured softly, your fingers gripping his white long sleeves, a reminder that he had come straight from work.

When he finally pulled away, a thin string of saliva lingered between your lips for a brief moment before snapping. His lips were flushed and slightly swollen, mirroring your own, while his glasses sat faintly fogged from the warmth of your shared breath. And when your eyes met his, the dark intensity in his gaze made your heart stutter.

You giggled shyly and reached up to remove his glasses.

“It’s foggy,” you pouted, your cheeks warming as you held them in your hands.

Using the hem of your top, you carefully wiped the fog from his glasses. You were just about to place them back on his face when he suddenly leaned in and kissed you again.

The way he advanced so fast, like you were the cure to his hunger…it made you wet.

This time, the kiss was needier—hungrier. His tongue slipped past your lips as though he was chasing something, as though you were the only thing capable of satisfying it.

He kissed you with a newfound urgency, flicking his tongue against yours, no longer slow or shallow. Saliva gathered at the corner of your mouth as he deepened the kiss, turning it messy and overwhelming in a way that made your head spin.

You were still clutching his glasses loosely in your hand, but your grip tightened every time he pulled you closer, his tongue coaxing yours into the kiss again and again.

It still wasn't enough for him.

His hand slid to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair at the nape of your neck before tugging gently—just enough to tilt your head back and draw a soft gasp from your lips.

“Koo…” you breathed shakily, trying to catch your breath.

“Open your lips wider,” he murmured against your mouth, voice rough and low. “Wanna kiss you more.”

Your thoughts were already turning hazy, your body warm beneath his touch. When you hesitated, his fingers tightened slightly in your hair, the edge of his wristwatch pressing against your nape and pulling another gasp from you. Before you could gather your thoughts, he kissed you again, his tongue moving against yours before pulling back just enough to catch your lower lip between his teeth.

The way he alternated between sucking and biting made heat spread heavily through your body, your mind blurring more with every passing second. Your chest rose unevenly as you tried to steady yourself.

“Kookie-” you tried again, weaker this time.

He finally hummed in response, like he heard you but didn’t fully intend to stop. His lips moved from yours to your jaw, trailing slow kisses downward while his hand stayed tangled in your hair, guiding your head slightly to expose more of your neck to him.

“Wanna play with you,” he whispered against your skin.

“H-Huh?” you frowned, bewildered when you heard what he wanted to do.

“Wanna play with my baby,” he swallowed hard, tilting his head slightly as his fingers stayed tangled in your hair. “Do you want that?”

He gave a gentle tug, just enough to draw a small sound of surprise from you.

“C-Can we do that some other time?” you said shyly, leaning into him, your hands gripping his arms as you tried to pull him closer. “Wanna kiss you more, Koo.”

A low groan slipped from him at that, almost frustrated. He dipped his head and bit lightly at your neck before soothing it with his tongue, the contrast making your breath catch.

“But I wanna play with you, baby,” he cooed, voice softer now but laced with something teasing, almost mocking in the way he echoed your words from when you were younger.

You whined, your cheeks burning, your body already feeling too warm from him, from the way he kept holding you so close like there wasn’t any space left to escape even if you wanted to.

“But Kookie—”

“Please, baby?” he interrupted gently, lips pressing against your neck again, slower this time, more deliberate.

The sound of your breathing changed when he lingered there, and for a moment you just held onto him, torn between what you were saying and what your body was already answering for you.

When he finally pulls back from your neck to look at you properly, you’re already chewing your bottom lip, brows furrowed at his request, your eyes hazy and unfocused as you cling to him.

“Words, baby,” he said quietly.

You hesitated for only a second before finally nodding, your voice coming out small and defeated, like you didn’t really want to stop him but couldn’t fully say yes either.

“Okay.” you frowned.

He let out a soft laugh at your reaction.

“Is my baby girl sad, hmm?” he chuckled, one hand holding both of your cheeks so he could look at your face properly.

“Jungkook, please,” you whined.

“Jungkook, please,” he repeated, mocking you, amusement clearly etched across his darkened expression.

His eyes dropped slowly over your body—your clothed cunt pressed against his hard cock beneath his slacks, your breasts brushing firmly against his chest, your small hands tugging and gripping him for purchase.

“You’re so pretty,” he groaned.

His index finger traced lightly over your collarbones, watching how your skin would turn pink whenever he touches harder.

“So soft,” he cooed under his breath, his hand sliding downward along the curve of your chest, making you hiss softly.

You looked down at his hand. “K-Koo, what are you doing?” you said weakly.

His fingers drifted lower, resting near your belly button, dangerously close to your clothed pussy.

“Playing with you,” he said simply, head tilting as he looked at you with quiet amusement.

Heat spread through your body like wildfire, your back arching slightly as realization sank in. A liquid warmth pulsed between your thighs, your panties growing wetter with arousal.

“Koo, that’s so—” you couldn’t finish your sentence, a sharp gasp leaving you when his finger finally traced over you through your thin sleep shorts.

“I wanna play with you here,” he murmured, continuing to trace slow circles over your clothed pussy.

A soft moan slipped from you, almost breaking into a sob at the anticipation alone.

“Do you want that, baby?” he leaned in and lightly kissed your lips, eyes lifting to meet yours. His gaze was heavy, dark with need, but steady—waiting, still holding himself back just enough to give you the choice.

“Yes.” you gulped harshly, eyes getting heavy lidded.

“Yeah? you’ll let me play with your little pussy?’’ he whispered.

“Please…” you moaned, cheeks flushed red, eyes slipping shut as you lightly grinded against him, desperate for friction.

He chuckled softly, pecking your lips once more. “I’ll lay you down, okay? Gonna spread your legs so I can play with you properly.”

He guided you down onto the bed gently, positioning you beneath him and carefully parting your legs. You gasped slightly at the change in position, a wave of overwhelm hitting you. You were about to sit up again, but he quickly followed, covering your body with his and leaning down to kiss you softly.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispered when he felt your panic, his voice low and steady. “We’ll take it slow.”

His left hand cupped your breast gently while the other held your face in place, steadying you as he continued kissing you.

You had never let anyone get this far before. You had shared a few lingering kisses, a few brief touches, but you had never crossed that line with anyone. The thought of letting Jungkook do it now sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting before your thoughts could catch up.

His nose grazed your neck as he breathed you in, his presence grounding and overwhelming all at once.

“Can I remove this, baby?” he asked gently, fingers holding the straps of your top as his lips brushed against your sternum, waiting.

You nodded, “Yes, please.”

He smiled, slowly removing your top and exposing your baby pink lace bra. A low groan slipped from him at the sight, and he quickly leaned down, pressing his lips against the fabric, his tongue teasing through the cup as your nipples hardened beneath the sensation.

“Oh, Koo…” you moaned softly, fingers tugging at his hair.

His other hand was already on your breast, kneading it slowly as he worked you over. Soft whimpers slipped from your lips when you felt the fabric growing damp from his saliva, the outline of your nipple becoming more visible beneath it, clearly caught under his gaze.

With a deep groan, he pulled the straps of your bra down, exposing your soft breasts fully. His eyes darkened instantly at the sight. 

“Pretty girl,” he mused.

‘’Kookie, this is so embarrassing.” you avoided eye contact, trying to cover your breasts.

“Shh, you’re so pretty,” he said softly as he slowly removed your arms from your chest, dark eyes roaming over your figure.

“Look at me,” he added, gentle—but with an edge underneath it.

When you finally did, your eyes almost rolled back when you saw him sucking his fingers, bringing them down to your right nipple. He pinched it, spreading his saliva before rolling it between the pads of his thumb and index finger.

“Oh my gosh!”

“You like that?” he murmured, leaning down to your other breast. He spat on the bud before taking it into his mouth, sucking it softly.

You were a whining mess, your fingers tightening in his hair from the intensity. It was wet and messy, a soft pop following when he released your nipple briefly, only to switch to the other one—his lip ring brushing against your nipple, adding even more stimulation.

“Mmph, that’s so good-’’

Your eyes widened when you suddenly felt his palm press over your mouth, silencing your moans.

“Shh, baby,” he murmured, letting out a quiet chuckle. “Need you to be quiet for me.”

“S-Sorry,” you said shyly, biting your lip as you realized how loud you must have been.

He smiled softly, pressing a trail of kisses from your stomach down to your belly button. “Good girl.”

You quickly covered your mouth when his nose nudged against your clothed cunt, inhaling your pussy as he lingered there a little too long. 

“Mmph!” you shifted your legs, but he held your hips firmly in place.

“Baby, keep your legs open,” he groaned, his nose following your clothed cunt.

After inhaling your pussy like he was addicted to it, he slowly pulled your shorts down. Your legs instinctively tried to close, but his hands stopped you, guiding them open instead. The movement exposed the wet patch in your pink underwear, your arousal already seeping through and clinging to the fabric, your inner thighs slightly damp.

“So messy baby, is this all for me?’’ gathering saliva in his mouth, his cheeks hollowed slightly before he leaned down and spat onto your clothed pussy, watching closely as it mixed with your wetness. The fabric darkened further, your cute slit more clearly outlined beneath it.

You whimpered at the feeling, warmth spreading through you as his spit soaked through your panties. But the moment he leaned in again, your legs instinctively closed around his head, trapping him between your thighs.

“Sorry, I didn’t m-mean that,” you said quickly, loosening your grip and slowly reopening your legs.

He looked up at you, expression softening immediately, a small gentle smile returning to his face. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “Just relax for me, yeah?”

Opening your legs wider, he leaned down and ran a slow stripe through your panties, moving from your entrance up to your clit, making the fabric even wetter beneath his tongue. His fingers dug into both of your thighs when you instinctively tried to move again, the sensation overwhelming enough to keep you still for a moment.

He was messily working you through the fabric, groaning softly as he pressed his tongue against you, his mouth trying to suck your clit to make it peek through your panties. The sensation of the wet fabric against your swollen clit was uncomfortable in the best way—overwhelming, and painfully pleasurable.

You quickly bit down on your hand to muffle your moans, but the sounds still slipped out regardless.

When your moans started getting louder, he exhaled sharply and pulled your underwear down, gathering the soaked fabric in his hand without hesitation.

“Open your mouth,” he rasped.

You hesitated for a second before slowly parting your lips, eyes widening when he slid your soaked underwear inside. The taste of your arousal mixed with his saliva hit your tongue immediately.

“There you go, baby,” he murmured, voice softer again. “All nice and quiet.”

He leaned in after that, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek like it was a reward. He reached for his glasses on the bed and put them back on before leaning down again.

“Need to see this pretty pussy clear, baby.” he said softly, adjusting them on the bridge of his nose as he looked down at you.

A low groan left him as he slid his hands under your thighs, pulling you closer. His head tilted slightly as he stared at your bare cunt for a moment longer, like he was memorizing the sight in front of him.

“You’re so pretty,” he bit his lower lip.

He used his fingers to part you further, exposing your swollen clit before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to it.

“Gonna play with you now,” he lowered his mouth to you, tongue slipping into your wet folds, collecting your arousal, tasting you slowly as he began to eat you out properly.

Your moans were muffled by the soaked fabric still stuffed inside your mouth. His grip on your thighs tightened, firm enough for you to feel the cold press of his silver watch against your skin, holding you in place as you squirmed restlessly beneath him.

Every so often, he’d pull back just enough to gather saliva on his tongue, before leaning back in to spit just above your hood, pulling your pussy lips apart so it can trail down over your clit. He’d spread it with his tongue, deliberately working it in, just to make you even messier.

The way he ate your pussy was almost the same way he kissed you—messy, pouty and needy. His mouth stayed slightly parted, expression focused, brows faintly furrowed like he was too absorbed in your cunt to care about anything else.

His hips thrusted unconsciously against the bed, his own restraint slipping the more you reacted. Every soft sound you made went straight through his cock, making it harder for him to hold back. His precum was leaking at the tip, almost fucking the mattress everytime your pussy squelches.

“Mmph.’’ you moaned, eyes getting teary because he wasn’t stopping.

The feeling of your clit on his tongue was addictive—how it twitched, how it reacted to every movement. He kept circling it, sucking, teasing, as if he couldn’t get enough… you were dripping so much that before it could even reach the bed, his tongue was already there to catch it, eager to taste every drop of you. The wet, dirty slurping sounds filled the room, loud and unrestrained. Every time you tried to wriggle your legs, he only pinned you down more, spreading you wider so he could eat your pussy properly, taking his time while adjusting his glasses whenever he paused to look at you.

Whenever he stopped, he’d either spit or simply stare at your cunt, his thumb pushing your folds apart just to get a better view of your swollen clit, already flushed and sensitive from his tongue.

“My pretty little pussy,” he murmured.

The moment he saw your hole spilling with arousal, he leaned in quickly, tongue already out, licking into you and sucking everything back in like he couldn’t resist it.

Your eyes rolled back, your teeth biting down on the soaked fabric, overwhelmed by the pleasure building too fast. Your vision blurred slightly, tears rolling down your cheeks from the intensity.

He was edging you on purpose.

Not letting you finish.

Every time you got close, he slowed down or stopped completely, pulling back just enough to watch you fall apart, waiting for you to settle before starting again. It was deliberate, controlled—like he was enjoying every second of keeping you right at the edge.

“Do you like playing with me?” he asked, voice muffled slightly as he stayed between your thighs, still looking up at you through his glasses.

You nodded quickly, too eager, your body still trembling from the way he was eating you out.

He finally pulled back and lifted his head, his chin and nose wet with your arousal. Calmly, he reached up to remove the panties from your mouth, his thumb brushing lightly against your lower lip as he urged you to speak.

“I-I like playing with you, Koo,” you croaked, cheeks flushed and slightly puffy, eyes glossy, lips red and parted in a dazed pout.

“Course you do,” he said proudly, a faint smile forming as he looked at you. “You’re my girl.”

He softly kissed your cheek, his right hand cupping your swollen pussy while his free hand worked on unbuttoning his white long-sleeve shirt. The belt at his waist pressing lightly against your inner thighs.

When he pulled his top off, your eyes immediately traced his lean frame. His shoulders looked broader up close, easily enclosing your space, his toned tatted arms fully exposed. The way his biceps flexed as he toyed with your pussy drew a soft moan from your lips, the sound escaping before you could stop it.

His left hand rose slowly, wrapping around your throat. The amount of times that watch had pressed against you tonight felt almost sinful.

“Told you to be quiet, didn’t I?” he raised a brow, tightening his grip just enough to make your breath hitch and your eyes roll back slightly.

Your cheeks burned instantly, embarrassed by how easily he pulled those reactions out of you.

You knew you had to stay quiet. Your parents trusted Jungkook completely—after all, he was your childhood best friend. He used to sleep over in your room without a second thought, and the idea that they might hear what he was doing to you now sent a sharp wave of anxiety through your chest.

But it only made you more restless. He was still holding back your release, keeping you right where he wanted you.

He buried his face into your neck, his voice dropping lower as he whispered just beside your ear, “Suck it.”

Before you could react, he slipped his fingers into your mouth. A sob nearly escaped you, your sounds quickly muffled by his long, slender fingers. “Shh, keep yourself busy,” he mocked.

You nearly gagged as he pushed them deeper into your mouth, drool gathering at the corners of your lips and trailing down his hand, dripping onto the face of his watch.

Meanwhile, he used his other hand to slide his middle finger into your tight hole, making your back arch from the sudden fullness. He was so deep already—his knuckle brushing against that soft, sensitive spot inside you, pressing just right.

“You’re so tight, baby. Is this pussy made for me?” he asked in a condescending tone, slowly pulling his fingers out of your mouth so you could answer him.

“Yes, Kookie,” you gasped, struggling to steady your breathing.

“Yes, Kookie.” he mocked, squishing your cheeks with one hand as he repeated your words teasingly.

He pulled his middle finger out of your tight pussy, bringing it up in front of your face. “Spit.”

Still holding your cheeks, he waited, and you obeyed without hesitation, spitting onto his fingers. A gasp escaped you when he spread the moisture between his middle and ring fingers before sliding them back into your cunt, the added slickness making the movement even easier.

“Koo, oh my gosh…” you whimpered, his two tattooed fingers stretching you open.

He quickly found your sweet spot again, the pad of his fingers pressing into it and curling in a slow “come here” motion that made you leak even more around him.

Still holding your cheeks, he leaned in and kissed you—hot, messy, and unrelenting—his tongue slipping into your mouth as he fed you spit, stealing your breath and your sounds all at once. It was as if he didn’t want you to breathe at all, the way his tongue moved inside your mouth mirroring the way his fingers worked inside you.

His hard cock pressed firmly against your inner thighs, grinding against you in slow, circular motions as he kept you pinned beneath him.

When his thumb circled your clit, your body reacted immediately—your pussy releasing so much liquid that you gasped and trembled, watching in disbelief as you wet his hands and his slacks more and more. You tried to push him away, tried to protest, but his mouth only swallowed your moans while his fingers kept massaging that sensitive spongey spot inside you, coaxing you to squirt more for him.

Your legs shook violently, the moment his thumb shifted into a more deliberate rhythm, your walls clenched tightly around his fingers. Your clit pulsed rapidly beneath his thumb, your orgasm crashing through you in overwhelming waves that made your body feel completely unsteady. Your legs threatened to close from the overstimulation, but he kept them spread, refusing to let you escape. His fingers continued working inside you, pushing your cum, just so he could hear how wet you were.

Jungkook groaned against your mouth, you were so warm, wet and so tight—almost painfully sensitive. His fingers became slick with your release, coated in it as your body continued to tremble. When he finally pulled his fingers out, your pussy twitched immediately, still clenching around nothing, leaking more of your cum as your body struggled to settle.

You whimpered when he gathered the cum that dropped, only to push it back inside you. Your weak hands pressed lightly against his shoulders in protest.

“I c-can’t anymore… please,” you muffled, overwhelmed by how sensitive everything felt. Your pussy was swollen, pulsing, too overstimulated to take more.

He finally released your mouth. Your lips felt numb and swollen from his kisses as he looked at you, tilting his head slightly.

“You okay? You’re shaking, baby,” he said softly, concern in his tone—but there was something in his eyes, something almost teasing, like he was quietly pleased at how completely undone you looked.

He lifted his fingers and licked them clean slowly, eyes half-lidded as he tasted you. His cock was leaking so bad, clearly desperate to feel how tight you are.

He rose from the edge of the bed, unbuckling his belt while keeping his eyes fixed on you. His hair was still a mess from your earlier tugging, his pupils dark and blown wide with desire, and the muscles in his arms flexed as he pushed his pants down his legs.

When he finally removed his boxers, your eyes widened as his cock hit his abdomen. It was thick, heavy, and impossibly hard, veins running along the shaft, curving slightly upward, the flushed tip glistening with precum.

He shamelessly rolled the foreskin back, stroking himself slowly… squeezing the base just enough to draw out more precum. A low groan left his throat as he kept his eyes on you, like the sight of your naked body alone was enough to push him over the edge.

The number of times he had fantasized about this—it was almost wrong.

When he placed a knee on the bed, your eyes widened again, that soft innocence still lingering in your gaze. Your legs instinctively closed slightly, your fingers clutching the sheets as if you didn’t know where to put yourself. Your entire body language gave you away—you were still inexperienced, still unsure, your reactions honest and unfiltered.

Everything about you made that clearer. The way you kissed him, the way you tried to touch him, the way you trembled when his tongue met yours—it all showed how new this still was for you. How your body was still learning what it wanted.

And it made him shake.

The way your small hands trembled. The way you whined like you were trying to fight your own reactions. The way you struggled to understand your own desire—it sent a possessive rush straight through him. The realization that he was the only one who had ever seen you like this… the only one allowed to touch you like this.

His expression softened as he slowly crawled closer to you. Instinctively, you shifted back, your spine pressing against the headboard as his presence suddenly felt overwhelming.

“You okay, baby?” he asked gently, his hands moving to your folded knees, easing them open with careful pressure instead of forcing them. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.

“You still want to continue?”

He was hard—thick and aching…but he still focused on you, wanting you to be comfortable, willing to do anything for his pretty girl.

You stared back at him. He was still wearing his glasses, his eyes heavy with lust, though he was clearly trying to soften his expression for you. You gulped harshly when his cock twitched on its own, even though he had stopped touching himself.

When you didn’t answer right away, he smiled gently, stroking your cheek with his thumb while his other hand moved to fix your hair.

“It’s okay, baby. Do you want to rest?” his voice was low and raspy.

You wanted him so badly. In your quietest, most private daydreams, you sometimes wished you weren’t just best friends—that he was already yours in the way you secretly wanted. You were too in denial, too afraid to fully admit it, scared of what it meant and scared of losing him if you crossed that line. So you convinced yourself it was just confusion, just feelings being swayed by him.

But deep down, you knew. It had always been there—your childhood dream of being his princess, him your prince. The pink barbie to his blue dinosaur.

“No… I-I want to continue,” you said, immediately closing your eyes after, embarrassed by how unsure your own words sounded.

Jungkook stayed patient, despite the obvious tension in his body. Even with his cock still hard and throbbing, he waited for you, encouraging you to speak properly.

“What do you want, baby?” he asked softly, his weak eyes locked on yours.

You pouted slightly, reaching for his hand as he brushed your cheek.

“I want you, Koo… ever since we were little,” you admitted quietly, cheeks burning red.

His lips parted in surprise, clearly caught off guard by your confession. 

He stared at you for a long moment, as though he were carefully processing your words. Then, gently, he tilted your chin upward, silently urging you to keep your eyes on him. You watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard.

“Is that true? My baby wants me?” he rasped, his heart pounding against his chest. The tips of his ears flushed a deep red as he searched your face for an answer.

You smiled shyly. “Want you, so bad.” you slowly reached for his hands, tugging them softly.

He let out a rough groan, immediately kissing you again, swallowing your gasps as he hovered over your body. He opened your legs wider, positioning himself between them as he slowly grinded his cock against your wet pussy.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispered against your skin, his kisses turning possessive as they trailed down your neck. You could feel him sucking and marking your skin, leaving bruises in his wake.

The head of his cock dragged slowly up and down your puffy slit, the sensation making your body shiver as arousal built again almost instantly.

“Been trying so hard to be good for my baby,” he murmured like it was something unbearable to hold in. His hand kneaded your breast firmly while his mouth latched onto the other, his brows furrowed in focus as his tongue rolled over your swollen nipple.

Your eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as the crown of his cock pressed harder against your wet folds. His hips moved in steady harsh circles, his pubic hair brushing against you with deliberate rhythm. Precum mixed with your arousal, coating your folds and leaving everything slick and messy.

“Every time you went on your little dates, I wanted to tie you down so bad,” he groaned, his tatted fingers sliding down to spread your legs wider.

He lifted his hips and stroked himself once before spitting into his palm and spreading the slickness along his length. Then he guided himself to your entrance, positioning himself carefully as he lined up against you.

“Fuck, baby.” he looked down, letting out a rough groan at the sight of how small and tight you were against him. The tip of him was thick and flushed red, spitting down again, even though he was already slick with precum, trying to make it easier for both of you.

“I just wanted to be so good for my baby… guide you, give you everything you want,” he hissed, watching himself slowly push into you, his blunt head sinking in inch by inch. Even then, his other hand instinctively moved up to fix his glasses…watching himself enter your tight hole.

You gasped at the stretch, your walls clenching tightly around him as he entered you. The pleasure quickly turned painful—too intense, too unfamiliar—your hands scrambling for the sheets as your body reacted to the intrusion.

“Koo… it hurts,” you sobbed softly.

He didn’t stop. Instead, he widened your legs further, eyes still locked on where you were connected. His lip caught between his teeth as he slowly pushed deeper, watching your body take him in like it fascinated him. There was something almost consuming in the way he looked at your pussy—like he couldn’t look away from the way you were swallowing him.

He spat again, coating what was still outside of him before pushing in further. His thumb moved to open you gently, rubbing slow circles to ease you through it.

“Shh, baby.” he murmured softly.

You gasped loudly when he bottomed out—completely balls deep inside you. His mushroom tip kissing your cervix... your pussy was so stretched, as he filled you fully. 

He cursed under his breath, the veins along his neck stood out as a deep flush spread across his cheeks and down his chest. His lips parted slightly, like he was finally relieved to be inside you.

“Baby…” he said weakly, barely able to move. You were too tight, and he could feel it affecting you too.

“You’re so tight, you feel so good,” he whispered weakly, arms braced on either side of you as he held himself still.

You could feel him throbbing inside you, struggling not to move. The way he looked at you—like he was caught between pain and pleasure—made your body tighten around him even more, causing him to twitch in response.

He kissed you again, harder this time, like he was trying to pull your focus away from the discomfort. His fingers moved down to rub your clit, and you whimpered, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as your body felt so sensitive, so fragile under his touch.

His kisses were messy and hungry, as though he were trying to pour all his frustrations from his hard cock into your mouth. When you shifted your hips slightly, he groaned sharply, biting down on your lower lip in response.

“Baby, stay still.” he breathed, holding your hips firmly in place.

“You can move, Koo… I want you to feel good,” you said weakly, trying to roll your hips against him despite the lingering ache. The pain was still there, but with the way he was kissing you and touching you, pleasure was slowly starting to return. 

He shook his head, tightening his grip on your hips as he kissed you again, trying to distract you—but you didn’t stop. You rolled your hips anyway, chasing the friction you needed, his cock brushing against you in a way that pulled a soft moan from your lips.

“Baby,” he warned.

You moved again, slower this time, looking up at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

The moment you let out another soft moan, something in him snapped. He let out a low growl and pinned your hips firmly against the bed, holding you still before suddenly pushing his throbbing cock harder inside you. Thrusting deeper and deeper until your body bounced against the mattress, his grip on your waist tightening enough to leave marks, his palms digging into your skin as your body trembled beneath him.

“Go on, you wanted to be fucked like this. right?” he taunted, his voice strained as he angled himself deeper, his tip hitting that sensitive spot inside you that made your eyes roll back.

He tried to circle your hips against him, watching as you arched your back in pleasure and pain.

“Move your hips, baby… fuck me back,” he grunted.

You attempted to follow, but his pace was too fast and overwhelming, your body already slipping into overstimulation. Your moans grew louder as your pussy clenched around him, chasing another peak without even realizing it.

“It feels so good.” you moaned, fingers tangling messily in his hair.

Jungkook groaned, biting lightly at your collarbones in pleasure. “Yeah? Do you like playing with me?” he asked, rolling his hips against you, making your body jolt as your previous cum spilled out with every push.

You shivered at the way he said it—goosebumps spreading across your skin. The phrase no longer sounded innocent like it used to.

“I’ve been wanting to play with you like this,” he rasped, pulling out slightly before adjusting your position with ease, as if your body weighed nothing in his hands.

“Wanted to make you cum like a good girl and give you my well-done kisses,” he murmured in a praising tone, carefully turning you until you were lying on your stomach.

You moaned loudly when he entered you from behind. You tried to arch your back, but his body stayed close—hovering over you, keeping you pinned firmly to the bed. His tattooed arm circled your neck, not choking, but holding you in place so your face wouldn’t press into the pillow. His lips brushed your cheek as his hot breath fanned across your skin, sending a tingling sensation through you.

Then suddenly, your eyes widened—you heard footsteps outside the corridor leading to your room.

You instinctively tried to move, panic flashing through you, but Jungkook pinned your body down, your protests muffled beneath his warm palm.

“Y/N, my dear. Are you awake?’’ your mom’s voice echoed behind the door.

You wiggled, trying to get out of his hold, wide eyes and panicking when you heard your mom twisting the locked doorknob. 

“K-Koo—mmph,” you muffled against his hand, trying to move, but he only pinned you down more firmly.

“What’s wrong, baby? Wanna stop?” he whispered lowly behind your ear, his cock twitching every time you shifted beneath him.

Jungkook slid his fingers into your mouth. “Is my baby a whore? hmm?” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin as he continued moving slowly, deliberately, every drag of him inside you controlled and unhurried.

You tried so hard to stay quiet, desperately sucking on his fingers to keep your moans contained. His other arm stayed wrapped around your neck, holding you just tight enough to make your head spin, your eyes already glassy and red-rimmed.

“Jungkook, dear?” your mom called from outside. Usually, she would scold both of you for staying up too late.

Jungkook didn’t stop. Instead, his lips grazed the shell of your ear, his thick veiny cock grinding and circling. 

“So tight,” he whispered, dangerously low, his pace slow enough that every movement made your walls feel him even deeper. His crown brushed that spongey spot inside you again and again, drawing out your arousal until you could feel it leaking onto the sheets beneath you.

You whimpered, but he only pushed his fingers further into your mouth, keeping you quiet while he continued moving at that slow, torturous rhythm. ‘’Quiet baby, can’t let her know I’m fucking her sweet little daughter, hmm?’’

Your eyes rolled back, your walls clenching around him as he groaned softly, his lips parting in pleasure. Every time he pushed in, your body seemed to pull him back in even harder—your warmth swallowing him completely.

You were shaking, saliva pooling messily on his fingers as you moved your legs weakly, trying to stop his movements because it was getting too much.

When you heard your mom sigh and finally walk away from the door, Jungkook slowly removed his fingers from your mouth, immediately tilting your head up so he could kiss you. 

“You’re so dirty,” he murmured against your lips, voice low and degrading. “Getting fucked in your childhood bedroom like a good little whore.”

You came so hard from his words, his dirty whispers sending you completely over the edge. Whimpering when he held you down to chase his own pleasure, your body hypersensitive and trembling uncontrollably.

Jungkook groaned, your orgasm making him twitch as he came hard inside you. He angled his hips deeper, pushing in as far as he could, his cock oversensitive but he didn’t stop thrusting, the sensation making him whimper as he bit his lip hard, pushing his softening cock deeper, his balls tightening as he spilled his hot load inside you.

“Koo…” you said weakly, wincing when you felt his cum being pushed deeper and deeper.

You were about to close your eyes when you felt him harden again, his cock throbbing inside your spent pussy. He suddenly pulled out and lifted your body up, your eyes widening when you saw him— red and hard again, his shaft coated with thick white juices from both of your arousal.

He pulled your hair gently, standing at the edge of the bed, urging you to come closer.

“Play with my cock,” he rasped, letting go of your hair to hold the base of himself, offering it to you.

You swallowed harshly, weakly wrapping your hand around him. His cock felt heavy in your palm, every vein noticeable against your skin.

“Like this?” you asked innocently, looking up at him while moving your hand up and down, rolling your palm over him in slow strokes.

Jungkook bit his lip, his hand coming up to caress your cheek. “Yes, baby. Give it a nice squeeze for me.” he praised softly.

You smiled, eager to please him, picking up your pace and squeezing his cock while keeping your eyes on his.

His lips parted slightly, jaw tightening at the sight of you. His cock throbbed in your hand, chasing another release, your hand soft and perfect around his girth.

“Suck the tip for me, baby,” he breathed.

You immediately obeyed, opening your mouth and taking just the tip in, sucking on it like it’s your favorite dessert. The moment he moaned, you tried to take more of him, your tongue sliding along the underside of his crown as saliva gathered at your lips.

He cursed under his breath, quickly gripping your hair and pulling you back slightly. “It’s okay, baby… just the tip,” he whispered, softer now when he noticed your teary eyes and flushed cheeks.

You shook your head lightly. “No, I wanna make you cum, Koo. Use my mouth, please,” you said in a small, sweet voice, pouting up at him.

He groaned lowly, the sound strained—like he was barely holding himself together. He swore he almost lost it from your pleading alone.

“Stick your tongue out,” he ordered.

You obeyed immediately, sticking out your tongue all the way out for him.

He crouched down slightly and spat onto your tongue, holding the base of his cock as he tapped his tip against it, spreading the saliva before guiding you back in.

‘’Put your hands behind my thighs, baby.” he groaned.

Your small hands gripped the back of his thighs for support while both of his hands steadied your head.

You gagged when he pushed in deeper, his grip tightening in your hair every time he pulled back. His tip brushed the roof of your mouth, drawing out a rough moan from him. Your mouth was spilling with precum and saliva, gargling sounds escaping as he controlled the pace.

His cock was so big and salty, his plump crown hitting the back of your throat. You twirled your tongue around his length, occasionally sucking the tip and spitting to make him wetter, tracing the veins with your tongue while your other hand moved to massage his balls.

“Fuck, baby. You're doing so good,” he groaned.

“U-Use me, please.” you cried, letting go of his cock to press it against your cheeks, breathing heavily before spitting on it and catching it with your tongue, licking your dripping saliva from the base of his cock all the way up to his tip, repeating the motion again and again while maintaining eye contact.

Jungkook groaned. You were acting like a perfect little slut for him. “Baby, you’re such a dirty little whore,” he said, pulling your hair until your lips parted from the pain. “Do you like sucking my cock?”

You nodded eagerly, trying to suck his tip again, fluttering your eyelashes as if to impress him.

“Like it so much,” you giggled, pressing a soft kiss to the tip before guiding his hand so he could use you.

Jungkook cursed, his patience running thin at how desperate you were, his eyes rolling back as he saw your inner thighs already dripping with a fresh gush of arousal.

Tears slipped down your cheeks when he pulled your hair to guide your mouth, his cock pushing further until your nose brushed against the soft patch of his pubic hair. He kept you still, his grip firm, as you felt him use your mouth like a fleshlight, whimpering harshly when he looked down and saw how beautiful and needy you were for him. With a final swirl of your tongue, he finally spilled inside your mouth, his cock pulsating against your tongue as you made sure to swallow everything eagerly, like a good girl.

When he released you, you almost collapsed onto the bed—dizzy and breathless, your jaw aching from the strain, your cheeks still wet with tears.

He pulled you back up immediately, squishing your cheeks so your lips parted slightly. Leaning in, he kissed you hungrily, slipping his tongue into your swollen mouth. He groaned as he tasted his own salty cum, swallowing it messily before deepening the kiss, licking into you until nothing was left.

“You okay, pretty?” he asked softly, fixing a strand of hair that had stuck to your cheek and tucking it behind your ear.

You nodded weakly, smiling at him despite everything, a little happy that you made him feel good. “Yes, Koo.”

As the sweet girl you always were, a part of you still lingered in uncertainty—quietly wondering if you really made him feel as good as he made you feel. 

You had no experience, nothing to compare it to. Although you tried to please him as best you could, you were still unsure, a little insecure, your thoughts circling back on themselves in soft, persistent doubt.

Jungkook’s brows furrowed. He sat down on the bed and pulled you gently into his lap, concern flickering across his face as he noticed you avoiding his gaze.

“Baby?” he called softly.

He kissed your cheek, and although he was getting hard again, he pushed his own desire aside the moment he saw your sad little pout.

“Baby, was I too rough?” he asked softly.

Your cheeks burned as you fiddled with your fingers. “No, Koo… just—” you squeezed your eyes shut, embarrassed by your own thoughts.

“d-did I make you feel good too?” you asked, biting your lip as your gaze lifted to him—soft, searching, and a little shy—unable to hide how much you wanted to please him, how deeply you didn’t want to disappoint him.

He groaned lowly, his hold on you tightening as he gently rocked your body. “Of course, baby. You made me cum so hard,” he said, kissing your cheek again.

You pouted, a little relieved at that, your adorable eyes sparkling again.

“My poor clueless, baby.” he murmured, his kisses trailing down your neck as he inhaled your scent. “Your shy little kisses make me tremble, why are you even worried?” he whispered.

Slowly, he shifted you in front of him, lifting your legs and spreading them on either side of his thighs.

You gasped when you saw your reflection in the mirror across the room—your cheeks flushed, your skin marked in places from his kisses and grip, your legs spread open while he continued trailing soft kisses along the back of your neck.

“Look at yourself,” he murmured, holding your cheek so you faced the mirror properly, his dark eyes roaming over your reflection.

You tried to look away, shy and overwhelmed at how exposed you were, but he tightened his grip on your cheeks gently, his other tattooed hand sliding down to part your folds.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said softly, his gaze fixed on you, while you could feel his hard cock pressed against your lower back.

You shivered when he licked up your neck messily, his other hand toying with your nipple while he kept your pussy open, your juices slowly leaking from your tight hole.

“Make me cum again,” he whispered, pulling your hood up to expose your swollen clit, his middle finger circling it slowly. “Rub your clit for me.”

Your eyes widened, your small hand shakily reaching down, his dark eyes following your every movement—like a predator watching its prey.

Your breath hitched as you slowly began to rub yourself, his fingers still holding you open while his gaze stayed fixed on your pussy.

“That’s it… rub harder, baby.” he encouraged, pulling at your nipples while grinding his hard cock behind you. You could feel his precum smearing along your lower back as he moved.

You obeyed, rubbing harder, your legs trembling as another wave of pleasure began to build. The way his tattooed fingers kept you open felt so sinful—you could see how pink and swollen you were from how hard he had fucked you earlier.

“Can you feel my cock, baby?” he murmured, his tip brushing against your lower back as his hips pressed into you more insistently. His tongue traced the shell of your ear. “You make me feel so good, I could cum just watching you play with your little clit like that.”

You came hard, your body shaking and gasping as pleasure pulsed through you in overwhelming waves, your clit throbbing rapidly beneath your fingers while his hand kept you open, making sure he could see every twitch and tremble.

Jungkook groaned behind you, eyes widening as he felt himself cum on your lower back, releasing so much that he had to pull you closer, almost trapping you against him. He whispered curses against your ear, grinding through his release until it became too much, overstimulation hitting him hard.

“Fuck, I love you so much, baby.” he breathed, pulling you into a tighter hug.

You smiled weakly, still catching your breath. “I love you too, Koo.”

You turned to face him, reaching for his glasses. He looked at you dreamily, pouting the moment you slipped them off his face.

“Baby, no… I wanna see you,” he said weakly, reaching for you again.

But you only giggled, standing up with wobbly legs, tossing his glasses onto your small pink couch.

“Where’s my nerd?” you teased, circling your arms around him playfully.

He smiled, lips still slightly swollen and red, looking up at you with soft, dazed eyes—completely undone, but warm, and impossibly fond as he stayed right where you pulled him. His hands settled at your waist like it was the only place they were meant to be.

“Still here,” his voice low and lazy, like he had no intention of going anywhere at all as long as you were holding him like that.

Blueberry cheesecake. The kind of sweetness that hits first with a soft comfort, then lingers with a quiet edge of something deeper—something that stays on the tongue long after the last bite…and somehow, like the final piece snapping into place…

the lego hearts he’d been trying to build for years were now finally complete in your hands.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂˚₊┈┈୨୧┈┈‧₊˚⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂

© 2026 ggukiebar, all rights reserved

His hair was still damp at the edges from his post-game shower, curling slightly where he’d shoved his hand through it too many times, and the dark blue Briar letterman jacket had stayed on for maybe twelve minutes before the house got too hot and he dumped it over the back of a chair.

He was, by every reasonable standard, doing great. His girlfriend was not. His girlfriend had arrived at the party with Allie and a plan that had included one drink, maybe two, and absolutely no consideration for the fact that girls pouring vodka cranberries in hockey houses tended to treat measurements as a loose concept. 

Garrett had been across the living room when she’d taken the first one. He’d been in the kitchen with Tucker when she’d finished the second. By the time he saw her again, she was standing near the bottom of the stairs with one hand wrapped around a red cup, smiling at something Allie said with the bright, floaty concentration of a girl whose whole body had started operating on a two-second delay.

He could notice a winger drifting out of formation from half a rink away with two guys trying to take his head off. He could absolutely notice his girlfriend blinking too slowly under the hallway light, her cheeks warm from alcohol and the heat of too many bodies packed into the house, her mouth glossy and parted slightly like she kept forgetting whether she was meant to be talking or laughing. 

She looked happy, which helped. Loose and giggly and pleased. But she also kept shifting her weight like the floor had become more wobbly than usual, and Garrett had not fought for his life against Harvard’s second line that afternoon just to let his girlfriend get taken out by hardwood.

So he left Logan mid-sentence. Logan didn’t even pretend to be offended. He just followed Garrett’s line of sight, saw her trying to drink from the cup and missing her mouth by half an inch, and winced. “Oh, buddy.”

Garrett pointed at him without looking back. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was gonna say she looks graceful.”

“Die.”

Garrett crossed the room with the easy confidence of someone everyone automatically moved for, red cup of water in hand because Tucker, thank God, had seen the situation unfolding and passed it over like a medic on a battlefield. 

She didn’t see Garrett coming. She was too busy nodding very seriously at Allie, who was holding both her hands and saying something that involved the words no, babe, I’m so serious and eyebrow blindness.

Garrett stepped into her space, close enough that his knee brushed hers. “Hey, baby.”

She turned toward him. For one beautiful second, her face went blank. Then her entire expression rearranged itself into scandalised horror.

“Excuse you,” she said, pulling herself up to her full height, which was less effective than usual because she swayed slightly at the top and had to catch Allie’s wrist. “I have a boyfriend.”

Garrett blinked.

Allie made a noise like she’d swallowed a firework. Garrett looked at his girlfriend. His girlfriend looked back at him with genuine, drunken offence, like he’d approached her in a bar wearing a leather bracelet and too much confidence.

“Uh huh,” he said slowly, because there were moments in life that required leadership and moments that required not laughing directly in the face of the girl you loved while she was doing her best. “That’s great.”

“It is great,” she said, lifting her chin. “He’s very tall.”

Garrett’s mouth twitched. “Good for him.”

“And he plays hockey.”

“No shit?”

“And he’s, like, really good at it.”

Allie had turned away now, one hand clamped over her mouth, shoulders shaking. Garrett refused to look at her because if he did, he was going to lose it, and that felt like the sort of thing his girlfriend would interpret as disrespect from a strange man at a party, which apparently he was now.

He held out the cup. “Can you drink some water for me?”

Her eyes narrowed. Suspicious. Wobbly. Deeply loyal to the absent boyfriend currently standing less than a foot in front of her. “Why?”

“Because you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Baby.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Don’t call me baby.”

“Right. Sorry.” He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, nodding with a level of solemnity he absolutely did not feel. “My bad.”

“My boyfriend calls me baby.”

“Does he?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds annoying.”

“He’s not annoying.” She frowned at him with such force that it seemed to briefly take all her balance with it. Garrett’s free hand shot out to her waist before she could tip sideways into Allie. She looked down at it, then back up at him, appalled. “Don’t touch my waist.”

Garrett removed his hand at once, palms lifting. “Alright.”

Allie, still dying, leaned in and said, “Babe, maybe just drink the water.”

She looked betrayed. “You’re taking his side?”

“I’m taking hydration’s side.”

Garrett offered the cup again. “Just a couple sips.”

She stared at him for another second, clearly weighing the moral implications of accepting water from a man who looked suspiciously like her boyfriend but who she had, for reasons unclear to everyone except the vodka, decided was not. 

Finally, she took the cup with great caution, like he might use the transfer to propose something criminal, and drank.

Garrett watched her swallow three obedient little sips, then nodded. “Good girl.”

The look she gave him could have killed a weaker man. “Nope.”

“Right. Yep. Forgot.”

“My boyfriend says that.”

“Bet he does,” Garrett muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She handed the cup back, pleased with herself and still indignant, and then immediately turned toward Allie like the conversation had been handled.

Garrett stood there for half a second, holding the water, staring at the side of her face.

Dean appeared beside him like he had been summoned by humiliation itself. “Hey, man.”

Garrett didn’t look over. “Do not.”

Dean’s grin was audible. “She knows you’re her boyfriend, right?”

“She’s drunk.”

“She just told you she has a boyfriend.”

“Yeah, Dean, I was here.”

Dean leaned around him to look at her, delighted. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Garrett finally turned his head and gave him a flat look. “That’s sad.”

“No, what’s sad is getting rejected by your own girlfriend.” Dean clapped him once on the shoulder and immediately stepped out of reach. “Tough shift, captain.”

Garrett pointed at him. “I will put you through a wall.”

“Wow.” Dean called over his shoulder, already retreating. “Her boyfriend would never.”

Garrett took a slow breath through his nose and looked back at her. She was laughing at something Allie said now, one hand pressed to her own chest, head tipping forward so her hair fell around her face. 

She looked ridiculous. Beautiful and unsteady and way too warm in the cheeks, standing under the hallway light like the world had gone pleasantly fuzzy and she trusted it not to hurt her because she hadn’t yet noticed Garrett had been replaced by some guy bothering her with cups.

His annoyance softened before it could become anything real. Fine. He could work with this.

For the next twenty minutes, Garrett kept orbiting. That was the only word for it. He didn’t hover, because hovering would get him accused of being controlling by Dean, and probably by her if she remembered how to form an argument. 

He orbited. Close enough to keep an eye on her, far enough that she didn’t look up and accuse him of trying to steal girlfriend privileges from Garrett Graham, who was both beloved and missing.

She danced with Allie in the living room, mostly from the waist up because her coordination had started giving its two weeks’ notice. 

She complimented Tucker’s shirt with extreme sincerity even though Tucker was wearing the same plain black t-shirt he wore to every party. 

She told Logan he looked so tall tonight, which made Logan look down at himself like height might have happened recently and without his permission.

Garrett found her again near the back door, rubbing both hands over her bare arms.

The house was hot, but the door kept swinging open whenever someone stepped out to smoke or yell into the yard, letting in cold spring air that slipped over her skin and made her shoulders inch up toward her ears. 

Garrett saw the little shiver move through her before she did. He grabbed his letterman jacket off the chair and came up behind her, careful this time, no hands first. Just the jacket, warm from the room and heavy with him, settled over her shoulders.

“There,” he said, low near her ear. “You’re cold.”

She froze.

Garrett closed his eyes for one second. “Please don’t.”

She shrugged the jacket off so fast it nearly hit the floor. Garrett caught it by the collar.

“Nope,” she said.

“Baby.”

Her head snapped around. “I said no.”

Garrett looked at the ceiling. The ceiling offered no help. “You’re shivering.”

“I only wear my boyfriend’s jacket.”

“This is your boyfriend’s jacket.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It literally has my name on it.”

She squinted at the embroidered Graham on the chest like letters were a personal challenge. “Lots of people are named Graham.”

“Not on this team.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do, actually. I’m the captain.”

Her face twisted with immediate doubt, like that was exactly the sort of lie a jacket predator would tell at a party. “You’re the captain?”

Garrett stared at her. “Oh my God.”

From the couch, Logan made a strangled sound into his beer.

She pointed at Garrett’s chest, very serious now. “My boyfriend is the captain.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard great things.”

“He’s very hot.”

“Is he?”

“So hot,” she said, and then sighed, soft and dramatic and so genuinely fond that Garrett’s irritation had nowhere to land. “Like, stupid hot. It’s actually kind of annoying.”

Garrett’s face moved before he could stop it, warmth pulling at his mouth. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “And he has really nice hands.”

Logan choked.

Garrett didn’t look away from her. “Good hands are important.”

“They are,” she agreed solemnly. “And he’s not some random guy trying to give girls jackets.”

“Right.” He held up the jacket between them, helpless now. “Can I just–”

“No thank you.”

“You’re gonna freeze.”

“I’ll wait for Garrett.”

“You do that,” he said, because love was standing in a hockey house holding your own jacket while your drunk girlfriend faithfully rejected you on your own behalf. “Sounds like a plan.”

She smiled at him then, bright and polite. “Thank you for understanding.”

Garrett looked at her for a long moment, then at the jacket, then back at her. “Anytime.”

He walked away to the sound of Logan losing the fight against laughter so badly he had to bend over his own knees.

“You’re not helping,” Garrett said.

Logan wiped under one eye. “I’m sorry, man, but she’s loyal as hell.”

“She thinks I’m a stranger.”

“She thinks you’re a stranger with bad intentions. There’s a difference.”

“Great. That makes it better.”

Tucker came up beside them, looking far too amused for somebody usually committed to being the reasonable one. “You know, technically, this is a very good sign for your relationship.”

Garrett gave him a look. “Don’t start.”

“She’s hammered and still refusing men for you.”

“She refused me.”

“Exactly. Nobody is safe.”

Dean reappeared then, because joy, unfortunately, had a way of finding him. “I just heard she wouldn’t wear your jacket.”

Garrett’s jaw tightened. “You heard wrong.”

Dean grinned. “Did I?”

“I’m gonna kill you before playoffs.”

“No, you’re not. You’re too busy getting friend-zoned by your girlfriend.”

Garrett shoved him in the chest. Dean laughed all the way into the kitchen.

By the time Garrett found her again, she had somehow migrated to the old armchair near the stairs, sitting sideways with her knees tucked up and Dean perched on the arm like some kind of terrible emotional support animal. 

Her bare arms were folded tight over her chest now, because she was still cold and still deeply committed to jacket monogamy. Her face had changed too. Gone softer around the edges, bottom lip pushed out, all the earlier moral outrage curdled into something wounded and grumpy.

Garrett stopped a few feet away. Dean saw him first and his grin turned wicked. “Oh, thank God.”

She frowned up at Dean. “What?”

“Nothing.” Dean patted the top of the chair. “Your night’s about to improve.”

She slumped deeper into the cushion, still looking at Dean. “I haven’t seen Garrett all night.”

Garrett blinked.

Dean pressed his lips together so hard his whole face went strange.

She kept going, mournful now, eyes glossy from alcohol and the kind of drama that only really existed after midnight in a crowded house. “He’s, like, disappeared.”

Garrett slowly looked at Dean.

“He had a game,” she said, to no one in particular, or maybe to Dean’s knee. “And I wanted to tell him he played really good.”

“He knows,” Dean said, voice suspiciously tight.

“No, but I wanted to tell him.” She rubbed at one eye with the heel of her hand, then stopped halfway as if remembering makeup existed. “And there’s this guy who keeps talking to me.”

Garrett’s eyebrows went up.

Dean made direct eye contact with him and looked like he might actually pass away.

“He keeps calling me baby,” she muttered. “And trying to make me drink water.”

Garrett bit the inside of his cheek.

“Sounds awful,” Dean managed.

“So annoying,” she said. “Like, okay, hydration police. I have a boyfriend.”

Garrett stepped closer then, because there were only so many times a man could be called the hydration police by the love of his life before he had to intervene. “Hey, baby.”

Her head lifted. The transformation was immediate and almost violent. Her whole face opened, bright and relieved and suddenly so happy to see him that it genuinely knocked the joke sideways in his chest. “Garrett!”

He froze. “Hi?”

“Baby!” She reached both arms out toward him from the chair, nearly tipping herself forward in the process. Garrett crossed the last step fast and caught her by the hands before she could slide off the cushion. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said again, slower this time, looking down at her. “You recognise me now?”

She frowned like he’d said something deeply strange. “What are you talking about?”

Dean made a sound that might have been a cough if he had not immediately turned away with his shoulders shaking.

Garrett stared at her. “Nothing.”

She squeezed his face, delighted and fully unaware of the damage she’d caused him tonight. “I missed you.”

His mouth softened despite himself. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” She tugged at him, needy and uncoordinated, until he stepped properly between her legs where she’d moved to sit properly in the chair. Her knees bracketed his thighs, her fingers curling in the front of his shirt like now that she had found him, she intended to physically prevent further abandonment. “You were gone for so long.”

Garrett looked at her for one second, then over her head at Dean, who was wiping tears out of the corner of his eye. “I was around.”

She shook her head, very firm. “No.”

“No?”

“No. There was just this guy.”

Garrett nodded, face serious. “Right. The water guy.”

She gasped softly, looking up at him with genuine alarm. “You saw him?”

Dean slid off the arm of the chair. “I need to go tell Logan something immediately.”

Garrett didn’t even try to stop him. His hands had settled at her waist now, thumbs pressing lightly over the fabric of her top because she was still swaying in tiny increments even while sitting down. “Yeah, baby, I saw him.”

“You should talk to him.”

“Oh, I should?”

“Yes.” Her voice dropped into a whisper that wasn’t remotely quiet. “He was flirting with me.”

Garrett’s eyes flicked over her face. “Was he?”

“He kept calling me baby.”

“That’s crazy.”

“And he tried to give me his jacket.”

“What a dick.”

She nodded, relieved that he understood the severity. “I know.”

Garrett’s grin finally broke free, slow and helpless. He stepped closer until her forehead could tip against his stomach, and when it did, she sighed like the entire night had been restored to its proper axis by the smell of his shirt. 

He looked down at the crown of her head, at the way her hands had found the hem of his t-shirt and held on loosely, and brushed his fingers once over the back of her hair.

She had rejected him all night. She had accused him of being a stranger, declined his water on principle, refused his jacket with the ferocity of a woman defending a sacred oath, and still somehow the inside of him went soft at the way she leaned into him now, trusting and warm and gone enough to be ridiculous but not gone enough to forget where she wanted to end up.

“Baby,” he murmured.

“Mhm?”

“You wanna get outta here?”

Her head lifted at once. “Yes, please.”

“Yeah?” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, watching the way her eyes followed his face now with no suspicion at all. “You done?”

“So done.” She nodded, then winced faintly at the motion like her brain had moved one direction and her skull another. “Can we go home?”

“Yeah, we can go home.”

“And maybe get McDonald’s?”

Garrett laughed under his breath, and the sound made her smile like she’d won something. “Sure, baby.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. But you gotta stand up first.”

She looked down at her own legs with sudden doubt. “Okay.”

“Confident.”

“I can do it.”

“I know you can.” He took both her hands and backed up half a step, giving her room. “Come on. Up we go.”

She stood with the intense focus of someone attempting a field sobriety test on a ship. Garrett’s hands went to her waist at once, steadying her as her knees straightened and her body tipped forward into his. 

He didn’t make a show of it. Didn’t laugh when she grabbed his forearms and blinked hard at the room. He only held her until she found the floor again, fingers spread warm and firm at her sides.

“There we go,” he said softly. “You good?”

She nodded, then thought about it. “Mostly.”

“Mostly works.” He leaned around her just enough to grab his letterman jacket from the back of the chair “Can I put this on you now, or are we still being loyal to your boyfriend?”

She looked at the jacket. Then up at him. Then back at the jacket.

“That’s yours,” she said, like he was the one struggling to keep up.

Garrett pressed his lips together. “Yeah.”

She smiled, sweet and pleased. “Okay.”

He slid it over her shoulders. This time she pushed her arms into the sleeves with immediate enthusiasm, even though they swallowed her hands completely. 

Garrett zipped it halfway because she was too busy smelling the collar with a happy little hum that did absolutely nothing for his ability to remain normal.

“You smell good,” she told him.

“Thanks.”

“Like Garrett.”

“Crazy coincidence.”

She nodded, accepting that, and slipped her hand into his when he offered it. Her fingers were warm and clumsy between his, squeezing twice like she was checking he was real. He squeezed back once and started guiding her through the house.

The party kept moving around them. Someone called his name from the kitchen and Garrett lifted his free hand without stopping. Logan appeared near the doorway, took one look at them, and grinned.

“She found you,” he said.

Garrett pointed at him. “Not a word.”

She turned toward Logan, solemn and slightly off-balance. “There was a guy bothering me all night.”

Logan’s mouth opened. Closed. He looked at Garrett, then back at her. “No way.”

She nodded. “Way.”

Garrett kept walking. “Let’s go.”

Behind them, Logan said, “Hope your boyfriend handles that.”

She turned around while still moving, which forced Garrett to catch her by the waist and redirect her like a shopping cart with a bad wheel. “He will!”

“I’m sure he will,” Logan called, voice cracking around laughter.

Outside, the cold hit her properly. She shrank into the jacket at once, shoulders rising, Garrett’s hand still wrapped around hers while they moved down the front steps and along the path toward his car. 

The night was damp and dark around the edges, grass glittering faintly under the porch light, the music dulling behind the shut door until it became a pulse more than a song. She walked close to him, not quite straight, occasionally bumping into his side and then apologising to his arm.

“Baby,” she said halfway down the walk.

“Yeah?”

“That guy was so annoying.”

Garrett glanced down at her. “Still thinkin’ about him?”

“He was talking to me all night.”

“Sounds like a loser.”

“He was kind of hot, though.”

Garrett stopped walking.

She stopped too, delayed, then looked back at him with wide innocent eyes. “What?”

He stared at her. “Hot?”

She nodded, very serious. “But not as hot as you.”

“Uh huh.”

“And he had your jacket.”

“My jacket?”

“Yeah.” Her brows pulled together. “Actually, that was weird.”

Garrett looked up at the sky for patience. “So weird.”

“You should talk to him, baby. I’m serious.”

“Oh, I will.”

“Good.” She nodded once, satisfied, and started walking again. “Don’t fight him though. You had a game.”

His mouth twitched. “Right. Wouldn’t wanna overdo it.”

“And you already won.”

“I did.”

“You were really good,” she said, and the words came out softer now, slipping under the joke with no warning at all. Her fingers tightened around his. “I forgot to tell you.”

Garrett’s steps slowed by a fraction. He looked down at her, at her messy hair and flushed cheeks and his too-big jacket hanging off her shoulders, at the careful way she was watching the pavement. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. You did that thing.” She lifted their joined hands vaguely, as if the thing might be available in the air somewhere. “Where you went really fast and then the other guy was stupid.”

Garrett laughed, warm and surprised. “That was my favourite play.”

“It was good. I’m real proud of you.”

“Thanks, baby.”

She leaned into his arm, pleased. “You’re welcome.”

At the car, he opened the passenger door and turned her gently by the hips before she could attempt entry at a dangerous angle. “Alright. Watch your head.”

“I always watch my head.”

“You don’t.”

“I have one.”

“Having one and watching it are different.”

She ducked into the car with exaggerated care, one hand on the roof, one hand still gripping his. Garrett waited until she was seated, then crouched slightly and drew the seatbelt across her. 

She looked down at him while he clicked it into place, her expression suddenly soft and sleepy. “Baby.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m so glad I found you.”

His hand paused on the belt for half a second.

She sighed, sinking back into the seat, eyes half-lidded now that the car’s quiet had started wrapping around her. “I missed you tonight.”

Garrett looked at her in the blue dashboard glow, and something in his chest pulled tight and fond and a little ridiculous. “Missed you too.”

“There was this guy–”

“I heard.”

“–and he kept trying to give me water.”

“So rude.”

“Exactly.” Her head tipped against the seat, eyes closing for one beat before opening again. “Can you get me nuggets?”

Garrett smiled and brushed his thumb over her knee before standing. “Yeah, babe. I’ll get you nuggets.”

“And fries.”

“Obviously.”

“And a Sprite.”

“You need water.”

She made a face. “The guy said that too.”

Garrett leaned one arm on the open door and looked down at her, trying very hard not to smile too much because she would see it and accuse him of something. “The guy sounds smart.”

She frowned. “Don’t compliment him.”

“My bad.”

“You’re my boyfriend.”

“I am.”

“And I love you.”

The words came out simple and softened by vodka and sleepiness and the warm cocoon of his jacket around her, but real enough that Garrett felt them land under his ribs.

He bent and kissed her forehead. “I love you too.”

She smiled, eyes closed now. “Good.”

“Good,” he murmured, brushing her hair back from her face before shutting the door. 

He walked around the front of the car with a grin he couldn’t quite get rid of, hearing the muffled thump of the party behind him and the faint sound of her shifting around in the passenger seat like she was trying to get comfortable in sleeves three sizes too big. 

When he got in, she was already curled toward his side, cheek against the seat, looking at him with heavy eyes and total, trusting recognition.

Garrett started the car. She reached blindly for his hand. He gave it to her.

For a minute they sat there in the dim quiet before he pulled away from the curb, her fingers woven through his, his thumb moving once over her knuckles. Then she inhaled like she had remembered something important.

“Babe?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re gonna talk to that guy, right?”

Garrett smiled at the road, the house falling behind them, McDonald’s glowing somewhere ahead like a drunken little lighthouse.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll give him a stern talking-to.”

“Good,” she mumbled, already drifting. “Tell him I have a boyfriend.”

His grin widened.

“Trust me, baby,” Garrett said, squeezing her hand once as he turned out onto the street. “He knows.”

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

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By the time you got home, the rain had softened. It reduced to a whisper against the pavement outside your building, turning the streetlights into blurry gold circles, and followed you all the way upstairs in the damp hem of your cardigan and the wet ends of your hair.

You had survived, Cherry had survived, and nobody had made you feel silly for crying slightly in the back of the cab when the garage disappeared behind you.

In your defence, Cherry had looked very small in the garage bay when you left her there. Small and wet and red beneath all those harsh shop lights, like a sad little show pony at the vet. You knew she was a car. You did. Your mother had raised you with enough practical sense to understand the distinction between machinery and living creatures, even if she had also raised you around enough animals, antiques, cars, houses, and deeply sentimental family objects to know that sometimes the things you loved became people-adjacent anyway.

Cherry was people-adjacent and definitely emotionally significant enough that leaving her overnight with strangers had felt like signing over custody.

Except they had not really felt like strangers by the end.

The older man had been kind, in that quiet, slightly amused way fathers sometimes were when they had decided you were harmlessly dramatic rather than genuinely difficult. He had called the cab himself, told the driver to wait while you gathered your purse, and insisted you take the shop umbrella even though you promised you were perfectly capable of walking six feet through rain without dissolving.

And the younger one-

The mechanic.

You stopped in the middle of your room with one shoe half-off.

The younger one had been nice.

That was all.

Nice.

A perfectly normal adjective.

A very respectable adjective.

He had been nice because he had held the umbrella more over you than himself. He had been nice because he had not laughed in a mean way when you explained that Cherry was sensitive. He had been nice because he listened to the Strawberry story like it was information he actually needed in order to assess the car, even though you were fairly certain the emotional history of your previous Beetle had no mechanical relevance.

He had been nice because he had told you Cherry would stay inside overnight.

And he had looked you in the eye when he said nobody would be mean to her.

Which was ridiculous.

No one was mean to cars. Cars did not have feelings.

But he had said it like he understood that you had feelings about the car, and for some reason that felt worse than if he had just played along with the joke.

You kicked your other shoe off and watched it land beside the first one with a wet little slap against the floor.

Your ballet flats were ruined.

You padded toward the bathroom, leaving damp footprints behind you, and caught sight of yourself in the mirror.

Oh.

You looked insane. You looked like a girl who had been caught in a rainstorm and then forced to have an unexpectedly emotional interaction with a handsome mechanic while wearing waterproof mascara that was apparently only decorative in its waterproofness. Your hair had dried into uneven waves around your face, soft in some places, frizzy in others, and your cardigan clung awkwardly to one shoulder. Your lipstick, through some combination of divine mercy and expensive formulation, had survived almost perfectly.

You leaned closer to the mirror, inspecting it.

“At least one of us has dignity,” you murmured.

Your reflection did not answer.

You turned on the shower, peeled yourself out of your wet clothes, and let the bathroom steam up around you until the mirror disappeared behind fog. The hot water felt incredible. It washed the rain from your skin, untangled the cold from your shoulders, and made you feel slightly less like a tragic Victorian woman abandoned in a storm with only a cab receipt and a traumatised Chevy to her name.

For ten whole minutes, you thought about nothing.

Then, while rinsing the conditioner from your hair, you thought about his hands.

Not on purpose, your mother raised you better than to be a hand-imagining pervert.

You were conditioning.

The thought simply arrived. His hands under Cherry’s hood. His fingers steady around the flashlight. The slight roughness in his knuckles when he took the keys from you to move the car inside. The way he had wiped rain from his forehead with the back of his wrist because his hands were busy, leaving his hair messier than it already had been.

You froze beneath the shower spray.

“Oh no,” you whispered.

The water kept running. Your conditioner continued sliding down your back.

You stared at the tiled wall in front of you with the grave awareness of a woman who had just had an inappropriate thought about a stranger doing his job.

You had been in a vulnerable state. Cherry had been coughing, the rain had been violent, and the lighting in the garage had been objectively dramatic. Anyone would have noticed his hands. Or his arms. Or the way he had smiled, just slightly, when you told him the lamb story. Anyone.

Probably.

You finished rinsing your hair with unnecessary focus, wrapped yourself in your fluffiest towel, and decided you would not be thinking about the mechanic again.

A sensible decision.

You thought about him again while brushing your teeth.

Specifically, you thought about how he had said, “Cherry the cherry-red Chevy,” like he was amused but not cruel. Like he found you strange in a way he did not mind.

You paused with your toothbrush still in your mouth.

If he had been mean, or dismissive, or one of those men who treated women like they had personally invented car trouble to inconvenience him, then you could have stored him away under unpleasant experiences and moved on with your evening. But he had not been any of those things. He had been patient. Quietly funny. Competent. 

You resumed brushing your teeth with slightly more aggression.

Competent men were dangerous.

Your mother said that often. Usually after your father fixed something small around one of the farmhouses and she looked at him like she had just remembered why she married him, which you always pretended not to notice because you deserved peace.

You spat, rinsed, wiped your mouth, and stared at yourself again.

“Mechanic boy,” you said, testing the name.

You frowned.

Actually, what was his name?

It had been something.

The older man had said it when he asked him to grab the umbrella.

Landon?

No.

Liam?

No.

Something with an L.

You leaned against the sink, thinking hard.

The harder you tried to remember, the more all you could picture was rainwater on his sleeve and the little crooked smile he had tried not to give you when you called Cherry overwhelmed.

Your phone rang from your bedroom before you could continue the investigation.

Mama.

You hurried back into the room, still wrapped in your towel, damp hair dripping down your shoulders, and grabbed the phone from your bed.

“Hi, Mama.”

“You’re home?”

The relief in her voice was immediate, even though she tried to hide it beneath calm. Your chest softened and you glanced at the clock, 11:45pm. Mama and daddy would be curled up in the living room, probably taking care of some random cousin of yours while their parents were out of state on one of the farms. Mama would be nursing a chamomile tea, saying that she “needed it after a long day chasing little babies around her house” all whilst watching videos of said children padding about the top floor, nappy-clad after a bath that she insisted on giving herself. Meanwhile, daddy would be sitting on the opposite end of the sofa, holding mama’s feet, responding at the appropriate bits, humming sympathetically when necessary. 

“Yes.”

“Safe?”

“Yes.”

“Warm?”

“Getting there.”

“Fed?”

“Mama.”

“That is not an answer.”

“I had a granola bar.”

“That is also not an answer.”

You smiled, sitting cross-legged on the bed, towel tucked tight around you. “I’ll make something.”

“You always say that when you intend to eat cereal.”

“Cereal is food.”

“Cereal is an insult to dinner, but a compliment to breakfast baby.”

You laughed, curling one damp strand of hair around your finger. The room had started to feel cosy now, the rain outside turning softer still, your bedside lamp throwing warm light across the red top hanging from the back of your chair and the little ceramic dish on your dresser where you kept rings, spare lip balms, and Cherry’s extra key.

Not that you had Cherry.

Cherry was at the mechanic.

Your chest pinched.

“Mama,” you said, and your voice went a little smaller before you could stop it. “Cherry’s staying overnight.”

“I know, baby. You texted.”

“I did?”

“You sent, and I quote, ‘Cherry is admitted overnight. Please respect our privacy at this time.’”

You closed your eyes.

Right.

That sounded like you.

“I was upset.”

“I gathered.”

“She made a horrible noise.”

“Cars do that.”

“Not Cherry.”

“Especially Cherry, from what I remember.”

You gasped. “Mama.”

“What? She is a lovely car, but she is dramatic.”

“She gets that from Nana.”

“She gets that from you.”

“I am not mechanically dramatic.”

“No, darling. Just emotionally.”

You flopped backward onto the bed with a groan, staring up at the ceiling. “This is a hostile environment.”

Your mother laughed softly, and the sound made you miss her more suddenly than expected. In that quiet, familiar way that arrived sometimes after stressful days, when you wanted your mother to be close enough to tuck wet hair behind your ear and tell you things were manageable.

“Did they seem competent?”

“Yes.”

“The garage?”

“Yes.”

“The mechanic?”

You paused.

Only for a second.

Unfortunately, your mother  had a supernatural hearing for pauses.

“The mechanic was nice,” you said carefully.

“Oh?”

“No.”

“I did not say anything.”

“You said ‘oh’.”

“I am allowed to say oh.”

“Not in that voice.”

“What voice?”

“The mother voice.”

“All my voices are mother voices. I am your mother.”

You smiled despite yourself, pressing one hand over your eyes. “He was just nice.”

“Mhm.”

“He helped Cherry.”

“Very kind.”

“And he held the umbrella mostly over me.”

“Gentlemanly.”

“And he said nobody would be mean to her.”

There was a tiny silence.

Then your mother’s voice softened.

“Well. That is rather sweet.”

You smiled before you could stop it.

“I know.”

Another pause.

“Was he handsome?”

You sat up immediately.

“Mama.”

“That is not an answer.”

“He was fixing my car.”

“That is also not an answer.”

“I was under emotional distress.”

“You can be distressed and observant. Women have done it for centuries.”

You stared at your phone.

“Mama.”

“What?”

“You’re meant to be comforting me.”

“I am. I am asking whether the man who rescued your beloved car in the rain was handsome.”

“He didn’t rescue her. He stabilised her.”

“How romantic.”

“It was strictly professional.”

“Was he handsome?”

You fell back against the pillows again, defeated.

“He had kind eyes,” you said finally.

Your mother made a pleased sound.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

“No.”

“That is absolutely an answer.”

“It isn’t.”

“It is.”

“It is a neutral observation.”

“It is the least neutral observation a girl can make.”

You covered your face with your free hand.

“He was nice,” you repeated weakly.

“And handsome.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You said kind eyes. That’s worse.”

“How is that worse?”

“Because handsome can be meaningless. Kind eyes are trouble.”

You hated how true that was beginning to sound. 

“He had a name,” you said, attempting to redirect the conversation and immediately making it worse.

Your mother brightened,  “Did he?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“I forgot it.”

Your mother paused just long enough for her to suck in a breath and laugh.

“Mama.”

“You forgot the name of the man fixing your car?”

“I was in a crisis.”

“You remembered that he had kind eyes.”

“That is visual. Names are auditory.”

“Ah, yes. Of course.”

“And it was raining.”

“Naturally.”

“And Cherry was coughing.”

“Poor Cherry.”

“Exactly.”

“What are we calling him then?”

You stared at the ceiling for a moment.

Then, softly, “Mechanic works.”

Your mother was quiet for half a second.

Then, with entirely too much amusement, “Mechanic.”

“Yes.”

“Like a title.”

“It’s practical.”

“It is not practical. It is adorable.”

“It is not adorable.”

“It is a little adorable.”

You groaned again, though this time you were smiling.

“Please stop psychoanalysing me.”

“I am not psychoanalysing. I am mothering.”

“Feels similar.”

“It often is.”

You talked for a while after that, the conversation drifting the way calls with your mother always did. She asked about classes, about whether you had eaten properly this week, about whether Winston had recovered from his latest preschool ban. You told her yes, mostly, which was not entirely honest but close enough. She mentioned that she and your father might be near the Boston property next month. You told her Nana owed you jam. She told you Nana owed everyone jam and refused to acknowledge it.

The mechanic came up twice more and both times you pretended not to notice. 

By the time you hung up, your room had gone quiet around you. The rain had slowed to almost nothing. Your hair was still damp, your towel had been replaced by soft pajamas, and your face was clean except for the lip balm you had applied without thinking.

You plugged your phone in, turned off the bedside lamp, and crawled under the covers.

For a few minutes, you lay there staring into the dark.

Thinking about Cherry in the garage.

Thinking about whether she was cold.

Then reminding yourself she was a car.

Then thinking about the mechanic boy in the rain.

His hands.

His smile.

The way he had listened.

The umbrella tilted more over you than him.

You turned onto your side and pulled the blanket up to your chin.

“He was nice,” you whispered to the room, like saying it aloud might make it less important.

You closed your eyes.

And, because the universe had a sense of humour, the last thing you thought before falling asleep was not Cherry.

It was mechanic boy.

Logan thought about you during the morning skate.

Which was inconvenient for several reasons. 

The first reason was that morning skate was not designed for thinking about girls. Morning skate was designed for drills, sweat, sharp turns, stick work, Coach’s voice carrying across the rink like divine punishment, and Garrett Graham somehow managing to look both exhausted and annoyingly competent before most people had finished their first coffee. Logan had done morning skates hungover, half-asleep, irritated, freezing, sore, and once with a bruised rib he had absolutely lied about because missing practice had felt worse than breathing.

He could handle morning skates like they were muscle memory. Usually.

The second reason was that he did not actually know you. 

He knew you drove a cherry-red Chevy named Cherry. He knew your old car had been a Beetle named Strawberry. He knew your nana had picked Cherry out, your parents had paid for her, and your mother had apparently once made you transport a lamb in the deceased Strawberry, which felt like the kind of detail a person should not learn within the first forty-five minutes of meeting someone and yet somehow had.

He knew you talked too much when you were worried.

He knew you did not like people saying unkind things in front of your car.

He knew you had red lipstick that survived rain with more discipline than half the guys on the team.

He knew you smelled like cherries and vanilla and rain.

That was the third reason.

The worst reason.

Because apparently the human brain was a pathetic organ and Logan’s had decided to spend half of practice replaying a smell. It couldn’t possibly choose something more tangible, a moment- one where you looked perfectly ethereal stood in front of his family’s small garage, all smiles and exaggerated reactions or a conversation, god knows he couldn’t forget about the way words would curl between your lips and leave your mouth with a gentle lilt, like a Disney princess. He never even watched those movies. But no, those would be too easy to torture him with. His brain had picked a smell. 

Rain hitting hot pavement outside the garage. Oil in the air. Damp wool. Your perfume shifting under the storm, sweet and warm and soft enough that he had noticed it even while checking the alternator of a car you spoke to like it might need emotional support.

Pathetic.

Absolutely pathetic.

“Logan.”

He blinked.

The puck had slid past him.

Which was unfortunate, because Garrett Graham had the leadership instincts of a war general and the emotional subtlety of someone who had been dating Hannah Wells long enough to develop pattern recognition against his will.

“You good?”

Logan nodded immediately.

“Yeah.”

Garrett stared.

Long enough to be annoying.

Then passed another puck toward him.

Logan caught it this time, moved through the drill, shot cleanly, and tried very hard not to think about the way you had said “mechanically, emotionally, spiritually” while dripping on the office floor of his father’s garage. He failed.

Because the problem with you was that you were not the kind of girl his brain knew how to file away.

Pretty was easy.

Pretty girls existed everywhere.

On campus. At parties. In bars. In the crowd after games, smiling like they wanted something from him or thought they knew something about him. Logan liked pretty girls. Of course he did. He was not blind, or dead, or spiritually committed to suffering.

But pretty girls usually stayed pretty girls.

They did not become rain-soaked mysteries with family-adjacent cars and lamb transportation stories and the kind of earnest concern that made him say, out loud, that nobody would be mean to a Chevy.

He had said it. He had actually said it.

Nobody will be mean to Cherry.

And you looked relieved.

“Logan.”

This time it was Coach. Logan straightened immediately, stick in hand, body snapping back into the present with the deeply unpleasant sensation of a man being caught mentally wandering somewhere he had no business being.

Coach looked at him from the boards.

Garrett looked at him too.

So did Dean, because Dean had the instincts of a gossip magazine and could smell weakness through protective gear.

“Focus,” Coach barked.

“Yeah,” Logan called back. “I’m good.”

He was not good.

Dean skated past him a second later, slow enough to be irritating and wearing the expression of someone about to say something Logan did not want to hear.

“You look weird.”

Logan did not look at him.

“You always look weird.”

“No, I look fantastic. You look weird.”

“Go away.”

“See, that was defensive.”

“Dean.”

“Suspicious.”

“Dean.”

“Is this about a girl?”

Logan’s stick tightened in his hand. Just barely, it could have easily passed for a flex of his fingers against the wood. 

Dean’s eyes lit up.

Like a dog seeing a squirrel.

“Oh my God.”

“It’s not about a girl.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You said girl.”

“And you reacted.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did with your stick.”

“My stick didn’t react.”

“It absolutely did.”

Logan skated away.

This did not help.

Dean followed, obviously, because Dean had never once seen a boundary and thought, yes, that looks like something I should respect.

“What’s her name?”

“There is no girl.”

“So there is a girl.”

“That is literally the opposite of what I said.”

“Does she go here?”

“No.”

Dean gasped. Logan realised his mistake immediately.

“Ah.”

“No.”

“So she exists.”

“Everyone exists.”

“Not everyone makes you forget how to receive a pass.”

Logan stopped so suddenly Dean nearly ran into him.

“I did not forget how to receive a pass.”

“You watched it slide by you like it was carrying bad news.”

Logan stared at him.

Dean looked delighted.

Across the ice, Garrett called, “Both of you. Drill.”

“Coming, Captain,” Dean sang, then leaned closer to Logan as if delivering classified information. “This isn’t over.”

“It is.”

“It has barely begun.”

Logan shoved him lightly with one shoulder and got back into position, jaw tight, eyes on the puck, trying to be normal. He could be normal. He had been normal for years. Entire decades, practically. There was no reason one rain-soaked girl with a dramatic car and expensive lipstick should have any impact on his ability to run a drill.

None.

The whistle blew. The puck moved. Logan moved with it. For a few clean minutes, he did not think of you at all. Then someone near the boards shouted something about a cherry picker, completely unrelated to cars, perfume, or red lipstick, and Logan’s brain betrayed him so violently he nearly missed the next turn.

By the time practice ended, Logan wanted to drown himself in the Zamboni runoff.

The locker room was worse.

The locker room was always worse because hockey players, as a group, possessed the emotional range of middle-schoolers when presented with the possibility of romance. The second Coach left and the door swung shut behind him, Dean’s attention locked onto Logan with terrifying precision.

“So.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I was going to ask about your morning.”

“You were not.”

“I’m a caring friend.”

“You’re an invasive friend.”

“Same thing.”

Garrett sat down on the bench across from them, untying his skates with the resigned calm of a man who knew he was about to witness stupidity and had decided not to waste energy resisting it.

Dean leaned back against his stall, grin sharp. “He met a girl.”

Tucker looked up immediately.

Logan closed his eyes.

Great.

Perfect.

Now Tucker knew.

Tucker, who would not tease as loudly as Dean, but would absolutely absorb the information with quiet interest and then say one sentence three days later when Logan least expected it.

“I didn’t meet a girl.”

“You admitted she exists.”

“I admitted people exist.”

“You said she doesn’t go here.”

“Because you asked if she goes here.”

Dean pointed like a prosecutor. “Exactly.”

Garrett looked at Logan.

That was the issue with Garrett. Dean was chaos, all noise and guesses and delighted accusations. Garrett was worse because Garrett listened. Garrett waited. Garrett let people talk themselves into corners and then looked at them like they had arrived exactly where he expected.

Logan hated that.

“What happened?” Garrett asked.

“Nothing happened.”

Dean scoffed. Tucker blinked. Garrett kept looking.

Logan exhaled through his nose, because apparently silence was not going to save him.

“She came into the shop last night.”

Dean sat up straighter.

“The shop?”

“My dad’s garage.”

“A mechanic meet-cute,” Dean breathed.

“It was not a meet-cute.”

“It was raining, wasn’t it?”

Logan said nothing.

“It was raining.”

“It was a car problem.”

“A rainy mechanic meet-cute.”

“She needed help with her car.”

“And you helped her?”

“That is generally what happens at garages.”

“What was she like?”

Logan reached for his towel.

“Wet.”

Dean stared. Garrett rubbed a hand over his face.

Tucker, snorted and looked up from where he was removing his protective gear, “From the rain?”

Dean pointed at him. “Thank you, Tuck. Important clarification.”

Logan threw the towel at Dean’s head.

Dean caught it badly. The sweat soaked thing flopped between his fingers and smacked him against his forehead, which was satisfying.

“She named her car Cherry,” Logan said, mostly to get them to shut up and immediately regretted it.

The room went silent.

Dean slowly said the name, his eyes widening in delight, “Cherry.”

“No.”

“Her car is named Cherry.”

“No.”

“You cannot just say her car is named Cherry and expect me to be normal.”

“I expected too much from you. That’s on me.”

Garrett’s mouth twitched. Even Tucker looked amused now.

“She was worried about the car,” Logan added, “She had to leave it overnight.”

“What kind of car?” Garrett asked.

“A Chevy.”

Dean froze. Logan immediately knew his mistake.

“No.”

Dean whispered, reverent, “Cherry the Chevy.”

“Don’t.”

“Cherry the cherry Chevy.”

“Stop.”

“This is the best day of my life.”

“You need higher standards.”

Dean ignored him completely. “Was she hot?”

Logan did not answer fast enough.

“Oh, she was hot.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You did with your pause.”

“My pause didn’t say anything.”

“Your pause said so much that I need a notebook to write it all down.”

Garrett finally laughed. Logan glared at him.

He lifted both hands. “Sorry.”

Logan knew he wasn’t sorry, nobody around him was sorry for this public undressing ritual. This was what Logan got for having friends.

“She was just…” Logan stopped. There was no good way to finish.

Nice? Too small.

Pretty? Too obvious.

Weird? True, but not in the way Dean would interpret.

Funny? Yes, but not deliberately enough for that to cover it.

Sweet? He would rather throw himself into the boards at full speed than say that in front of Dean.

Dean leaned forward, hands braced on his hips against the waistband of his underwear, delighted by the struggle. “She was just what?”

Logan shoved his gear into his bag with unnecessary force.

“She was worried about her car.”

“That is not a personality.”

“It kind of was.”

That made Garrett look up again. Logan pretended not to notice.

How was he supposed to explain it? That you had stood in the rain asking him whether the car would be warm enough inside. That you had patted the hood before leaving. That you had forgotten his name, probably, because you had looked at him like you wanted to say something before getting in the cab and then settled on thank you, Logan with a softness that had stayed somewhere beneath his ribs all night.

He could not explain that. He didn’t want to explain that- he wanted to be greedy and hoard your enviable optimism; not share it with anyone else. Not to Dean. Not to anyone.

So he zipped his bag and stood, “I have class.”

Dean glanced at the clock. “In forty minutes.”

“I like being early.”

“You hate being early.”

“I like leaving this conversation.”

Dean laughed as Logan headed for the door.

“Tell Cherry I said hi.”

Logan slowly turned, his expression mildly murderous.

Dean smiled and waved his fingers in a dainty goodbye. 

Garrett looked away, hiding his own grin.

Tucker suddenly became fascinated by his socks.

Logan pointed at Dean,“You are never meeting her.”

Dean gasped.

“So there is her.”

Logan left the locker room to the sound of Dean’s victory shout echoing behind him.

By the time he reached the hallway, the grin had already started pulling at his mouth.

He scolded himself but didn’t try to hide it, there was no reason to smile.

There was no reason to feel warm just because some girl had named her car Cherry and left the smell of rain and perfume in his father’s garage. No reason to hope she came by to pick the car up herself instead of sending a parent or a friend or some guy with a key. No reason to wonder whether she would remember his name the next time.

No reason at all.

Logan shifted his bag higher on his shoulder and walked toward the exit.

Outside, the morning was cold and clear, the storm washed out of the sky like it had never happened. Still, as he stepped into the air, he caught the faintest trace of something sweet from a girl passing by in the hallway.

The scent was distinctly not cherries, the sound following was not of your ballet flats against the pavement. But it was close enough that for one stupid second, his head turned. The girl was already gone, disappearing around the corner leaving Logan to stand in his own desperation. 

He swore under his breath.

Yeah.

He had a problem.

By Tuesday afternoon, Logan had decided the universe was doing it on purpose.

At first, he had been reasonable about it.

Sunday night was whatever.

Rain. Garage. Strange girl. Stranger car.

Fine.

Monday morning skate was unfortunate, sure, but everyone had bad practices occasionally. Everyone got distracted. Everyone missed a pass now and then, especially when Dean existed in the same general area and therefore lowered the cognitive function of the entire rink by at least thirty percent.

Monday afternoon had been the perfume thing, which he had also tried to be normal about.

He had been walking back from class with Tucker and Garrett, half-listening to Tucker talk about an assignment and half-wondering whether his father had called the number on the calling card yet, when they passed some girl outside the student centre wearing something sweet and cherry-heavy enough that Logan’s head turned before he could stop it.

Not you.

Different hair. Different height. Different everything.

But for one deeply stupid second, his entire body had reacted like it could recognise you by scent alone, which was the kind of behaviour he would have mocked Dean for until the end of time if their positions had been reversed.

Garrett had noticed. Of course Garrett had noticed.

Garrett Graham noticed everything when he wanted to, which was one of his most annoying captain qualities, right below acting responsible and somehow making it look natural.

“You good?” Garrett had asked.

“Yeah.”

Tucker had glanced between them. “Did you forget something?”

“No.”

Logan had kept walking.

That should have been the end of it.

It was not.

Because apparently, by Tuesday afternoon, the universe had escalated from perfume-based psychological warfare to vehicular harassment.

It happened on the way to the hockey house.

Logan was driving with Dean in the passenger seat and Tucker in the back, because Garrett had gone ahead to the house before them, setting up for Hannah and Allie- this usually involved throwing away the hardened socks on the staircase and running the washing machine until it was on the brink of death. One time the thing had fizzled out during the flash-wash speed run, and Logan had spent the entire night poking at the thing, because the guys thought any machine was car equivalent. The weather had cleared entirely by then, the rain from Sunday washed clean out of the streets, leaving behind that sharp, bright autumn light that made every car window flash and every tree look too golden to be real.

Logan was not thinking about you.

He was thinking about traffic, and practice, and whether Dean was going to spend an absurd amount of time with sentient thoughts that evening to explain his class readings on current tort law. Normal things. Healthy things. Things that did not involve red lipstick, rain, and a girl asking whether anyone would be mean to her Chevy overnight.

Then, at the light near the edge of campus, a cherry-red car turned onto the road ahead of them.

Logan’s hands tightened on the wheel, and he wanted to subsequently bash his head against the horn. Dean was in the passenger seat and that man could notice the sun shifting behind a cloud if he thought it might lead to gossip.

“Oh,” Dean said.

Logan stared straight ahead.

“No.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You said oh.”

“I am allowed to experience vowels.”

“You’re not.”

Dean leaned forward, squinting through the windshield. “Is that-”

“No.”

“You didn’t even look.”

“I’m driving.”

“You absolutely looked.”

“At the road.”

“At the cherry-red Chevy.”

Logan’s jaw tightened.

From behind, Tucker shifted slightly, interested now in the way he got when drama happened in front of him and he chose not to participate but absolutely planned to remember every word.

Dean pointed. “Follow it.”

“No.”

“Logan.”

“We are not following a random car.”

“It might be Cherry.”

“It’s not.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know.”

“How?”

Because I know the shape of her car after seeing it under garage lights for half a night and then again the next morning when my dad made me check the wiring before class, was not something Logan could say without handing Dean a weapon he would use until death. So he said nothing.

“You know her car.”

“I fixed her car.”

“You know her car.”

“I fix a lot of cars.”

“You don’t recognise them in traffic.”

Logan slowed as the light changed, still behind the red Chevy.

The car ahead moved smoothly, sunlight catching the paint. It had a dent near the rear bumper. Yours didn’t. The sticker in the back window was wrong. The plates were wrong. It was not your car.

Dean watched his face with growing delight.

“Oh, this is bad.”

“It’s not bad.”

“It is so bad.”

“Nothing happened.”

“You’ve been haunted by a girl with a car for two days.”

“I have not.”

“You looked at that Chevy like it owed you closure.”

Tucker made a sound in the back seat. Suspiciously like a laugh.

Logan glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

Tucker immediately looked out the window.

Coward.

Dean, unfortunately, was not a coward. Dean was many things, several of them illegal in spirit, but coward had never been one of them.

“What if she’s in the car?”

“She’s not.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I literally just said-”

“Pull up beside it.”

“No.”

“Just look.”

“No.”

“Logan.”

“I am not pulling up beside a random person’s car because you think it might be a girl I met once.”

Dean sat back, grinning like the argument itself had confirmed something. “A girl you met once.”

Logan exhaled through his nose. He hated everyone in this car. Truly. Deeply.

From the backseat, Tucker finally spoke, “What if it is her?”

Logan looked at him again with betrayal painted over his face.

Tucker lifted both hands. “Just saying.”

Dean pointed triumphantly toward the back. “See? Tucker understands romance.”

“No, Tucker is just as nosy as you are, he just talks about it at home.”

“Same thing.”

“It is not the same thing.”

The Chevy ahead of them turned right at the next junction.

Dean slapped the dashboard. “Go right.”

Logan went straight.

Dean’s scream was immediate and deeply satisfying.

“NO.”

“We are going to the house.”

“You chose hockey over love.”

“I chose not being insane.”

“That’s what cowards call it.”

Logan turned the radio up.

Dean turned it down.

Logan turned it back up.

Dean turned it back down.

Tucker, apparently deciding self-preservation mattered, leaned forward and said, “It had a bumper dent.”

Logan froze. Fucking tucker. Dean slowly turned toward him.

“What?”

Tucker shrugged. “The Chevy. It had a dent. Cherry didn’t, right?”

Logan said nothing, if this southern man could’ve shot him and left him for dead in the middle of the ice rink for coach to find, he would’ve taken that over the situation Tucker had put him in now. Logan vowed never to talk to him about anything, in private, ever again. 

Dean’s grin returned, slow and terrible.

“Oh my God.”

Logan stared ahead at the road.

Dean pointed at him, delighted beyond reason. “You knew that.”

“I noticed it because I fixed the car.”

“You noticed her car didn’t have a dent.”

“That is a mechanic thing to notice.”

“Was the lipstick a mechanic thing to notice too?”

Logan nearly missed the turn.

Dean howled.

Tucker actually laughed this time.

And Logan, who had once thought of himself as a reasonably controlled person, briefly considered driving directly into a hedge.

Across campus, in an entirely different cherry-red car, you were having your own crisis.

“Hannah,” you said carefully, both hands on the wheel. “Would you describe that as a stop sign or more of a strong suggestion?”

Hannah Wells sat in the passenger seat with one hand braced against the door and the expression of a woman mentally drafting her own will.

“That was a stop sign.”

“You’re sure?”

“It said stop.”

“Yes, but tone matters.”

Allie, from the backseat, laughed so hard she nearly dropped her iced coffee.

You glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Do not encourage her.”

“I’m not. I’m fearing for my life.”

“That is also not helpful.”

“You asked for feedback.”

“I asked for emotional support.”

“You asked whether a stop sign was legally binding.”

You sniffed, offended but not enough to stop smiling. “Cherry and I are used to each other. This car is unfamiliar.”

“It’s a campus rental,” Hannah said.

“She feels hostile.”

“She feels like a normal car.”

“Exactly.”

The rental was, technically, red.

A bright, rental-agency red that lacked depth, history, and emotional resonance. But it was red enough that Allie had squealed when you picked it up from the campus service lot that morning, and Hannah had immediately said, “Oh, God, not another one,” which felt unfair because you were not responsible for the colour options available to temporary vehicles.

Cherry was still at the garage. Recovering.

You had called that morning from the official shop number, spoken to the older man - Mr. Logan’s father? No. Wait. Was Logan his first name or surname? You still weren’t sure, which was becoming increasingly embarrassing - and been told she needed another day. Maybe two. Nothing catastrophic, he had promised, just wiring being dramatic and a part needing ordering.

You had thanked him very calmly.

Then hung up and immediately stared at the wall for a full minute. You had so much to do this morning, read-up on veterinary anatomy & physiology from the notes you made last term, go to the gym, visit Winston at the farm and then choose an outfit for this hangout that Allie and Hannah invited you into. 

The first time you were going to meet their boyfriends in person. Sure you’d chirped friendly hello’s and how are you to them through face time, mostly when you were doing some face-mask with the girls and for some reason beyond your comprehension, it constituted a quick face time to show the boys’ the funny animal designs that adorned their faces. But you’d never met Garrett or Dean in person, and from the things you have heard about them, you weren’t sure if you wanted to. 

The most you’d learnt about Dean was through blurry photos from 3am parties with Allie or shirt-less selfies he sent her, which you looked away immediately from. You had no interest in looking at the shiny, sweaty male form of a man you had not yet been formally introduced to.

But there was redeemable moments from this man, moments like Allie squealing on the phone when she found out he was top in his class for their recent test, a fact you were sure your neighbours appreciated hearing at 10:00pm at night and photos that didn’t immediately make you blush in embarrassment and look away, like where he was sat lazily in what looked to be a changing room, half geared-up with over-the-top protective appliances strapped to his body, he was grinning at the camera and had pinched between his fingers a white jersey that read, “Briar Hawks”.

He seemed…perfect for her. 

Garrett was slightly more manageable, Hannah had shown you pictures from the college website where he was mid-play, eyes locked into whatever was behind the camera through the metal webbing of his helmet. 

There were of course other photos, ones with Hannah where he had his arms looped around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder while they both smiled towards you- those ones made you smile and giggle with her, he looked gentlemanly, proper in a way that you knew was just right for your best friend. Though, you glanced away when the photos turned more suggestive, a hand tightened on her front, mouth pressed into her neck- a delicate flush creeping up to her cheeks. At least he wasn’t a full gentleman. 

On top of that, your mother had texted you this morning, not that you hated to receive her messages- but she was unhelpful in killing the slight disappointment you felt when Mechanic senior had picked up the phone, and not your mechanic. Not- yours specifically. God, your brain had a way of coming up with the weirdest things. 

Mama 🌽❤️

Has Mechanic called with an update?

You

not Mechanic specifically. Elder Mechanic.

Mama 🌽❤️

Ah. So there are generations.

Mama 🌽❤️

How romantic.

You had thrown your phone onto your bed and refused to answer for fourteen minutes.

Now, you were borrowing a campus rental to drive Hannah and Allie to pick up drinks before heading to the hockey house, because Garrett had invited Hannah and Hannah had invited Allie and Allie had invited you, and the entire plan had somehow turned into you being the person with temporary transportation despite everyone involved having seen you nearly argue with a stop sign.

“Okay,” you said, slowing at a light with more concentration than the task probably required. “So Garrett is captain.”

“Yes,” Hannah said.

“And very responsible.”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“He lives with Dean.”

“Right. That must affect a person.”

Allie snorted from the backseat. “It does.”

“And Dean is…” You paused, searching for a kind word. “Energetic.”

“That’s generous,” Hannah said.

“I’m being supportive.”

“He is energetic,” Allie said, though she was smiling down at her phone like Dean had probably just texted something that supported the point. “He’s also annoying, loud, rich, dramatic, and unfortunately very funny when he wants to be.”

“That’s very romantic.”

“It’s a curse.”

“You chose him.”

“I know. Horrifying.”

Allie leaned forward between the seats. “Oh my God, is that Garrett?”

Hannah straightened immediately. “Where?”

You glanced toward the sidewalk as you slowed near the junction.

Two boys were walking near the curb. One tall, dark-haired, laughing at something. The other blond and absurdly pretty in a way that made you immediately assume he was trouble.

Allie gasped. “Dean.”

Hannah’s face lit up in the soft, private way it did around Garrett, which made you smile despite the fact you were actively operating a hostile rental vehicle.

“Oh,” you said brightly. “Do you want me to turn around?”

Hannah’s head snapped toward you.

“No.”

Allie grabbed the back of your seat. “Absolutely not.”

“I can.”

“No,” they said together.

You blinked.

“I’m a good driver.”

Hannah patted your shoulder.

“Sunshine, we are so glad we are still alive.”

Allie nodded solemnly. “We are choosing gratitude.”

“That is so rude.”

“You asked if a stop sign had a tone.”

“It did have a tone.”

“You’re proving my point.”

You glanced back toward where the boys had been, but they were already too far behind- turning into the small convenience store, and the light had changed, and someone behind you honked with the aggression of a person who did not respect narrative timing.

You jumped and switched gears hurriedly, “Okay! Sorry!”

Hannah grabbed the dashboard. Allie screamed.

The rental lurched forward.

“There,” you said brightly, as if nothing had happened. “Completely fine.”

You smiled, taking the turn Hannah indicated, though you did ask whether she was sure twice because the road looked narrow and the rental had a personality you did not trust. “I’m excited to meet them.”

“You’ve technically seen Garrett,” Hannah said.

“That doesn’t count.”

“And Dean?”

“Allie has shown me pictures.”

Allie leaned forward immediately. “Good pictures.”

“You showed me one where he was holding a champagne bottle and wearing sunglasses indoors.”

“That was a good picture.”

“It was very informative.”

Hannah laughed, and the sound settled the nerves in your stomach a little. Not that you were nervous exactly. You liked people. You liked parties, and dinners, and family gatherings full of cousins and noise, and the strange little social rituals of entering a room and figuring out where you fit inside it. But this was different because these were your friends’ people, and meeting your friends’ people mattered.

Also, Cherry was still at the mechanic. Which meant you were operating at an emotional disadvantage.

Allie leaned forward again, smiling. “Did Mechanic call?”

Hannah looked back to Allie and then to you, “Mechanic?” she asked.

Allie grinned.

“Oh, you haven’t heard about Mechanic?”

You groaned. “No.”

Hannah turned fully in the passenger seat, facing you. 

“What mechanic?”

“The mechanic who rescued Cherry in the rain.”

“He did not rescue her.”

“Stabilised her,” Allie corrected solemnly.

“Thank you.”

Hannah stared at you.

You stared at the road.

“Hm,” Hannah said.

You did not like the hm. The hm had teeth.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s never nothing with you.”

“I just think it’s interesting.”

“What is interesting?”

“That you called him Mechanic.”

“That is his profession.”

“You don’t call your dentist Dentist.”

“I don’t like my dentist.”

“What’s his name?”

You focused very hard on the road.

“So the thing is.”

“Oh my God.”

“I forgot.”

“You forgot his name?”

“I was under emotional distress.”

Allie was laughing again, Hannah looked delighted.

“Was he cute?”

You nearly missed the turn.

Hannah made a noise of alarm.

Allie clutched her drink.

“I’m driving,” you said, too quickly.

“That is not an answer.”

“It is a safety concern.”

“It is absolutely not an answer.”

“I hate both of you.”

“You don’t.”

The hockey house appeared at the end of the street looking exactly as you had imagined and somehow worse. Lights on in half the windows, two cars in the driveway, someone’s hoodie visible through the front window as if it had been abandoned mid-crisis. You parked the rental with great care because Hannah was already emotionally fragile from your earlier stop-sign question and you did not want to push her into prayer.

Allie climbed out of the back, carrying the drinks with both hands. You followed, smoothing down your skirt and locking the rental with a click that felt far less satisfying than Cherry’s old, dramatic beep. 

“There they are.”

You looked up.

Garrett opened the door first.

He was tall, smiling already at Hannah in a way that made your heart do a tiny, delighted squeeze. There was something very lovely about seeing your friend become someone’s favourite person in real time, especially when she tried to pretend she was normal about it and failed so badly her whole face softened before she even reached the porch.

Dean appeared behind him, leaning around the doorframe with a grin that looked expensive and dangerous.

You recognised him immediately.

“Okay,” you whispered to Allie, “I understand the sunglasses picture now.”

Allie laughed, pleased. “Right?”

You were smiling when your eyes moved past Dean.

Then you stopped. Because behind Dean, standing in the hallway with one hand braced against the doorframe and a hockey sweatshirt pushed up at the sleeves, was the mechanic boy.

Not Mechanic. Logan.

The name came back all at once, bright and obvious and embarrassing in its delay.

He looked different outside the garage.

No rain. No oil-stained work shirt. No harsh shop lights catching the angles of his face while he leaned over Cherry’s engine. His hair was dry now, a little messy in the way boys’ hair became when they touched it too often and pretended they hadn’t. The sweatshirt made him look softer somehow, more college boy than midnight mechanic, but the hands were the same. The forearms were the same. The faintly amused, quietly attentive expression was the same when his eyes landed on you and recognition flickered across his face.

Your whole body lit up before you could stop it.

“Oh my God,” you said, delighted. “Mechanic!”

Logan’s mouth curved, just slightly,“Cherry.”

Hannah turned to you so slowly it felt theatrical.

Allie’s eyes widened.

Dean looked between you and Logan with the expression of a man being handed a gift-wrapped scandal.

Garrett closed his eyes for half a second like he had already accepted that the evening was about to become exhausting.

You blinked.

Then laughed, because what else were you supposed to do?

“I did remember your name eventually,” you said, very sincerely,“Just not when my mother asked.”

Logan’s eyebrows lifted.

“Your mother asked about me?”

“Oh.” You paused. “Well. Not you specifically. She asked about the mechanic.”

Dean made a noise.

Allie slapped his arm without looking at him.

“And you didn’t remember my name,” Logan looked like he was trying not to smile too much.

“I was under emotional distress.”

“Because of Cherry.”

“Exactly.”

His mouth  softened at that, and for one second it felt like the two of you were back beneath the shop umbrella, rain hammering overhead, your hand pressed to Cherry’s door while he promised nobody would be mean to her overnight.

Then Dean stepped forward.

“Hi,” he said, holding out a hand. “I’m Dean. I already love whatever this is.”

Logan said, “There is no this.”

At the same time you said, “Hi, Dean, I’ve heard so much about you.” and took his hand, jumping when he waved your intertwined fingers up and down, above your height and below your knees.

Dean’s grin widened and pulled back. You held your assault arm and pressed a hand to your head- dizzy on your feet from the whiplash. Somehow, your smile back was soft and gentle, like you had encountered an over energetic toddler. 

“Good things?”

You glanced at Allie.

Allie’s face said absolutely not.

You looked back at Dean and smiled brightly. “Informative things.”

Garrett laughed under his breath.

Dean placed a hand over his heart. “I accept.”

The house swallowed you quickly after that.

Not literally, though it had the energy of a building that might try. It was warm inside, louder than outside, cluttered in a way that immediately told you women did not have enough authority over the communal spaces. There were sneakers near the stairs, a hoodie over the banister, a bowl of keys on the entry table, and a living room that looked like several people had tried to clean it in five-minute bursts and given up at different stages of grief.

You loved it.

Hannah was pulled toward Garrett almost immediately, his hand settling at the small of her back as he took the drinks from her. Allie was swept into some argument with Dean about whether he had “misrepresented” something he had texted her earlier, which seemed less like a fight and more like their natural mating ritual. Tucker appeared from somewhere with a polite hello and the calm aura of someone who had survived years of Dean by becoming spiritually waterproof.

You wanted to talk to Logan. You told yourself it was because he was there, and you were there, and there was something very strange and sweet about seeing him again by accident after spending two days insisting to yourself that you probably never would.

But every time it almost happened, something interrupted.

First, Garrett asked you about classes because he was polite , and you explained veterinary sciences while Dean immediately asked whether that meant you could diagnose him, to which Allie said, “We already know what’s wrong with you.”

Then Hannah asked if you wanted a drink, and while you were deciding between water and whatever suspicious red thing was in the pitcher, you saw Logan glance over from the other side of the kitchen. His eyes caught yours for half a second.

You smiled.

He smiled back.

Then Dean physically stepped between you both to reach for chips.

The entire afternoon slipped past like that. His eyes would find yours for a second, maybe two, and then one of you would look away because someone else started talking or because the room moved or because Hannah asked if you wanted another drink. It felt like trying to catch sunlight in your hands. Every time you thought you had a moment, it slinked somewhere else.

You did eventually get one proper conversation with him.

It happened beside the kitchen counter, after Dean had dragged Garrett into a debate about whether cereal counted as soup and Allie had threatened to break up with him on behalf of language itself. Hannah had wandered into the living room with Tucker to look for something, and for the first time since you had stepped into the house, Logan was close enough to speak to without anyone immediately interrupting.

You smiled at him. Because you were happy to see him.

It felt very simple when you thought of it that way.

“Hi, Logan.”

Something in his face changed when you said his name properly,“You remembered.”

“I did,” you said proudly. “It came back to me all at once on the porch. Very cinematic.”

“Cinematic?”

“Yes. Like when someone remembers a password under pressure.”

His mouth twitched. “That’s the comparison?”

“It was emotionally similar.”

He laughed under his breath, and the sound made you smile wider because you liked it when he laughed. You had liked it in the garage too, though that had felt less safe to acknowledge because Cherry had been poorly and you had been wet and he had been a stranger with kind eyes. 

Here, in the bright, messy kitchen, with your friends nearby and music playing faintly from the living room, liking his laugh felt much more acceptable.

Friend-shaped.

“Cherry’s doing okay?” you asked, because that was the sensible question. The practical one. The one you had been trying not to ask every eight minutes since walking into the house.

Logan nodded. “She’s good. Dad said that a part came in late, but she should be ready tomorrow. I checked before you guys came over.”

Your whole body softened with relief. And you didn’t focus on the fact that your knees became weak at the thought of him calling his dad for you. Because it probably was for Cherry. Mostly. 

“Oh, that’s wonderful. I miss her so much. The rental car is fine, obviously, and I’m grateful she exists, but she has no personality. She feels like she would report me to a manager.”

Logan stared at you. Then laughed again, a little more helpless this time.

“She’d report you?”

“She has that energy.”

“She’s a car.”

“So is Cherry, and Cherry would never.”

“No?”

“Never. Cherry would help me hide evidence.”

Logan’s smile lingered, and for a second you forgot what you were supposed to say next because he looked very different from how he had in the garage. For the first time that day, you got to shamelessly sweep your gaze over him. One of his hands was shoved into his pocket, the other held a cup of what seemed to be coke, which sloshed gently as he tilted nervously forward on the tips of his socked feet. The shirt he was wearing was modest, a cotton grey henley that stretched nicely over his shoulders and was rolled up over his forearms, and you were choosing not to have a thought about it because this was a friendly conversation and you had values.

 You assumed he pulled off his sweatshirt sometime during the hangout and it had joined the mysterious pile of laundry in the laundry room. His gaze trained on you whilst he periodically bit at his lip then released it, like he was reminding himself of the nervous tic.

 “My mum likes the sound of you,” you said, because your mouth had never believed in giving you time to approve sentences before releasing them into the world.

Logan’s eyebrows lifted. You realised, one second too late, how that sounded.

“Oh! Not like that. Not weird. Just because she called to check if I got home safe, and then she asked about Cherry, and then she asked if the mechanic was competent, and then I said yes, and then she asked if you were handsome, which was very inappropriate of her, so I said you had kind eyes.”

Silence. Immediate,  awful silence. 

You blinked.

Logan looked at you, then slowly, slowly, his mouth parted in a delighted grin. 

“You said I had kind eyes?”

You looked down at your cup.

The cup suddenly became fascinating.

It was plastic. Blue. A little scratched near the rim.

“Yes.”

“That was your answer?”

“It was a neutral answer.”

“It was?”

“Yes.”

“You think my eyes are neutral?”

You looked back up, a little wounded by the accusation. “I think your eyes are kind.”

His expression shifted. Something warmer slipped underneath it, something that made the kitchen feel smaller for half a second.

“Oh,” he said quietly.

You nodded, suddenly shy in a way that felt unfamiliar because you were not usually shy about compliments. Compliments were lovely. Pretty things deserved to be acknowledged. 

Your grandmother complimented horses, cakes, outfits, table settings, and occasionally clouds if they were arranged nicely. Your mother had once told a farmer his hands were “honest-looking” and then married him seven years later, which your father still claimed was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to him.

So saying Logan had kind eyes should not have felt like anything dangerous. Then Dean shouted from the living room, “CEREAL IS WET FOOD, NOT SOUP,” and the moment shattered so abruptly that you jumped.

Logan closed his eyes. You laughed.

“Does that happen a lot?”

“Dean?”

“Yes.”

“Unfortunately.”

“He’s very lively.”

“That’s one word.”

“I like him.”

“You’ve known him for twenty minutes.”

“He has strong beliefs.”

“He has loud beliefs.”

“That too.”

Logan looked at you like he wanted to say something else. You wanted him to. You wanted to ask about the garage, about his father, about whether he always fixed cars or if he only happened to be there that night. You wanted to tell him your mother had asked twice more about “the mechanic boy” and you had pretended not to hear her. You wanted to ask whether he had always been good with his hands and then immediately not ask that because that was not a friend-shaped question.

But before either of you could find the next words, Hannah appeared in the kitchen doorway with your purse in one hand and mild panic on her face.

“The rental.”

Your eyes widened.

“Oh no.”

Allie, behind her, was already gathering her jacket. “We have twelve minutes.”

“Twelve?” you repeated, immediately distressed. “I thought we had fourteen.”

“We used two discussing Dean’s soup theory.”

“That feels unfair.”

“The rental company doesn’t care about soup.”

You turned back to Logan quickly, suddenly aware that you were leaving again. Again. Before the conversation had become anything solid. Before you had figured out why it felt so strangely nice to stand near him.

“I have to go return the keys.”

“Yeah,” Logan said, though he sounded like he did not particularly like that.

“It was really nice seeing you. Accidentally. Not that seeing you intentionally would be bad. I mean, obviously, because we’re all friends now.” You smiled, brightening as the thought occurred to you properly. “Oh! Wait. We are, aren’t we? Friends. Or friend-group-adjacent. I should have your number.”

Logan’s mouth popped open as he tried to keep up, nodding silently, as if you hadn’t just shot him straight in the heart with cupid’s arrow. The room seemed to quiet in a way it absolutely did not need to.

Dean, from the living room, whispered, “Oh my God.”

Allie hissed, “Shut up.”

You looked between them, confused, then back at Logan. “Is that okay? Just because if Hannah brings me over again, or if there’s a group thing, or if Cherry has an emergency and your dad calls but you’re there, or if I need to ask whether Dean is allowed near my car-”

“He’s not,” Logan said immediately.

You smiled. “Exactly. Important information.”

Logan was still looking at you like you had offered him something much more complicated than a practical friendship-based phone number exchange. For a second, you wondered if you had made it strange. Then he held out his hand.

“Yeah,” he said, pulling his phone out of his back pocket to open up a new contact, “Here.”

You took it from him happily, typing in your number and saving your contact name as, “cherry 🍒” because you loved a theme. You didn’t overthink the interaction, because this was normal.

Friends had numbers. Friend groups had numbers. Hannah had Garrett’s, Allie had Dean’s, Garrett had everyone’s because he was captain and therefore responsible by law, and Tucker seemed like the sort of person people trusted with emergency contact information. Everyone was connected somehow. So now you would have Logan’s, because Logan was part of the group, and because he was Cherry’s mechanic, and because he had very kind eyes, and none of those facts needed to be emotionally examined in the doorway of the hockey house while the rental car company threatened financial damage.

He took the phone from you and stared at the name you had saved yourself under. Logan looked up briefly from under his eyelashes and quickly typed you a message. Your phone buzzed.

[ UNKNOWN ]

You can save me as Logan. Mechanic works too, if you forget.

You looked up at him immediately, your face crinkling with genuine embarrassment.

“I did not forget,” you insisted, leaning forward to catch his wrist like the clarification was urgent. “Mama put me on the spot, and then I got confused about whether Logan was you or your dad.”

The warmth of your hand disappeared as quickly as it had burned him.

You were already looking back down at your phone, thumbs moving quickly over the screen, your nails clinking daintily against the glass. Logan stayed where he was, a careful, respectable distance between you, because apparently that was something he had to think about now. Distance. Space. The fact that you touched people when you meant things was dangerous for him. You weren’t even aware of what you did to people - the way you enchanted them with your expressive eyes, the way you hypnotised them with the delicate movements of your cherry-red mouth, the way every outfit you wore somehow looked innocent enough to make him feel guilty and pretty enough to make his skin heat.

He could still feel your fingers around his wrist.

You saved the contact without hesitation.

Mechanic 🔧

Logan stared at the screen.

Then at you.

“You saved me as Mechanic.”

You smiled, bright and entirely too pleased with yourself. “You said it worked.”

“I also said Logan.”

“Yes, but Mechanic feels more specific.”

“More specific than my name?”

“In context, yes.”

His mouth twitched.

Dean made a strangled noise from somewhere behind him, you peeked beyond Logan, concerned, “Do you need water?”

Garrett started laughing.

Dean stared at you for a second, then looked at Logan like he was witnessing something holy.

“I love her.”

Logan pointed at him. “Don’t.”

Hannah appeared beside you and gently took your wrist. “We have to go before the rental company charges you and you start apologising to the car.”

“I would not apologise to that.”

“You already called her misunderstood.”

“She is.”

Allie was already halfway out the door. “Move, sunshine.”

Hannah tugged again.

You stumbled backward onto the porch with a laugh, waving to everyone at once because your aunt said that leaving a room is more important than entering it. “Bye! It was so lovely meeting everyone. Garrett, Hannah talks about you so much and now I understand why. Dean, please don’t let cereal upset you too much. Tucker, thank you for the drink. Logan, please tell Cherry I miss her.”

Dean made an inhuman sound.

Garrett looked delighted despite himself.

Tucker smiled into his cup.

Logan’s expression softened in a way that made the whole bright, noisy house feel suddenly very still.

“I will,” he said.

You beamed, then pranced  down the steps, your heels thumping softly against the wood, somehow you ran in a way that didn’t make them creak under your weight. Something slipped from your purse and hit the floor with a tiny, delicate clink- but you didn’t hear it over the laughter erupting from Hannah and Allie as you started pouting at the rental, displeased with its general aura. 

Logan bent as you handed your purse to Allie, picking up the little glass perfume tester from beside the bannister. For a second, he held it carefully between his fingers. He recognised the first part of the name, “Guerlain” but the rest was in French, and while he liked to think he was smart- he couldn’t put himself through the torture of trying to understand, “ L'Art & La Matière Cherry Oud Eau de Parfum”

His thumb brushed the label once. The liquid inside was a dusty pink, swaying gently with the movement of his hand, and for one stupid second he itched to press down on the sprayer just to see if it really was the same scent that had been haunting him since the garage. Instead he slipped it into his back pocket for safe keeping. 

At the rental car, you turned back once, purely because you wanted to wave again. Logan had returned to the doorway with the rest of the guys, leaning on the outside of the frame, watching with that almost-smile.

You lifted your hand.

Then, because you were happy, because you were leaving and he was still standing there, because the whole evening had been strange and funny and sweet and you had his number now for completely normal friend-group reasons, you blew him a little kiss.

Quick. Bright. Careless.

The thing you’d done since you were a little girl who watched too many old movies. The thing you did to your grandparents, your siblings, your parents, your baby cousins who giggled whenever there was a faint stain of lipstick left on your palm.

The thing you didn’t think twice about when you did it to Hannah or Allie or a horse peering over a stall door. 

Then you ducked into the rental car before you could see what it did to him.

Logan remained in the doorway long after Hannah pulled away from the curb.

Behind him, Dean whispered in his ear, “She blew you a kiss.”

Logan did not answer.

Mostly because he was still looking down the street where the rental had disappeared.

Mostly because his phone was still warm in his hand from your grasp. 

Mostly because the entryway smelled faintly like your perfume, and for once, he knew exactly where the smell had come from.

On the entry table, beside a half-empty cup with a soft red lipstick print on the rim, your laugh seemed to linger in the room a few seconds longer than it should have.

Dean leaned closer, his chin resting on Logan's shoulder like a war widow. He sighed dreamily into his teammate’s neck, fanning himself dramatically, “Oh what a delightful girl.” 

The other two boys weren’t hiding it well either. Tucker was shaking his head, enamoured with the way you praised the kitchen organisation, and went on to a whole new rant about your aunt in Massachusetts who treated her kitchen’s well being like a war general- promising to ask her to send a roll of drawer liner that apparently wouldn’t let cutlery move even if an earthquake hit. 

Garrett found you sweet like a sister he never had, the way he was genuinely interested in hearing you talk about your seminars, how your teachers were so impressed with your knowledge about livestock handling before they found out you had been raised around more farm animals than most of the veterinary department had seen in textbooks. You spoke about calves, foals, lambs, and one particularly vengeful alpaca with the same warmth some girls reserved for childhood pets, hands moving excitedly as you explained the difference between knowing an animal academically and knowing one because you had once sat in a barn at three in the morning with your cheek pressed to your mama’s shoulder, waiting for a difficult birth to stop being difficult.

Garrett liked that about you. The sincerity. The way you made every room feel a little less sharp just by entering it. The way you asked him about hockey like you genuinely wanted to understand the thing Hannah cared about, not because you were trying to impress anyone, but because loving your friends meant learning the shape of the things they loved. 

Tucker liked you too, in that quiet, observant way of his, smiling into his cup whenever you thanked him too seriously for small things. 

Dean, obviously, had decided you were the most entertaining person to ever walk into the house and kept looking at Logan like the universe had personally handed him a loaded weapon.

And because none of them were blind - which would have made hockey significantly more complicated - they noticed Logan. They noticed how he could lean against the counter with his arms folded and try to act like he was above it all, but the second you started talking, his eyes found you. When you laughed, his mouth twitched before he could stop it. 

When you moved through the kitchen, he shifted out of your way before you even reached him, like his body had already started making space for yours without waiting for permission from his brain. And when you turned to him, bright-eyed and mid-story, asking, “Right, Mechanic?” like he had been part of the conversation the whole time, Logan looked at you with the sort of soft, helpless attention that made Dean press both hands over his mouth in theatrical restraint.

Dean muttered under his breath, “So.”

Logan’s head snapped toward him, “Don’t.”

Garrett coughed into his fist. Tucker looked down at planks of wood that made up the porch, shoulders shaking once.

Logan’s jaw tightened. “We’re friends.”

Dean stared at him. Garrett stared at him. Tucker, who usually had the decency to stay out of things, lifted his eyebrows, staring at him.

“Friends,” Dean repeated, slowly, like he was tasting the lie for quality. “Right.”

“Shut up.”

It was a normal, intimate night between the two of you. You rocking rhythmically on his lap while his hands gripped tightly beneath your jeans, fingers pressing into your ass hard enough that it would 200% leave a mark in the morning.

He slipped out of your pants to drag up your shirt slowly, hissing appreciatively through his teeth at your bra choice, " jesus, it's like you're tryin' to kill me."

You giggle breathlessly against his lips, leaning back to tease him, " dunno what you mean baby," your finger slips coyly past your unbuttoned waistband and into the lace band of your thong, the pretty blue peaks out behind the denim, just enough for Logan to bite his lip and glance up at you from below his lashes.

"yea?" He grips your wrist and hooks the elastic under his thumb, snapping it against your abdomen- laughing when you jolt and moan under your breath, "y'sure you have no idea what I mean?"

you shake your head and slink off his lap, "not a clue." you planted your knees onto the carpet and lay your cheek against his thigh, pushing your elbows together and boosting your tits up, presenting a shameful image for him to admire.

Logan threads his hands through your hair, "what d'ya want pretty? hmm?" he strokes your face, pushing the odd strand away from your eyes and tucking it behind your ear.

you shuffle a little beneath him, biting your lip.

Logan grins down at you, "you thinking about something baby?" you nod your head slowly, "you can tell me. it's just us here."

"wantyoutoslapme" you mumble, your fingers playing with the zipper of his fly, barely noticing the obvious tent brushing against your nose- more occupied with the sudden dryness of your throat and the burning of your cheeks.

Logan tilts his head, squinting at you, "might need you to enunciate a little darling." his index finger taps your pouted lips, pretending to not enjoy your embarrassment, he definitely didn't feel his head swim at the way your chest heaved with the weight of his stare and he swears that the sight of your pressing your thighs together didn't make his dick even harder than it was.

You glare at him, but there wasn't any heat behind it, "I said it clearly enough."

"I dont think you did baby," He leans down to peck your mouth, holding himself back from licking into your mouth and devouring that sweet, peachy taste of your lipgloss.

you whine and almost bury your head into the crook of where his thigh meets his pelvis, ignoring how he stifles a laugh, eventually you sigh. What did your mother always say? closed mouths dont get fed.

You don't really want to be thinking about your mum right now, but she always had words of wisdom that were multi-faceted.

"I want you to..." you blink up at him, "slap me."

Logan pauses above you, the hand that was playing with the ends of your hair and running along your shoulder froze.

"what?"

"see I knew you'd do that-" You huff, noncommittally shrugging your shoulders "it's fine, take off your pants, I'm more than happy-"

Your fingers are held in place with his, "let a guy buffer for a bit baby. It's not everyday your girlfriend asks you to slap her."

"yea but not in like a weird way" you justify, "in like a kinky way. you don't need to full palm bitch slap me, just like. a little one."

"a little one?"

"yea, try it"

"now?"

"babe start acting your IQ and slap me"

Logan huffs, and against every single nerve in his body, against his rational judgement, against his brothers parenting and beatings into his brain that under no circumstances do you ever lay your hand on a woman, jackass.

"okay..." he brings his hand up and pulls back very slightly.

well to him it was.

but you jerked back as you watched him bring his hand out, further and further like a rubber band and you weren't prepared to feel snap against your face.

"woah!" you grab his wrist and place it, maybe 4 inches away from your cheek, "the fuck you winding up for?"

"I'm not" he jumps, "babe I dont want to hurt you, I dunno how I feel about hitting you."

you cock your head at him, "I get that, but you're not hurting me, its more like.." you chew your lip racking your brain for an example, "oh."

you slap his thigh.

Logan hesitates, staring at the spot that you slapped, "huh..." he nods slowly. It wasn't so much of a slap than a firm pat against his skin, sure his muscles tingled a little beneath his jeans, but the area warmed just as quickly. maybe he could see the appeal.

you rush to interrupt his thoughts, "sorry- that probably was so random. and I won't force you to do anything you dont want to, I'm more than happy with what we do right now plus we can find other things."

"no..."

"no?"

"no- I mean yes- no." He shakes his head and wraps his hands around your shoulders, "I'll slap you."

What a weird sentence, and whats weirder is that your panties flooded almost instantly.

"yea?"

"yea ill slap you."

"ok, but don't like warn me before, it's the surprise that-"

you swallow the rest of your words with a gasp, your cheek burned deliciously and Logan's hand hovered by the area in question. Slowly you returned back to your position, your breathing stutters and fingers quake as red, hot pleasure burns through your body.

"like that?" Logan's cocky smirk makes you want to simultaneously stick your fingers down his throat and beg him to fuck the living daylights out of you.

"yea, just like that. do it again. m'dont care that it hurts"

He does it again, gaining confidence- instead of hovering and waiting for your approval his hand forms a choker over your neck, his fingers bracing against your jaw, "pretty baby doesn't care that it hurts huh? Just wants me to slap her" He brushes his knuckle against your face, "So fucking gorgeous, fuck, you wouldn't think that you're such a filthy girl from your face darling."

You whimper, barely noticing that your hand had started to slip under your panties and rub slow circles over your clit.

"turns y'on? never would've thought that you're into this, not in my wildest dreams." Logans eyes flutter from your face, where moans slip from your puckered lips to your fingers that begin to quicken.

He tsks, watching your hips roll into your palm, "naughty girl," He slaps the other cheek. Not letting you register the tingles blooming through your face before he manhandles you onto the bed.

You laugh, sitting up onto your shoulders as Logan kneels between your legs, dragging his arms backwards to slide off his t-shirt, gripping the neckline and throwing the article somewhere onto his floor.

He lowers himself, staring up at you predatorily, his lips dragging up from your stomach, biting the skin until you fall back with an appreciative hum- head bouncing on the soft pillow beneath you. He lifts again, one palm pressed to where his lips were teasing you, the other caressed your neck, pushing your hair away.

"this," he murmurs lowly, pointer finger ghosting from your throat down to your cleavage and circling your nipple through the flimsy fabric. The bud hardened and you arched into his touch- gasping softly, "off." he flicks the puckered nub.

You struggle to contort your arms to your clasp, shoulders straining against the stretch.

Eventually it falls limp and you graciously throw it in the general direction of where his shirt was carelessly thrown on the floor.

Logan hums from above you, "hmmm, this is the perfect view, in fact.." he trails off, grabbing your jeans and tugging them harshly down your legs, contributing to the pile on the other side of the room. You moan when he presses a finger against the ruined fabric of your panties, "there she is..my pretty girl."

You blush and attempt, albeit pathetically, to whine against his arms placing your legs wide apart, bending at the knee so he can slot comfortably between them, still rubbing and teasing you over the lace of your underwear.

The protests die on your tongue when he pulls the barrier to the side and delivers another slap, this time to your pussy, which clenches hopelessly around nothing. Logan brings his hand up in awe, fingers glistening under the yellow glow of his lamp.

"oh my god" he glances at you, grinning when he sees you nearly at the point of tears, "you are so into this. The whole tough guy, dominant thing really does it for ya?"

You shield your face from his teasing, "I didn't fucking know asshole," you peak at him between your fingers, "and don't act like you dont love this." you angle your knee to grind into his bulge.

"you play dirty, baby," he punches out, gripping your knee in place while he taps against the hand covering your mouth.

You lower your palm hesitantly and startle against his fingers that bury themselves into your mouth, the taste of your arousal bursts over your tongue, and you delicately hold his wrist, keeping the two digits firmly in place as you coat them with a thick layer of your saliva.

he hisses, watching you intently make a show out of sucking his fingers, tongue swirling and weaving in between the knuckles. Logan chuckles to himself when you try to force more into your throat, barely gagging when your swollen lips meet the webbing of his hand.

"what's got you so worked up pretty?" you roll your eyes and discreetly shift your hips towards him- the answer is pretty obvious, but Logan decides to toy with you a little bit more.

Maybe he really is loving this whole dominant thing.

He takes his fingers gently from your mouth, skimming them down your body and into your underwear.

"fuck! Logan," Your hand shoots down to grip his forearm, eyes rolling back and fluttering shut when he rolls your clit between his soaked fingers.

"nuh uh baby," He breathes against your lips, arm bracketing over your head to hold himself up, "look at me. wanna see your gorgeous eyes." his fingers drum against your temple until you meet his gaze.

You jump forward and bite his lip, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to drag him closer to you while free hand snakes under his arm, digging your nails into his back.

Logan swears against your mouth, "or you could do that." You laugh at his surprise, but it turns into a guttural moan when he delves into your face, mouth devouring yours whilst his tongue strokes and licks any inch of you he can reach.

"please" you whisper when you break apart for air, breathing into each others mouths, "Logan, you gotta do something- pleaseeee," you whine and buck your hips when his fingers stop circling your clit and tease your hole.

"patience baby," He snickers, thoroughly enjoying watching you suffer.

"fuck you, and fuck your patience." you grit out, squeezing your eyes shut when he barely breaches you with the tips of his digits, "fuck you more than your patience, ohmygod, god I'm going to kill you logan. As soon as we're done fucking, and we fuck a little bit more, I'm breaking up with you. How humiliating is this, I'm so wet baby- please come on."

Logan nods along, almost condescendingly to your babbles, eyes widening in the right places and pouting his lips at the better ones. But when your voice breaks into that breathy whine, his resolve shatters along with it and he can't help but swallow the gasp you let out when he sinks in, knuckles deep.

"fuckkk" you both say in unison, granted yours is more muffled because you've arched so far back that your mouth is in the pillow, but Logan compensates, his voice is significantly deeper than when you started and the obscenity is breathed against your sternum- where his mouth is peppering kisses whilst watching your chest bounce with each hard thrust of his wrist.

Your moans are choppy and sound more like sobs when Logan sits up onto his haunches, staring at where his fingers disappear inside of you, a wet trail left along them every time he pulls back.

"You're doing so well baby," he bites his lip, angling the hell of his palm into your clit, so with each push the bundle of nerves is bumped with the calloused skin, "look at you, doing so well f'me." he leans down briefly to kiss your pussy, but stays longer when he feels how wet you are against his lips.

"Logan," you whimper warningly, both hands scratching his scalp as you fight against the momentum to trap his head between your thighs, "Logan m'gonna cum if you do that."

He glances up at you, almost as if he forgot you were present whilst he got lost in your pussy, the lower half of his body now bent along and off the bed- it seems he took you with him, your knees now hooked onto his shoulders.

"I mean I'm not complaining," He shrugs, huffing in amusement when you roll your eyes, which widen comically when one of the hands that was wrapped around your thigh and rested on your hip came down in a harsh smack.

You let out a broken moan when his head dips again, this time working in tandem with his fingers. The sounds are lewd and you feel inexplicably sorry for whatever poor soul was getting the free show- but it was overshadowed by the overwhelming amount of pleasure that spiked through your entire body.

Logan slurped and nipped at your pussy, tongue lavishly stimulating your clit with harsh sucks that ended in debauched pops, making your head spin and cheeks flush.

"what were you saying pretty?" he mumbled against you, removing his mouth to kiss the inside of your thigh. You whimpered in response, barely able to bring your head up to meet his gaze, "what?"

"that," His fingers sped up and mouth parted when you jolted, gripping your breasts whilst gaping at him, " 's soon as we're done fucking, and we fuck a little bit more,' " his voice is pitched slightly higher, mimicking you, breaking at bits when he leans down to spit on down onto your hole where his fingers disappear, "what was the end bit? I cant seem to remember."

His fingers slow, much to your dismay, as he waits for your response,

"No! nono, baby," you words are slurred as you blindly reach for his wrist, "baby," you coo at him, stroking his hair, "I don't even remember, you know what they say, bitches be crazy. all that jazz."

He snorts at you, "really?"

"yea, but I'm bitches. please make me cum."

"You're not a bitch pretty," He kisses your cheek.

"John," You grind your hips down into his fingers, "Can we talk about the feminist meaning of the phrase and the wider effect on society. after you make me cum."

"Oh so I'm John now?" He pecks your hip, curling his fingers slowly.

"No," You stroke his face and whisper, "Logan."

He hums happily, increasing the pace slightly whilst crowding over you with his body, "And?"

Your chests brush together as you grind out a deep groan, hands limply hung from his shoulders.

You hook your ankles over his hips, welcoming him into your space, "Baby," You murmur, noses brushing together. Logan speeds up, plunging fast inside of you, the promiscuous sound of your wetness makes you arch your back.

"Anything else?" He prompts, breath fanning over your neck- you moan and bury your finger in your hair,

"F-fuck" You legs quiver around his torso, "I don't fucking know, daddy? sir?"

Logan nips at your throat, "Not what I was looking for, but I'll take it." He takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking harshly and rolling it between his teeth.

"Shit," Your hands fly to cradle his face against your breast, "cumming, yes Logan, don't stop" You sob into his hair, body convulsing against his.

A silent scream parts your mouth as wetness gushes onto Logan's fingers, you twitched and writhed as he continued to fuck you with slow thrusts- his fingers making hollow and wet sounds against you.

Only when your orgasm subsided is when he removed his fingers, eyes glistening as he sucked off your arousal. You watched, heavy pants still billowing out between your lips.

"So..." He slumped next to, already moving to grab a wet wash cloth, "You got any other requests for me?"

𝟎𝟏 . 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐊

release date : 5/06/2026 ; word count : 4,3 k

𝟎𝟐 . 𝐌𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒

release date : 6/06/2026 ; word count : 11,6k

𝟎𝟑 . 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐎

release date : tbd ; word count : N/A

𝟎𝟒 . 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒

release date : tbd ; word count : N/A

𝟎𝟓 . 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄

release date : tbd ; word count : N/A

𝟎𝟔 . 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃𝐒, 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐒 & 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐏

release date : tbd ; word count : N/A

𝟎𝟕 . 𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐇 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

release date : tbd ; word count : N/A

𝟎𝟖 . 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍, 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆

release date : tbd ; word count : N/A

𝟎𝟗 . 𝐄𝐋𝐌𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊

release date : tbd ; word count : N/A

𝟏𝟎 . 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬 : 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝟏𝟏 . 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬 : 𝐜𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦

It was Sunday night and you were looking forward to getting home after a night with the girls at the local bar. Hannah had decided to stay over at her boyfriend’s and Allie joined her, how those two managed to get partners who lived in the same house- you’d never quite understand. But you weren’t even bothered.  Just looking forward to the relaxing night you were about to treat yourself with, a nice hot shower that involved your favourite berry scented soap and a blow-out that contained  too many hair products, each of them as sweet smelling as the rest. 

You rolled your eyes when the rain started pattering against Cherry’s windshield, the cherry-red chevy was your baby, and she was very resilient in all types of weather, but the water droplets just banged against her vintage exterior too aggressively for your liking. 

You rubbed along her steering wheel, “Almost there baby,” the squeak of the wipers was answer enough and you decided to flick on the radio, hopefully the soft melodies of you mother’s fleetwood mac CD would drown out the echoing of the torrential downpour, a significant increase from the initial patter.  

For about one picturesque second , the vehicle was filled with Stevie Nicks’ vocals and you sighed, the song reminded you of when your parents would dance in the kitchen, your dad tickling your mothers sides in a way that would make her screech and slap his shoulder playfully- you and your siblings would cringe and run out into the backgarden, ignoring her calls for dinner in 10 minutes. 

The next, the song gave one tragic little crackle and died. 

You stared at your dashboard.

Cherry continued rolling down the road through the rain, wipers dragging water from the windshield in uneven arcs, the headlights turning the wet pavement ahead of you into a long black ribbon of reflected streetlights.

“No,” you said.

The radio did not respond.

You pressed the power button once, keeping your eyes on the road. 

Nothing.

Twice.

Still nothing.

A third time, because sometimes persistence was the answer to everything.

You were still being assaulted by the hollow banging of the sheets of water splattering outside. Taking a slow breath, you remembered what mama always told you- a big deep breath before making expensive decisions or replying to emails sent by people who used, “just circling back” unironically.  

“Cherry,” you said, very calmly. “Do not do this to me.”

The car gave a faint, worrying cough.

Not a human cough, obviously. You were not insane. You understood machinery. You had dated enough emotionally unavailable boys and owned enough temperamental objects to know that sometimes things made sounds without meaning anything dramatic.

But still, any reasonable person would agree that she coughed at you, a little, wet, mechanical throat-clear that vibrated beneath your feet and travelled straight up your spine.

You tightened your hands around the steering wheel.

“Absolutely not.”

Rain battered against the windshield hard enough to make the world outside blur at the edges. The road was mostly empty, which should have been comforting and was instead deeply insulting. Of course Cherry would choose an empty road. Of course she would not have the decency to make her point in front of a café or a supermarket or somewhere with lighting that did not make everything look like the opening scene of a horror movie.

The speedometer in front of you flickered, the little pointer rotated wildly before it settled on the big, red, zero. 

Your stomach dropped.

“Cherry.”

Another cough, this time it wasn’t ignorable. Unlike the suspicious little shudders Cherry had been doing whenever you slowed down at traffic lights for the past three days, which you had been ignoring in a deeply optimistic way.

“Baby, no,” you whispered.

The engine stuttered beneath you.

You flicked your eyes toward the side of the road, searching through the rain for somewhere to pull over that did not look like the sort of place people disappeared in true crime documentaries. The headlights caught the edge of a sign ahead, blue and white and half-hidden behind rain-slick branches.

A garage.

Not even a proper one, at first glance. More like a family shop tucked off the road, with two wide bay doors, a small office light still glowing despite the late hour, and one battered truck parked outside beneath the awning. It looked open, though that might have been wishful thinking. Cherry lurched again.

“Okay,” you said quickly. “Okay, okay, I see it. We’re going. Don’t be dramatic.”

Cherry ignored you and rolled toward the garage with the exhausted dignity of someone arriving at the hospital after insisting all day that they were fine.

By the time you managed to pull into the small lot, the rain had turned violent. This wasn’t romantic rain. Not soft, rom-com, dramatic reunion with undying love confessions rain. Not like the rain you and your cousins would watch on TV, gathered around on the living room floor at your grandparent’s house, tummy first in the plush carpet, sharing a bag of crunchy baby carrots. 

This was the type that slapped against the roof and pooled around tyres and turned every light into a smear. You parked beneath the edge of the awning, though not far enough beneath it to avoid the rain completely because you were stressed and Cherry had chosen that exact second to make another noise you never wanted to hear again.

The engine died before you turned the key.

You sat there for one long second, “Oh my God,” you breathed.

The rain answered.

You leaned forward and rested your forehead lightly against the steering wheel, careful not to smudge your lipstick because if everything else was going to fall apart, your mouth was not. The car smelled like your perfume, old leather, and the faint strawberry air freshener you had bought by mistake because the store had been out of cherry and settled for the next best option. Your hair was already frizzing from the humidity despite the fact you had not even left the car yet.

This was fine. This was a normal evening. Girls broke down outside strange, off the highway garages all the time. 

Right?

You lifted your head and looked toward the lit office window.

There were people inside. Thank God.

You grabbed your purse, cursed when the strap caught on the gear shift, apologised to Cherry because none of this was her fault emotionally even if it was absolutely her fault mechanically, and shoved the door open.

The rain hit you immediately. Rude in the way it shoved you in its unforgiving momentum, thrusting against your clothes and drenching you down to the core. You wobbled on your feet against its forceful bullying. 

By the time you crossed the short distance from Cherry to the garage office, your cardigan was soaked through, your hair was wet at the ends, and your ballet flats had made the deeply unfortunate discovery that puddles existed. You pushed open the office door with far more force than intended, stumbled inside, and brought half the storm with you.

Two men looked up.

One older, sitting behind the counter with paperwork spread in front of him and a pair of reading glasses low on his nose.

The other younger, standing near a workbench with a rag in one hand, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, dark hair slightly messy like he had been running a hand through it all night.

A third voice came from what you can only assume was the office, “Who the fuck is coming in at this time?” 

You winced, biting your lip and wisely made the choice to look at the pair in front of you. The older man rolled his eyes at the remark, whilst the younger was more focussed on you. 

Probably the state you were in, the chill had settled into your bones and goosebumps had erupted across your skin. The dress you had worn for girl’s night was not built for the weather and you wished you had bothered to look at the forecast before pulling the baby-doll peplum one piece out of your closet, but the length was just right and the white ruffles at the top were accented perfectly with the ruched red and white gingham against your chest. It didn’t help that Allie had hyped you up so much that you broke out your favourite ballet flats to finish off the outfit. 

You felt like a little-girl’s barbie doll that somehow ended up in the washing machine as you stood in front of these two confused men, who were probably looking forward to closing down for the day. 

“My car is dying,” you said.

Both men stared.

You stood there dripping onto the mat, clutching your purse against your chest, rainwater sliding down your jaw, red lipstick somehow still intact because at least one thing in your life had loyalty.

The younger one blinked.

“Dying?”

“Yes.”

The older man’s mouth twitched, “Mechanically?” he asked, folding his glasses off his nose and setting them down on the newspaper he was hunched over. 

You gestured helplessly toward the window.

“Emotionally, mechanically, spiritually. I’m not sure yet. She coughed.”

The younger man looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

“She coughed,” he repeated back to you, his arms folded over his chest. 

“Yes.”

“Cars don’t cough.”

“Mine did.”

The older man leaned back in his chair, now openly amused.

The younger one looked past you through the rain toward the lot. “Which one?”

You turned and pointed, though the rain made Cherry look less like a car and more like a tragic red blur beneath the awning. “Her.”

“Her?”

“Cherry.”

The younger man had followed your finger, but turned back to you when you said her name. 

“Cherry.”

You nodded.

“That’s the model?”

“That’s her name.”

There was a pause, perhaps this was the moment where a normal person might have realised they were giving a very strange first impression. However, you were cold, wet, and worried about your car, so self-awareness had been postponed.

“She’s a Chevy,” you added, like that cleared everything up.

The older man coughed once into his fist, badly hiding a laugh.

The younger one finally smiled. A crooked pull at one corner of his mouth that immediately made him look more dangerous than a mechanic in a rainstorm had any right to look.

“Right,” he said. “Cherry the Chevy.”

“Cherry the cherry-red Chevy,” you corrected, rolling onto your heels and back.

His smile got worse, but he brought a hand up to pretend he was running it down his stubble, he nodded as though you had just stated the sky is blue, “Of course.”

The older man stood, sliding his glasses off. “Logan, grab the umbrella.”

Logan.

So that was his name, it suited him. Wait what?

The younger man-Logan-tossed the rag onto the workbench and reached for a large black shop umbrella leaning by the door. “You drive her here like that?”

“She drove herself,” you said, then blinked, realising you sounded insane. “I mean, I drove. Obviously. But she made the decision for us both.”

Logan opened the door, and the sound of the rain surged in.

“You always talk about your car like she’s a person?”

You stepped toward him, trying not to drip directly onto the floor any more than you already had, "That feels a little unkind to say in front of her. She’s having a very hard night."

The older man laughed from behind you.

Logan looked at you, smile still lingering, “Fair.”

He opened the umbrella before stepping outside, and you followed him beneath it, close enough that your shoulder nearly brushed his arm. The rain hammered against the fabric above you, loud enough to soften the world into something smaller. The garage light spilled across the lot in a pale yellow wash, catching on wet asphalt, on Cherry’s red paint, on the strands of hair stuck to your cheek.

Logan was taller than you had realised inside. Which was not important. At all.

He held the umbrella more over you than himself, which you noticed despite trying not to, and by the time you reached Cherry, his shoulder was wet from rain blowing sideways.

“You’re getting soaked,” you said.

He glanced at you.

“You’re already soaked.”

“That doesn’t mean you should join me.”

“I’ll survive.”

“That sounds like famous last words.”

“You always this dramatic?”

“Yes,” you said immediately. “But only when my loved ones are in danger.”

He looked at the car, and pointed at Cherry, “Loved ones.”

“She’s family-adjacent.” Nodding, you patted her slippery bonnet, immediately regretting it as the frigid water numbed your hand. You shook it away, ignoring the amused expression Logan pinned you with. 

“Family-adjacent.”

“My nana picked her out, and my parents bought her after Strawberry died.”

Logan had already crouched near the front of the car, but he paused at that.

“Strawberry?”

“My old Beetle.”

“Your old car was named Strawberry.”

“She was red too.”

“Was she also family-adjacent?”

You looked at him like the answer should have been obvious.

“She was my first car.”

Logan stared for half a second, then shook his head, but he was smiling as he moved toward the hood.

“Pop it.”

You leaned inside to pull the latch, immediately regretting the way cold rainwater dripped from your hair down the back of your neck. Cherry’s hood released with a dull click, and Logan lifted it, securing it with practiced ease. The garage light caught the line of his forearm as he reached inside, and you looked away so fast you nearly bumped your hip against the side mirror.

You busied yourself by smoothing one hand over Cherry’s door, “Don’t worry,” you murmured. “He seems competent.”

“I can hear you,” Logan said.

“I know.”

“Competent?”

“So far.”

He glanced at you over the engine. “That’s generous.”

“I’m a generous person.”

“You brought me a coughing car and called her Cherry.”

“I know. She makes a strong first impression.”

The rain kept falling hard around the edges of the umbrella. Logan leaned over the engine, focused now, and for the first time since you had burst into the office, he stopped looking amused and started looking entirely serious. His hands moved confidently through the engine bay, checking, adjusting, pausing. He asked you questions every so often-what happened before she stalled, how long the shuddering had been going on, whether any warning lights had appeared-and you answered as best you could, though it became significantly harder when he reached for a flashlight and the movement made the muscles in his forearm shift.

You forbade yourself from developing a crush in a parking lot.

Especially not on a man who had known you for seven minutes and already thought you were insane.

“You said it started with the radio?” he asked.

You blinked, grateful for the question because it gave your brain something to do besides betray you.

“Yes.”

“The radio died first?”

“Very dramatically.”

“Then the shuddering?”

“Then the emotional coughing.”

He gave you a look.

You shrugged.

“I stand by the description.”

His mouth twitched again.

The older man had come out at some point and was standing near the garage door, watching with the expression of someone who had seen enough late-night car emergencies to know when one was about to become entertaining.

Logan checked something deeper beneath the hood and muttered under his breath.

You leaned closer. What was in front of you was a whole lot of car, and you were subtly impressed that Logan could make sense of it.

“Is she going to live?”

He looked over.

You were close enough now that the umbrella barely covered both of you. Rain dripped from the edge between you and the scent of wet asphalt rose warm from the ground. Your perfume had shifted in the rain, less pungent than when you had sprayed it hours ago. Cherry and vanilla, yes, but softened now by cold water and damp wool and whatever impossible thing happened when perfume met skin and weather.

Logan noticed it. It hit him when you leaned in, one hand still resting anxiously on the car, your hair wet at the ends, your lipstick bright despite the storm, your eyes wide and serious as if he was examining a wounded animal instead of a temperamental Chevy. You smelled like rain and cherries. Like something sweet made sharper by the cold. Like something he was not supposed to be thinking about while working.

He looked back at the engine immediately.

“She’ll live.”

Your shoulders dropped with relief so quickly he almost laughed.

“Oh thank God.”

“But you’re not driving her far tonight.”

Your expression changed.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I can get her stable enough to move, but she needs a proper look. Alternator maybe. Could be wiring. Battery’s not loving life either.”

You placed a hand over your heart.

“Don’t say that in front of her.”

“She knows.”

“She’s sensitive.”

“She stalled in a parking lot.”

“Because she was overwhelmed.”

The repair took longer than you expected and less time than you feared. Logan worked in the rain and the garage light while you stood nearby, occasionally asked questions, and made deeply unhelpful comments whenever Cherry made a noise you disliked. At one point, you offered to hold the flashlight and then immediately aimed it at the wrong thing because you were telling him a story about the time your mother made you transport a lamb in Strawberry and forgot what your hands were doing.

“A lamb,” Logan said, voice muffled as he leaned under the hood.

“Yes.”

“In the car.”

“She was small.”

“The lamb or the car?”

“Both.”

“And your mom made you?”

“She didn’t make me. She strongly requested with maternal authority.”

“That’s making you.”

“You don’t know my mother.”

“I’m starting to get a picture.”

You smiled despite yourself, and Logan, still half-focused on Cherry, caught it out of the corner of his eye.

But he re-focussed on the engine in front of him just as quickly, this was going to be a problem if he didn’t get a hold of himself. 

You were pretty when you walked in.

Obviously.

Soaked hair, red mouth, wide eyes, ridiculous car name. That had been easy to notice, but pretty was usually not enough to distract him in the way you were right now. 

The problem was everything else.

The way you spoke to your car like she might feel neglected if you stopped. The way you apologised when you stepped in a puddle and splashed his boot. The way your laughter kept surprising him, bright even in the rain.

And the perfume.

That was definitely a problem too.

By the time Cherry started again, the engine turning over with a rough but steady sound, you looked at him like he had personally performed a miracle.

“She’s alive.”

“For now.”

“Don’t ruin this.”

“I’m being honest.”

“You’re being pessimistic.”

“I’m being a mechanic.”

“Mechanics can have bedside manners.”

He leaned one hand against the open door, looking into the car while Cherry idled. “You got someone who can pick you up?”

Your smile faltered slightly, barely slipping from almost-stencil like posture. But he noticed. 

“I can call a cab.”

His father spoke from the garage doorway before Logan could answer.

“I’ll call one from the office. Weather’s bad.”

You turned toward him immediately, both your hands wrapped around the handle of the umbrella as your skirt billowed across your thighs.. “Oh, you don’t have to.”

Jesus, had you just fallen out of a black and white film, or had Dean finally smashed him hard enough into the boards to do serious damage?

“I know.”

The older man smiled.

You smiled back, softer now.

“Thank you.”

Logan looked away.

There was something strange about watching you smile at someone else, even his father, because your whole face changed when you meant it. Like warmth arrived before the expression did.

He closed Cherry’s hood and shook his head, his curls now fallen from the weight of the rain into his eyes, , “You’ll need to leave her here overnight.”

You looked wounded, pressing your lips together and somehow barely smearing the perfect red paint that he somehow kept glancing at every few minutes. One of your hands came to rest against your heart,“She’ll be inside?”

Logan glanced toward the bay.

“Yes.”

“Not out here?”

“No.”

“And nobody will be mean to her?”

He stared at you.

You stared back.

Logan sighed. “Nobody will be mean to Cherry.”

“Thank you.”

“You realise she’s a car.”

“Yes. But she’s been very loyal to me, and I think that should count for something."

His smile returned before he could stop it.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m getting that.”

When the cab arrived fifteen minutes later, you were mostly dry from standing under the lukewarm garage heating while still wearing wet clothes. Your cardigan clung uncomfortably at your sleeves. Your hair had started to dry into waves you were not sure you had approved. Your lipstick, by some act of divine intervention, had survived.