Carol âȘïž Ela/Dela âȘïž She/Her.
đ [Masterlist...]
đ OrientaçÔes em pt...
Requests | Pedidos: Open âȘïž Abertos
đŠ About me!
Sweet Seals For You, Always

Discoholic đȘ©
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
I'd rather be in outer space đž
trying on a metaphor
Keni
Three Goblin Art
Monterey Bay Aquarium
taylor price
One Nice Bug Per Day
sheepfilms
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

Product Placement

⣠Chile in a Photography âŁ
Today's Document
đȘŒ
we're not kids anymore.
h
seen from United States
seen from Germany

seen from Mexico

seen from TĂŒrkiye

seen from TĂŒrkiye
seen from Uzbekistan

seen from Canada

seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from TĂŒrkiye

seen from United States
seen from Switzerland
@yakuly
Carol âȘïž Ela/Dela âȘïž She/Her.
đ [Masterlist...]
đ OrientaçÔes em pt...
Requests | Pedidos: Open âȘïž Abertos
đŠ About me!

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Oi gente boa noite! Como vocĂȘs estĂŁo?
Nem sei se vai ter alguém vendo isso, mas faz muito tempo que estou pra aparecer aqui de novo, antes cheia de desculpas, hoje como um desabafo, mas ja escrevi tanta coisa e apaguei, que sei la...
Acho que hoje meus dois mundo colidiram de um jeito nĂŁo tĂŁo legal, e comecei a refletir sobre ser uma jovem fangirl de 25 anos que precisa trabalhar para sobreviver.
Eu sei que faz muito tempo que nĂŁo apareço por aqui com nada novo, e sei que deixei conteĂșdos em aberto, mas sinceramente? Infelizmente perdi minha vontade de escrever, e isso tambĂ©m me deixou pra baixo, por que sinto que uma parte importante de quem eu era/sou morreu.
Quando eu paro pra olhar esse blog, eu me lembro das vårias ideias que tinha ora praticamente tudo, desde histórias até o design (que por algum acaso, nunca ficou como quis), e hoje eu só venho aqui para ler algumas coisinhas.
Enfim, era literalmente um desabafo, que claramente preciso levar pra minha psico...espero que todas estejam bem! â€ïž
Q Ăłdiooo
Há„á„Čá„g Hᄥá„á„jÎčá„- Cá„Čjá„
QáŽáŽÊᎠsáŽÊáŽÊ sᎠᎠáŽáŽáŽÌ ᎠáŽÉȘ CáŽÊÊáŽÊ áŽáŽÊáŽÌs ᎠᎠáŽÉȘᎠɎáŽáŽ áŽáŽÊáŽáŽáŽÊáŽáŽ PáŽáŽ ÉȘɎᎠᎠáŽÊ'áŽáŽ ÒÉȘáŽáŽÊ, áŽÊ'áŽáŽ ÉŽáŽÌᎠᎠáŽáŽÊ PÊ'áŽáŽ áŽáŽÉŽáŽÉȘÊáŽÊ áŽáŽ áŽáŽáŽáŽáŽ QáŽáŽ áŽ áŽÉȘ áŽÉȘÉŽáŽáŽÊ áŽáŽáŽ áŽáŽÊᎠᎠᎠáŽáŽáŽ áŽáŽÊáŽáŽ ÉŽáŽ
Ë*Â°àż âą*ââ· đ€đđđ© đąđ đđšđ°đ§!
â summary: you just moved into a new building, right across from three loud guys. two said sorry and the third couldnât care less.
pairing: pshx f!reader,wc: 14k words , genre: enemies to lovers ish, neighbor!au, fluff, romcom w: rude jokes, cussing, kissing
The elevator doors swung open, and soon you stepped out into the third floor hallway. You looked like you were moving in, which in your defenseâŠyou were. The oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder, arms hugging a stack of takeout containers and a cactus you had that had pricked you far too many times, but that didnât matter. You were finally on your own.
Unit 3B. That was you now.Â
Your keys jingled in your palm as you found the door, nudged it open with one knee, and stepped into the apartment youâd stared at for months on rental listings. It wasnât huge, but it had a little kitchen with enough space for your mumâs rice cooker, and a balcony that caught the sun in the morning. You spun around in the centre of the room, grinning, almost knocking the cactus you had just placed on the counter in the process.
And by nightfall, the place felt like yours. Your fairy lights were strung up across your living room. Your fridge held exactly a bottle of soda, some tuna you had eaten an hour ago and a bag of unwashed grapes. You lit a vanilla candle, the one your best friend, Jungwon, made you promise to use so you'd remember him⊠even while being so far apart. But Jungwon hated travelling, so in his mind, you'd basically moved to another continent.Â
Jungwon dramatically declared, âYouâre practically moving to another country.â
âJungwon, Iâm literally a two-hour train ride away.â
âThatâs basically Europe.â
You rolled your eyes at the memory, smiling to yourself.
Still, you were glad youâd made the decision to move. Three years ahead of you⊠of being on your own, of learning to be independent, part-time jobs, and what you hopedâŠa future incoming relationship. It should be easy. It should be peaceful. It should beâ
âDUDE!!!â
A scream ripped through your wall.
It came from the wall to your right, a thin wall nudged between you and your neighbours. You could hear celebrations. A voice shouted, âTHAT WAS INSANE!â followed by a loud thump like someone had jumped off the sofa.
You tried ignoring it at first, burying yourself under the blanket like it could block out noise. But 20 minutes in, another screamed âHEâS OFFSIDE, YOU DUMBââ loud enough to rattle the walls, you snapped.
You threw on your hoodie, jammed your feet into slippers, and marched out the front door like you were storming a battlefield. The hallway was dim and quiet, except for the muffled party behind door 3C. You knocked, hard, but polite.
The door creaked open mid-laughter, revealing three guys mid-snack, mid-game.
âHi,â you said, tight smile. âSorry to bother you, but⊠would you mind keeping it down a little? Iâve got a test tomorrow and itâs kinda hard to focus with all the screaming.â
The one with fluffy hair, cute little eyes, nodded immediately. âShit. Sorry, sorry. Totally our bad.â
Another one, long lashes and a goofy smile, actually winced. âDidnât realise it was that loud. Weâll keep it down, promise.â
âAre you new here?â the first one asked.
You nodded. âI just moved in today, actually.â
âOh shit. Mrs Kim moved out?â
âDamn, weâre not getting her kimchi anymore, thatâs for sure.â
âWe gotta eat those store-bought ones that taste like ass.â
The second boy looked at you again, more focused this time. âOh right! Iâm Jake! Itâs great to meet you! Iâm sorry it happened under⊠unfortunate circumstances. But weâll be quieter!â
âIâm Jay, by the way,â the first one added with a small grin, pushing his hair back.
You nodded, smiling slightly. At least they were nice about it. Well, two out of three, anyway.
You glanced past both of them, eyes landing on the third boy slouched on the couch, still holding the controller, gaze fixed on the paused screen like you werenât even there. His jaw clenched once. No name. No hello. Just a subtle, annoyed glance in your direction before he looked away again.
Cool. So he hates you. Thatâs cool with you.
The third guy didnât say anything. Just glanced at you once, then turned back toward the TV.
âUh, thanks,â you said, lips tight, already backing away.
You returned to your apartment and for a blessed thirty minutes, it was quiet.
Then someone scored a goal and the wall shook again.
You blinked slowly at your ceiling, arms folded under your head like the weight of your patience was finally starting to crush your ribs. Okay. So thatâs how it was going to be. You frowned.
And that was literally⊠how war started.
The next morning, fuelled by petty vengeance and two hours of sleep, you grabbed your pastel pink sticky notes and wrote:
âDear 3C, Iâve played FIFA before. It is not that damn fun for you to be out here screaming. Please tone it down. Regards, the zombie in 3B.â
You slapped it on their door. Nothing changed.
And the next day:
âDear 3C, I canât sleep. Kindly shut up <3 With love, the girl one more sleepless night away from writing to the landlord. 3B.â
You half expected them to ignore it. Instead, you found your note missing by mid-afternoon. Gone.Â
For a moment, you felt powerful. Maybe theyâd actually listened.
Then 8:43 p.m. hit and someone in 3C scored a goal so loud you swore the bass from their TV made your candle flicker.
Alright. So it was personal now.
You stormed over to their door again, hands on your hips.. It wasnât that late. You werenât unreasonable. You believed in joy. In freedom. But right now? Rage was the only thing pumping through your system.
You shuffled down the hall with your bunny slippers slapping against the floor, hair in a claw clip that was giving up. You looked deranged. And for the first time, you were fine with that. You banged on their door.
The door cracked open a second later, revealing Jake blinking like a deer in headlights. His hair was messy. He looked mildly afraid.
âWere⊠we being loud again?â
You stared at him, deadpan. âYa think?â
Jake rubbed the back of his neck. âOkay, okay. Iâm so sorry. Itâs Sunghoon. He keeps saying itâs not that loud and we were mid-tournament andââ
âTell Sunghoon that his egoâs not the only thing echoing through these walls,â you snapped, arms crossed. âSome of us are trying to study.â
Behind Jake, you heard a familiar scoff followed by a smug voice yelling, âGod, sheâs so annoying. We were literally whispering.â
You leaned to the side, locking eyes with the third boy slouched on the couch, controller in hand, feet on the coffee table like the world owed him something. He didnât even pause the game this time.
You didnât know what it was about his stupidly symmetrical face but your blood boiled.
âTell this Sunghoon guyâŠhis whispering sounds like a screeching cat,â you said flatly, before spinning on your heel and marching back toward your door when you heard his aggravating voice.
âTell her sheâs overreacting over a couple of friends simply trying to have fun,â Sunghoon fired back from the couch, not even raising his voice.Â
You turned your head just enough to glare over your shoulder. âWell, tell him, his shirt doesnât match his fucking pants.â
Jake looked helpless, standing between you both like a middle child caught in a divorce.
And then, with that same bored tone, Sunghoon called out again, âWell, tell her⊠those slippers are the best thing sheâs worn all week.â
You stopped.
Jake sucked in a breath.
You slowly turned, eyes narrowing. âTell him he wouldnât know good fashion if it came with a user manual and punched him in his freaking face.â
Sunghoon finally glanced away from the TV, meeting your eyes for the first time that night. His lips curved into the most irritating half-smile youâd ever seen.
âTell herââ
Jake stepped in between again, hands raised. âOkay! Okay. Weâre gonna turn the volume down. Like, way down. Like you canât even hear us tiptoe. Right, Sunghoon?â
Sunghoon leaned back against the couch and shrugged. âWhatever. Iâm not the one annoying my neighbors at 9pm on a Friday night. Get some friends.âÂ
You slammed your door shut.
War was back on.
-
The next morning, your plan was simple. A little petty, sure, but necessary.
You stood outside their door in your pyjamas, holding a fresh pack of neon yellow Post-its since your previous ones were used up by the ongoing Post-It war.The hallway was empty. Your bunny slippers made no sound as you padded up to 3C and stuck the first one of the week dead-centre on the door.
âDear 3C, just a gentle reminder that FIFA will not feed you, clothe you, or give you money. Kindly shut up. PLEASE. Warmest regards, 3B.â
You smiled to yourself and floated back to your apartment.
That night? For the first time� Silence. Beautiful, blissful silence. You actually managed to revise two chapters and fall asleep before midnight. You woke up in the morning feeling like a changed woman.
But then you opened your front door.
There, taped neatly to your door, was a blue sticky note with surprisingly neat handwriting.
âDear 3B, you sound like you narrate your life out loud. â 3C.â
Your jaw dropped.
âNarrate your life out loud?â you muttered. âThatâs literally called thinking.â
You marched back into your apartment, flung open your stationery drawer.
âDear 3C, apologies if my internal monologue disrupted your daily FIFA championship. I only talk to myself because your volume settings make it impossible to hear my own thoughts. With all due respect (and ear damage), 3B."
That afternoon, Jay knocked on your door. You hesitated, then opened it a crack. He was holding a bag of convenience store pancakes in one hand.
âPeace offering,â he said. âAlso, I think your notes are hilarious. Jakeâs been collecting them. I think heâs making a scrapbook.â
You blinked. âIs this a joke or something?â
Jay shrugged, leaning casually against the doorframe. âNo! Honestly, itâs kinda refreshing.â
Jake popped his head in from behind, grinning. âAlso, your handwritingâs really neat.â
You opened the door a little wider, cautious then shrugged. âYou want some⊠uh⊠spaghetti? I made it this morning.â
âSpaghetti?â Jay tilted his head.
You nodded. âYeah. I usually experiment with food. IâmâŠuhâŠin culinary school.â
Jakeâs eyes widened. âWait, so youâre like⊠a chef?â
âTrying to be.,â you said with a shrug, suddenly a little self-conscious.
They exchanged a quick look before barging in like you'd personally handed them invites at the door.
âThatâs so cool,â Jake said, practically bouncing as he flopped onto your beanbag. âI burnt instant noodles last week. Twice.â
Jay wandered deeper into your living room, his gaze landing on the dusty old guitar leaning against your bookshelf. âDude, check it out! She plays the guitar.â
You rubbed the back of your neck, awkward. âItâs just for fun. Iâm not that good.â
âIâm sure youâre great,â Jake said, already chewing through a mouthful of spaghetti heâd somehow found, and served himself in a bowl you didnât remember offering.
You blinked at him. âDid you justâ?â
âPlate was right there,â he said through a mouthful. âI took it as a sign.â
Jay nodded solemnly. âShe feeds us and plays guitar. Sheâs better than Mrs. Kim already.â
You sighed and closed the door behind them. âIâm starting to think Mrs. Kim left because of the three of you.â
In between bites, Jake nodded without hesitation. âI think so too.â
âWe can be loud,â Jay added, helping himself to another serving.
âHave you thought of⊠not being loud?â
âWe do,â Jay said. âBut then we get loud again.â
You rolled your eyes. âGuys, some of us have school andââ
âWe have school too,â Jake chimed in, mouth full.
âOkay⊠some of us care about sleep.â
Jay perked up. âThatâs why we got you this.â
He dug into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a tiny box, dropping it into your hands.
You squinted at it. âWhatâs this?â
âTheyâre sleep buds,â he said proudly. âThey go in your ears and play white noise and, like⊠ocean sounds or something. Blocks everything out. Even us.â
You stared at the box, then at them.
âInstead of compromising, you got me gear?â
Jake grinned. âYeah. We like you. We want you to be able to sleep⊠through us.â
Jay gave you a thumbs-up. âItâs called adaptation.â
You looked down at the sleep buds in your hands and then back up at the two of them absolutely inhaling your spaghetti like they hadnât eaten in weeks.
You didnât know whether to kick them out or thank them.
So you just sighed, defeated. âYou guys are the weirdest neighbours Iâve ever had.â
Jake beamed. âAww. Youâre the weirdest too.â
And somehow⊠the next day⊠they were back.
You opened the door mid-knock, confused, only to find Jay grinning at you.
âWhatâs for lunch today, boss?â he asked, already halfway through the doorway.
You blinked. âHowâd you know I made something?â
âWe could smell it,â Jake said, stepping in right behind him, holding up a comically large spoon. âSmells so good. Brought my big spoon today. Came prepared.â
âUh⊠I made chowder?â
Jakeâs eyes lit up. âOh my god, I love chowder.â
Jay had already plopped onto the floor cushion, flipping through your Spotify like he owned your iPad. âWhat kind? Clam? Corn? Pumpkin? Wait⊠do people put pumpkin in chowder?â
You stared at them, ladle in hand.
âCorn,â you muttered, shuffling back into the kitchen.
Then the day after that⊠they came again. At this point, it felt less like a surprise and more like a recurring appointment.
âNo fucking way. Kimchi stew? This shit is so good!. Jay, you need to try the beef. Itâs so soft. Howâ howâd you get it so soft? Is this like one of those expensive beef? Wakoo?â
âItâs Wagyu, Jake.â You corrected.
âWagyu~â He sang.
Jay, already mid-bite, nodded with a full mouth. âCan I havefth thefth reshepee?â
You wiped your hands on a dish towel, leaning against the counter with one brow raised. âDo you guys ever eat in your own apartment?â
Jake didnât miss a beat. âNot when you cook like this.â
Jay pointed his chopsticks at you like he was making a closing argument in court. âThis is technically your fault. You fed us once. Thatâs basically a binding contract. Weâre best friends now. Arenât we, Jake?â
Jake nodded, mouth full. âMhmff. Whatever he said.â
You sighed, setting your elbow on the table and dropping your chin into your hand. âIf youâre gonna keep doing this, at least wash the dishes after.â
Jake saluted you with his spoon like you were the captain of a very tiny, soup-based army. âYes, chef.â
You looked at the two of them, one already on his third helping, the other stealing more beef straight from the pot, and shook your head.
This wasnât how your independent, put-together, college life was supposed to go. You were meant to be focused. The mysterious girl on the third floor who only ever came out for groceries and exams.
But maybe⊠with the two of them barging in uninvited, eating like they hadnât seen food in years, and treating your living room like it was theirsâŠ
Maybe you wouldnât feel so lonely after all.
-
It was 9 p.m. Strangely quiet.
Usually, by now, thereâd be at least one goal celebration shaking the walls or someone shouting about a missed penalty. But tonight? Nothing. You didnât let it bother you. You took it as a win.
The balcony door slid open with a soft scrape. You stepped out into the cool night, cradling your little scissors and spray bottle like sacred tools. Your succulents were arranged in a neat line. A few leaves had started to curl. You knelt down, snipping the dead ends carefully.
You shouldâve felt peaceful.
But tonight, something tugged at your chest.Â
You missed Jungwon. You missed your momâs mismatched cutlery and the way your dad always forgot heâd already asked about your grades. Maybe even your pet fish, the one that never did much except float around looking confused.
Jay and Jake were friendly, sure. But they werenât yours. They werenât part of your before. They didnât know the town you came from or the versions of you that existed before now.
And even though you thought youâd settled in... even though you were coping...you were lonely.
Without meaning to, you started speaking out loud â just like you always did.
âItâs fine. Youâll do better tomorrow. Tomorrow you wonât feel as lonely,â you said softly as you misted the leaves. âYouâll be stronger. Youâre gonna get used to this. You can do it.â
But the lie caught in your throat.
Because you were crying already.
You wiped your cheek with the sleeve of your hoodie, frustrated, betrayed by your own body. You reached for your phone without thinking and hit the contact you swore you wouldnât keep calling every time you got overwhelmed.
Jungwon answered on the first ring.
âWhatâs up?â he asked, casual as ever.
âWonâŠâ you breathed out.
There was a pause. Then: âAre you crying?â
âNo?â
âI can hear you sniffling, you shit.â
âItâs justââ your voice cracked. âItâs hard. Iâm alone all the time. Iâve got no friends. Iâve got no one to talk to. Iâm alone, Won.â
âI know,â he said gently. âI knowâŠâ
There was a pause. You could hear him shifting in bed, his voice soft and serious now. âBut think about it this way, okay? Youâre barely in your first month. Youâre gonna get used to it. Youâre gonna find people. Youâre gonna build something here. It just takes time.â
You bit your lip. âYouâll visit if you can, right?â
âIâll visit,â he promised. âEven if it takes two bloody hours.â
âBut you hate traveling.â
âFor you, Iâd suffer.â
You sniffled. âYouâre just saying that so Iâll hang up.â
âYouâre right because Iâm exhausted from basketball. But also⊠I love you.â
âFine,â you mumbled. âI love you too.â
âChin up. Youâre talented and you deserve to be there. You can do this. Weâre all counting on you.â
âI know.â You exhaled slowly. âGoodnight, Wonnie.â
âNight.â
You ended the call and sat in silence for a moment, letting the cool night air settle on your skin. The tears had stopped. Your hands still smelled like mint and basil and the faint sweetness of the spray bottle. You stared at your succulents, wondering if they ever got lonely too.
Unbeknownst to you, just a few feet away, out on the connected balcony, hidden by the divider, someone had heard everything.
He hadnât meant to eavesdrop. Heâd stepped out earlier, just needing air, needing quiet, needing to be somewhere still for once. And then heâd heard your voice. The words that were not meant for anyone else.
And for the first time, Sunghoon didnât roll his eyes or make a sarcastic comment.
He just stood there in the dark, one hand gripping the railing, heart a little heavier than before.
He understood more than you thought.
And somewhere between your tears and Jungwonâs voice, he changed his mind about you.
-
The next few days, there was absolute silence. Maybe the food had finally worked some psychological warfare on Jay and Jake. Maybe it was their way of returning the favour. Either way, you werenât about to question it.
You were grateful, to say the least.
Because for the past week, youâd been moping around your apartment. Living alone and striking out as an âindependent bacheloretteâ sounded empowering in theory, but in practice? Maybe you werenât one of those girlies after allâŠyâknow the ones on Instagram who made solitude look like a season of self-discovery instead of a series of breakdowns.
It was Saturday. Youâd spent the entire morning in bed watching a Netflix documentary about some guy swindling people on Tinder, surrounded by crumpled tissue and scented candle smoke that had long turned suffocating. You were still in yesterdayâs hoodie, blanket tangled around your legs.
Three knocks echoed at the door.
You lifted your head from the pillow with a groan, barely alive. The sound came again.
Dragging yourself across the living room, you cracked the door open just a sliver, just wide enough to peek through but not enough to reveal the disaster that was your face, your hair, or your pride.
âUh.â The voice was hesitant. Familiar.
You squinted.
Sunghoon.
You blinked. âWhat are you doing here?â you asked, your voice hoarse from crying and a full night of narrating your own spiral.
âThere was a mix-up with the mail,â he said, holding up a small stack of envelopes.
âOh.â You extended your arm awkwardly through the tiny gap in the door and grabbed the letters. âThanks.â
There was a pause, âI can see your puffy eyes through the gap.â
You scoffed, immediately pulling the door closer. âYou just have to be a smartass about everything, donât you?â
He shrugged, completely unbothered, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Still standing there.Â
ââŠAre Jake and Jay home?â you asked, trying to sound casual.
His expression twitched, almost amused. âWhy? Trying to steal my best friends again orââ
âNo,â you deadpanned. âI was just wondering. Itâs been⊠quiet this whole week.â
âThey went home to visit their families.â
Oh. Right. Come to think of it, maybe that explained why everything felt extra heavy lately. It was the time of year people usually went home. People surrounded themselves with comfort and familiarity. And here you were, stuck in the city because the train ticket home was just slightly out of budget.
âYou didnât go?â you asked softly.
âCanât,â he shrugged.
âOh.â
There was a beat of silence. Then he tilted his head.
âWell,â Sunghoon said slowly, âif you ever need someone to emotionally rejuvenate you by pointing out your hair looks like a ratâs nest, you know where to find me.â
The words came with the usual venom but the message behind them landed differently.
You stared at him through the gap in the door. You couldnât tell if he was trying to be funny, or⊠sincere, in his own weird, backhanded way. It was strange. Youâd only had three full conversations with the guy. And every single one ended in a WWE tournament.
You narrowed your eyes slightly. âAre you⊠being nice to me?â
He clicked his tongue. âDonât ruin it.â
And with that, he turned and walked back.
-
You finally got up.
There was no movie-worthy breakthrough moment. Just the dull ache in your head from crying too much and the feeling that if you shed one more tear, your eyeballs might actually eject themselves from their sockets. So you moved. You stripped your bed, tossed the mountain of tissues into a trash bag, sprayed half a bottle of disinfectant in the air, and opened every window.
Your apartment looked like it had survived an apocalypse, which, to be fair, was accurate. But you scrubbed it back to life.
By the time you were in the kitchen, your eyes were still a little swollen, but youâd pressed them with cool spoons and a sad little compress until you could see straight again. Kind of.
You pulled out ingredients from your fridge one by one, lining them up like you were preparing for war. Slicing, boiling, julienning, stir-frying. The sound of the pan crackling beneath the glass noodles filled the silence of your apartment. It smelled exactly like it did when your mom used to make it.
You plated it in a wide, shallow bowl. It was delicious. Of course it was. You took pride in it. You always had. Jungwon used to tease you, calling your hands âblessed by Gordon Ramsayâ like everything you touched turned into comfort food. Youâd swat his arm, trying not to smile as he reached for second helpings before youâd even sat down.
You missed him. You missed your family. You missed not having to eat alone on a day like this.
Your eyes drifted to the door.
Would it be stupid? To bring food to Sunghoon? Youâd never really done anything kind for him. Most of your interactions were lined with sarcasm and insults. And yet⊠that one line of his kept replaying in your head, âIf you ever need someone to emotionally rejuvenate you by pointing out your hair looks like a ratâs nest, you know where to find me.â
So maybeâŠmaybe he meant it. Or maybe you were just desperate for company and your noodles were starting to get cold.
Before you could talk yourself out of it, you packed the noodles into a clean container, wrapped a rubber band around it, and found yourself standing in front of 3C. Your feet had walked you here without permission. Your hand hovered in the air, ready to knock, but now⊠you hesitated. You werenât here to complain. You werenât here to yell. And that made it harder.
And just before your knuckles could land on the door, it swung open.
Sunghoon stood in front of you, coat already on, scarf looped lazily around his neck. There was a little shine to his hair like heâd styled it, and he looked surprised, mildly confused to find you on his doorstep without any anger evident in your eyes.
âWhat?â he said, voice dry.
You blinked, staring at him. Youâd never really looked at him properly before. Not when he was this put-together. The gel in his hair, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his scarf sat slightly off-center like heâd thrown it on in a rush. You knew he was attractive. You werenât blind. But seeing him now?
Sunghoon was actually⊠pretty handsome.
âIâuhââ you stammered.
His eyes narrowed slightly. âSpit it out.â
âIâuhâI made some⊠stir-fried glass noodles,â you said, stumbling over every syllable. âAnd I know how much it sucks being alone on a day like this, so I thought⊠maybe itâd bring you some kind of familiarity. From home, or something.â
You didnât let yourself overthink it. You shoved the container into his hands, heart pounding.
âBye,â you mumbled, before immediately turning around and marching back to your apartment like youâd just robbed a bank. The door clicked shut behind you.
You pressed your back to it, eyes wide.
Shit.
Was Sunghoon actually hot?
-
Sunghoon stood in the hallway, unmoving. The container in his hands was warm and he stared down at it for a couple of seconds longer than he probably shouldâve.
Jake and Jay had been raving about your cooking for weeks. At first, he thought they were exaggerating. How good could someoneâs food be that it made two of the loudest people he knew voluntarily whisper through a FIFA match?
But heâd seen it with his own eyes, Jake silently fist-pumping the air, mouthing âLETâS FUCKING GOâ after a goal, and Jay barely reacting as he scored. They even created a rule: first one to speak puts a dollar in the Silence Jar. A literal jar. With money.
Sunghoon didnât get it.
And he didnât particularly care to. Not then.
But now, standing in the hallway in his coat and scarf, staring at the gift you shoved into his hands with flushed cheeks, something felt different.
He had been on his way out, actually. There was a bar nearby, nothing special, just a dim-lit spot with quiet music and decent food where no one bothered him. He usually went there whenever Jay and Jake went back home, like they did this time every year. It wasnât that he didnât have familyâhe did. It just wasnât⊠warm. They were always busy. Always somewhere else, even when they were in the same room.
He peeled off his scarf, feet dragging a little as he headed back into the apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. He set the container on the kitchen counter, grabbed a pair of chopsticks from the drawer, and opened the lid.
Steam wafted up instantly, sesame oil, soy sauce, garlic, something subtly sweet he couldnât name. The noodles glistened. They looked homemade. No, they felt homemade.
He picked up a strand and gave it a tentative taste.
His eyes widened before he could even help it.
It was good. Like stupid good. Like how the hell is this girl not running her own restaurant kind of good. Better than anything he wouldâve paid for at that bar tonight.
He stood there in silence, chopsticks hovering mid-air, thinking back.
He wasnât proud of how heâd treated you. Three encounters, three arguments. He remembered each one too clearly. The snark in his voice. The way your expression hardened. The notes on the door.Â
But it wasnât really about you.
He hated being called out. Hated being the problem. Maybe it was ego, or maybe it was the way heâd always felt like he had to be put-together or to say the leastâŠcontrolled. Your presence threw him off. You were loud in a way that was sincere. You didnât filter your emotions. You wore your annoyance on your sleeve and your feelings on your face.
It irritated him. It also⊠made him feel something.
And then there was that night on the balcony.
He hadnât meant to listen. But when he heard your voice cracking through the divider, talking to someoneâŠmaybe it was your boyfriend? Your best friend? Whoever it was about how lonely you were, it hit him harder than it shouldâve.
Because he got it.
He felt it too.
Being alone in a crowd. Having people around but never really with you. That weight in your chest that didnât come from sadness exactlyâŠjust the absence of warmth.
Sunghoon felt it more often than he cared to admit. He loved Jake and Jay, loved them to pieces. They were the kind of people who filled a room with noise and an energy he couldnât really place and who made him laugh even when he didnât want to.
He wanted something more. Something real.
Someone who just⊠saw him.
He sat at his kitchen counter, staring at the container of glass noodles still warm with steam curling from the lid. He wasnât usually impulsive. He didnât do gestures. But maybe tonight called for something a little uncharacteristic.
He stood and reached up, opening the top cupboard where Jake and Jay kept what they called their âemergency date plates.â. The kind of plates you used to impress someone. They only ever brought them out when trying to convince girls they were not, in fact, living in a borderline condemned apartment flat.
He grabbed two.
And then, before he could second guess it, he walked out into the hallway and knocked.Â
Your door creaked open a few seconds later.
You blinked at him, confused. âWhat?â
It almost felt like deja vu. Except now, he was youâŠawkward at the door.
And then it hit him.
He looked at youâŠlike, really looked at you, and for the first time, he realised heâd never actually seen you before.Â
You were wearing a soft pink sleeveless dress, the fabric loose and falling just above your knees, cinched slightly at the waist. Your hair was tied into a side braid, fringe swept slightly to the side, with a few delicate strands left loose to frame your face. You looked like you belonged in a pastel painting.
Shit.
Were you actuallyâpretty?
Nope. Nope. Stop that. Sunghoon blinked hard, trying to erase the thought.
Damn it.
You probably had a boyfriend. Someone smart and warm and emotionally available who FaceTimed you every night and wrote you good morning texts. Someone who missed you from back home.
And besidesâŠsomeone who could cook like you? You could probably bag Jake and Jay at the same time in under a minute if you wanted. Not that you would. But still.
He cleared his throat.
âI, uhâŠâ He held up the plates slightly. âI thought maybe⊠you could join me?â
He wasnât good at this. But his voice was steady.
âOnly if you want to,â he added, quickly. âI just figured. Yâknow. Glass noodles taste better on⊠plates that arenât plastic.â
His eyes met yours.
He was trying.
And this time, it was your turn to blink in disbelief.
-
Sunghoon had returned with the container of glass noodles, now a little colder, a little stickier, but still giving off the faint aroma of sesame oil and soy sauce. Youâd reheated it and plated it up, slightly embarrassed that the presentation wasnât what it had been fresh off the stove, but he didnât seem to care. Or maybe he did, but you couldnât tell, because for the first five minutes, you didnât look at each other.
The clink of chopsticks, the occasional scrape of ceramic, and your ceiling fan. It was awkward. You wondered why he even came. Why he asked in the first place, if he was just going to eat in silence.
âSo,â you said.
âSo,â he said.
You paused.
âYou first.â
âNo, youââ
âOkay, Iâll go first,â he said, cutting himself off. He cleared his throat and set his chopsticks down. âIâuhâI just wanted to say thanks. For the meal.â
You blinked. âOkay.â You nodded slowly. âYouâre⊠shockingly formal when youâre not pissed.â
âIââ Sunghoon let out a breath and leaned back a little in the chair. âI was never pissed.â
âMhm,â you hummed, nodding, eyes narrowed. âSure.â
âI was annoyed, sure. Who likes being called out?â
âI wasnât trying to call you out,â you said, tilting your head. âBut put yourself in my shoes. I have to wake up at stupid oâclock to learn how to make a soufflĂ© or whatever, and meanwhile, Iâm treated to surround sound yelling and the occasional ceiling vibration.â
He gave a small shrug. âWell, we havenât done it in a while.â
âAnd Iâm grateful,â you replied, lips twitching. âTruly.â
âWe got a silence jar and everything,â he muttered, almost like he didnât want to admit it.
Your eyebrows shot up. âA silence jar?â
He nodded. âYeah. Jay implemented it. He said if we keep it up, weâll have enough for extra toppings on our next pizza night.â
You burst into laughter, the sound surprising even yourself. It came out light and real, and you covered your mouth halfway through. âThatâs⊠honestly? A decent plan.â
âIt can be,â he said with a grin starting to pull at the corner of his mouth. âUntil everyone starts trying to play FIFA like itâs an ASMR video.â
âYou guys actually whisper?â you asked, incredulous.
âWell, yeah. You told us to.â
âI didnât think you would listen,â you said, pointing your chopsticks at him.
Sunghoon shrugged again, his eyes dropping to the plate in front of him. âWell⊠they changed my mind, so.â
He didnât say what he was really thinking.
That it wasnât Jake or Jay who changed his mind. It was that night. The way your voice had carried through the gap in the balcony, fragile and cracking. The way youâd said Iâm alone, Won like it was something that had been sitting inside you for too long, waiting to spill. Heâd realised then maybe he wasnât just an annoying neighbour to you. Maybe he was part of the problem. Maybe heâd been making things harder for someone who was already trying to hold it all together.
âSoâŠâ he said quietly, eyes on his plate, âwhy are you alone during the holidays anyway?â
âCouldnât afford a train ticket,â you said eventually. âI meanâI could have, technically. But thatâd mean I wouldnât have enough money left to buy ingredients for my assignments the next few weeks.â
Sunghoon winced. âOof. Thatâs rough. Must suck.â
You gave a little shrug. âYeah. Itâs fine though.â
He knew it wasnât.
There was a pause. He glanced sideways at you.
âIf you ever⊠feel like you need someone to talk to,â he started, voice casual, âyou could just knock. I have FIFA.â
You snorted. âOh, like Iâd willingly join that mess.â
âItâs actually really fun.â
âHow fun can flinging a ball across a screen with your thumbs be?â
âIt is!â he defended, turning fully toward you.
You raised a brow. âI tried once with my friend and it was so boring.â
âThatâs âcause you werenât playing it right,â he insisted, already standing up. âCome on. Iâll show you.â
âIâm not playing FIFA with you.â
âCome onnn,â he whined, grabbing your wrist and tugging you lightly toward his door.
âGod, this is gonna be so stupid,â you muttered, dragging your feet even as you followed him out.
Inside his apartment, the lights were warm, the couch sunken in like it had been through a war. You sat reluctantly, tucking your knees up as he handed you the controller.
âAlright,â he said, sliding in beside you. âThis is youâTeam Two. All you have to do is use the left joystick to move, the right one to look around. This button to pass, this one to shoot.â
You blinked. âSo many buttons.â
âItâs easy! Just follow what I say.â
âOkay⊠so now I justâ?â You pressed a button and immediately kicked the ball out of bounds.
âNo, noâmove left. Left.â
âI am moving left!â
He glanced over. Your tongue was sticking out slightly in concentration, eyes squinted, brows furrowed. He chuckled before he could stop himself, quickly looking away.
Then you screamed, âI DID IT! DID I DO IT?!â
He turned back just in time to see you score.
Sunghoon yelled, jumping up. âYeah! That was it!â
You stared at the screen, jaw dropping. âHoly shit. Iâm amazing.â
He looked at you again, this time longer. Your eyes were glowing, still locked on the TV. Your fingers tapped at the buttons like you already got it down. You bit your lip when you were focused, tongue sticking out just slightly when you were thinking.
And you were cute. So fucking cute.
The match picked up pace. Suddenly it was 2â2, and both of you were leaning in like your lives depended on it. You were yelling at the controller. He was shouting advice. At one point, your knees knocked, but neither of you noticed. The room was loud, just your voices and the music from the game and the way your laughter filled every corner of his flat.
Then it happened.
You scored.Â
You screamed, controller tossed onto the couch, and before Sunghoon could register what was happening, your arms were around his neck, squeezing him tight as you jumped slightly in place.
âI WON! DID YOU SEE THAT?!â
He froze. Your cheek brushed his jaw, your warmth right up against him. His hands hovered midair like he didnât know whether to hold you back or not.
And then you let go, plopped back onto the couch, and grabbed the controller again like nothing had happened.
Sunghoon didnât move.
For the first time in what felt like forever, his heartbeat stuttered. Sped up like it had been woken from a long, indifferent sleep.
He sat there, silent, staring at you as you shouted at your pixelated team.
And all he could think was well thatâŠhe hadnât planned on crushing on the new girl based on one single positive interaction.
God, he was so screwed.
-
The next few days passed in a blur of almost-conversations.
You and Sunghoon didnât talk much. Not like that night. Just a few polite waves across the hallway, a quiet âheyâ if you caught the elevator at the same time. Respectful nods. The occasional awkward glance if your eyes met for too long.
And then Jake and Jay came back.
And of course, Jake being Jake, invited himself into your apartment before you could even say no.
âI missed your cooking while I was gone,â he sighed dramatically, sinking into the dining chair like heâd returned from war.
âWell, todayâs your lucky day,â you said, flipping through your assignment folder and squinting at the weekâs task. âBecause for todayâs assignment, Iâm supposed toâŠâ you paused. âMake a really mean chicken pot pie.â
Jakeâs eyes lit up. He clapped his hands, nearly tipping his chair over. âCHICKEN POT PIE?!â
Before you could even blink, he leapt up, yanked your door open, and sprinted into the hallway.
âJAY! ITâS CHICKEN POT PIE!â he yelled like it was a fire drill.
From across the hall, Jayâs voice rang out. âWHAT?! NO WAY!â
And thenâanother voice joined them.
A quieter one.
âChicken pot pie?â
You didnât even have time to react before you were suddenly hosting three grown men in your kitchen, all leaning over your counter.
âGuys,â you said, elbow-deep in flour. âI canât focus if youâre all staring at me like that.â
âWeâre just excited,â Jake grinned, chin in his hands.
âWell donât be. Iâve never made this before. It might taste like ass.â
âYour hands are basically blessed by Gordon Ramsay,â Jay declared, grabbing a slice of carrot from the cutting board. âItâs impossible for it to taste like ass.â
You laughed, the sound soft and unexpected even to yourself. âJungwon used to tell me that all the time.â
âOh he did?â Jay echoed, voice teasing.
Sunghoon stood a few steps back from the others, arms crossed loosely, leaning against your fridge. He hadnât said much since stepping into your place, but now he watched the three of you.
The way you smiled when Jay made a joke. The way Jake knew where you kept your mixing bowls. The way your eyes sparkled, just slightly, when you laughed about something from home. The way they got it. The way they knew you.
And the way he didnât.
Sunghoon couldnât explain it but it made his stomach twist. Tight and strange and uncomfortable.
And then he heard it again.
Jungwon.
Who the hell was Jungwon?
His name sounded too casual. Too affectionate. The kind of name you didnât just drop without meaning.
Sunghoon didnât say anything. He just looked down at your countertop, at the flour dusting your hands and the delicate way your fingers shaped the crust, and all he could think wasâ
Why the fuck did he care so much?
You moved around your kitchen with the kind of ease that made it impossible not to watch. Sunghoonâs eyes were locked on you, the way your hair swayed behind your back as you leaned forward to stir something in the pot, the way your sleeves were pushed up.Â
His heart pounded harder than it shouldâve. He tried to brush it off. Maybe he was just hungry. Maybe it was just the smell of garlic and butter making him lightheaded. That had to be it, right?
Except no.
He hadnât planned on feeling like this today. Not when he woke up. Not when he brushed his teeth and went on his phone and told himself heâd stay in his apartment. He hadnât even planned on coming over. And that night the two of you shared noodles? Heâd chalked it up to vulnerability. Nighttime feelings. Nothing serious.
But now it was noon. He was awake. Sober. And you were still somehow making his chest tighten just by existing within ten feet of him.
God. He hated having a crush.
He didnât even realise how lost he looked until Jake spoke up from the side, breaking the spell.
âSo, is Jungwon finally coming?â
This guy again.
Sunghoonâs head whipped toward Jake so fast it mightâve snapped his neck.
You perked up at the mention, a smile blooming across your face without even trying. âYeah! Heâs coming in two weeks! I actually told him about you guys. Heâs kinda excited to meet you.â
That smile. It wasnât fake. It wasnât forced. You looked like someone who meant it. Someone who missed this guy. Someone who talked to him often.
Sunghoon clenched his jaw and looked away, grabbing a water bottle off your counter just to do something with his hands. He twisted the cap a little too hard.
He didnât know who the hell Jungwon was.
But he already didnât like him.
âHeâs coming over?â Jay asked, his mouth still half-full of pie filling.
âYeah,â you said casually, brushing a stray hair behind your ear as you peeked into the oven. âHeâs staying at my place for the week heâs here.â
Staying at your place?
Sunghoon blinked.
He looked around your apartment, eyes scanning every corner like they were going to magically reveal a hidden guest room. But there wasnât one. You lived in a studio. Everything was in one space. Your bed, your desk, your kitchen, your couch. Except⊠there wasnât even a real couch. Just a throw-covered loveseat that barely seated two.
No air mattress in sight. No hidden folding cot. No suspicious lumpy bags that might hold a spare futon.
Just one bed.
His chest tightened.
Where the hell was Jungwon gonna sleep? With you?
He picked at the label on his water bottle, teeth grinding quietly as he stared down at the floor, like it held answers. It didnât.
He wasnât even involved with you. This shouldnât matter. It shouldnât bother him.
But it did. In the most uncomfortable, teeth-clenching, mind-racing kind of way.
-
You stood in front of the three boys, arms crossed, heart racing slightly under your apron. The chicken pot pie sat on the tableâŠgolden brown crust, just the right amount of bubbling over on the sides, the smell of thyme and butter and garlic filling your apartment.
Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon each took a spoonful at the same time like theyâd rehearsed it. You watched them, nervous, scanning their faces.
One by one, their expressions lit up. Jakeâs eyes widened, Jay let out a satisfied groan. Well⊠except Sunghoon. Of course.
He stayed still. Always unreadable. But you caught it. The tiny pause, the way his brows lifted just a fraction. He liked it. He just didnât show it like the others.
âSoââ Jake started.
âGood,â Jay finished, already reaching for more.
Your eyes flicked to Sunghoon. Somehow, his opinion was the one you were waiting on. The one you needed.
âSo?â you asked, staring at him.
He blinked. âWhat?â
âHow is it?â
âItâs good,â he said, nodding once, tone flat as ever.
Your smile dropped. You frowned. âDoesnât seem like it.â
âWhat? I just said itâs good.â
âNo, you said âgoodâ and then frowned and put your spoon down. Usually itâs âItâs good,â then a second bite. Right, boys?â
Jake nodded enthusiastically, chicken still in his mouth. âSheâs right.â
âTotally right,â Jay added, already helping himself to more.
Sunghoon rolled his eyes, leaning back slightly. âYouâre all being dramatic.â
You scoffed, insulted. âI guess you donât want seconds then. Tch.â
You clicked your tongue and turned on your heel, storming off toward the kitchen, grumbling under your breath. Your apron fluttered behind you as you moved, and you didnât look back.
Sunghoon watched your little pout, the way your shoulders stiffened, how you exaggerated every step. He didnât know why, but he liked your reaction. No, he loved it. He found it ridiculously cute. Too cute, actually. That slight wrinkle in your forehead. The way your voice got higher when you were mad. The tiny stomp in your step.
The moment your back turned, his lips twitched upward.Â
When lunch ended and the three of them stood by your front door, Jake and Jay turned to hug you dramatically.
âNever move out,â Jake said into your shoulder.
You rolled your eyes. âYouâre just saying that because you get free food.â
âAnd precisely why we donât want you to move out,â Jay replied, squeezing you once more before the two of them shuffled out, bickering as they made their way into their apartment across the hall.
Sunghoon lingered. Just behind you.
You turned, raising a brow. âArenât you leaving?â
He nodded. âYeah.â He stepped back slowly, hands in his pockets, gaze flicking to the floor before settling back on you. Then he paused. Like he wasnât sure if he should say what he was about to say.
âThe chicken pot pie was good. I thinkâŠâ he exhaled, voice quieter, âI think it was one of the best things Iâve ever had.â
You blinked, caught off guard.
âIt reminded me of home,â he added, eyes still on you now, a little softer than usual. âNot in the way where itâs about the taste or anything⊠itâs just⊠you cook like home. If that makes any sense.â
You hadnât expected that.
Your cheeks flushed immediately. You turned away before he could see it, pretending to fiddle with a dish on the counter, fingers uselessly adjusting an already-clean plate.
âThank you,â you murmured, voice low, almost shy.
He lingered for a second longer like he wanted to say more. Then he gave a quiet nod and walked out the door.
-
It was raining.
It was only 4 p.m., but the sky had turned an eerie charcoal grey, clouds rolling thick above the city. Thunder cracked so loud you felt it in your chest, and the wind howled between the buildings, slamming against your windows.
You hated this.
You hated how much you still feared storms even at your age. How useless independence felt when you were stuffing tissues in your ears and jamming earmuffs over your head like you were five again. You turned on every single light in your apartment, lamps, fairy lights, even your microwave light and cocooned yourself under your thickest blanket, barely breathing, eyes wide.
Then the whole building shuddered.
The lights flickered.
And then everything went dark.
You screamed.
Your apartment disappeared into a blanket of pitch black, shadows curling up the walls like ink. Your heart pounded. You scrambled up from the couch, tearing off your earmuffs and patting the walls with shaky hands, trying to find a light switch like that would fix anything.
âShit,â you whispered, voice trembling. âShit shit shit.â
You fumbled for your phone. A message popped up from your landlord.
âThe building is experiencing a temporary blackout due to the storm. Electricity should resume in an hour. Thank you for your patience.â
An hour? Alone? In this? In the dark? Absolutely fucking not.
You jumped at another violent crack of thunder and instantly rushed out into the hallway. Your blanket trailed behind you like a cape. You beelined for the only door you knew.
You knocked. The door swung open almost immediately.
âNo time to explain but Iâm shitting bricks here,â you said all at once.
It wasnât Jake or Jay.
It was Sunghoon.
His brows raised. âThe thunderstorm?â
You nodded frantically. âAre Jake or Jay here?â
âTheyâre asleep.â He glanced behind him, then back at you. âBut I could⊠stay with you. If you want. Until it passes.â
You hesitated.
Then thunder cracked again, louder this time, right above your building.
You flinched. âOkay,â you breathed, defeated.
The two of you sat cross-legged on your couch, sharing a single candle as your only source of light. It flickered between you, casting long, warm shadows on the walls.
âSeems like youâre scared of the thunder,â he said gently.
âWell,â you sighed, voice tight. âIâve been scared of it since I was younger. It just⊠gets to me.â
He nodded. âItâs okay.â
You noticed it thenâŠthe subtle tremble in his shoulders. He was shivering. From the cold, probably. Your heater wasnât working without electricity, and the apartment was steadily turning into a fridge. You were wrapped up like a burrito, but heâd come in without anything but a hoodie.
Feeling guilty, you shifted toward him and lifted one side of your blanket.
âUhâŠâ he looked at you like he wasnât sure if he was being pranked.
âRelax. I can see you shivering like a dog,â you muttered.
âOh.â He blinked, then grabbed the other end of the blanket and scooted in beside you.
Now under the same blanket, his body heat pressed faintly against yours. You sat side by side, knees pulled to your chests.
And then, in a whisper, he said, âYou knowâŠâ
You looked over at him, startled by the sudden softness in his voice.
âI know Iâm not as close to you as Jay and Jake are,â he said, eyes trained on the candle, âbut⊠you donât always have to find them for help.â
You blinked. âHuh?â
âIâm sayingâŠâ he sighed, eyes flicking up toward you, and then away again. âNever mind.â
âNo, what? Just spit it out.â
He exhaled through his nose like it physically hurt to get the words out. âIâm just saying⊠you could ask me for help too.â
You stared at him, your eyes adjusting to the candlelight flickering between you.
âOh,â you said softly.
There was a beat of silence. You werenât really sure what to do with that. But you didnât want to leave it hanging either.
âIâll be sure to think of you the next time,â you mumbled, barely louder than the rain still pelting the windows outside.
You felt him nod beside you.
You turned your head slowly, resting your cheek against your knees, eyes drifting toward him. His face was tilted down, lashes long and dark as they blinked now and then, just slow enough for you to notice. His jaw had softened a little. He looked calm, in a way you werenât used to seeing him.
âWould you rather have a million dollars,â you said suddenly, âor have no problems in the world?â
He blinked, confused for a second, then turned his head toward you. His chin was on his knees now too, and with the two of you curled up in the same blanket, inches apart, it felt almost like whispering under covers at a sleepover.
âWhat kind of question is that?â
âA good one,â you replied, lips twitching. âSo answer it.â
He scoffed a little under his breath. âUh⊠maybe no problems in the world?â
âSmart answer. Why?â
He paused, âI think people ruin themselves trying to solve problems that shouldnât be theirs. If I had no problems, maybe I wouldnât waste time worrying about all the stuff that doesnât matter.â
You blinked at him. That was⊠not the answer you were expecting. It was a good one. Way too good, actually.
âRight,â you said softly, giving him a small nod.
He looked at you for a second longer before his eyes flicked down. âYour turn. Would you rather go back in time or go into the future?â
You puffed your cheeks out, thinking. âHmm⊠thatâs a toughie.â
Then your eyes widened, the way they always did when you had a lightbulb moment. âGo back in time!â
âWhyâs that?â
âSo maybe Iâd really weigh the pros and cons of moving to a city where I know no one,â you said with a grin, but it faded slightly at the end.
Sunghoon stayed quiet.Â
âYou must really feel alone,â he said.
You blinked, startled. âWhat?â
âI hear you talking about it sometimes. On your balcony. When you think no oneâs listening. You talk about how moving here feels like a mistake.â
You looked away, embarrassed. âItâs not a mistake. I just⊠miss everything back home.â
âI get it,â he said after a second. âI was like you. Back when I was home, I wanted to leave so badly. Thought being somewhere else would fix everything. But now that Iâm here⊠yeah, I have Jay and Jake, and theyâre great, but sometimes I come back to the apartment and everythingâs fine and normal and stillâI just feel⊠empty. And I donât even know why.â
You didnât say anything for a long time.
You just watched him. His face had turned thoughtful, distant. His eyes unfocused, drifting somewhere past the flickering candle, past your walls, like he was staring right through the quiet that lived in his chest.
You mumbled, âWell, yeah. But⊠I also donât regret it. Not one bit.â
âReally?â
You nodded. âYeah. I meanâIâm here doing what I love. Not many people get to do that. And I made friends with three incredibly annoying people in this building.â
He turned toward you again, eyes narrowing playfully. âSo weâre friends now?â
Your cheeks heated up instantly. You glanced away, pretending to roll your eyes. âAre we not?â
He let out a low chuckle, the kind that rumbled softly at the back of his throat. âIâm glad you think we are.â
âSo,â you said, tilting your head, âdoes this mean youâll finally be nice to me now? Or is that too much character development for one night?â
Sunghoon smirked, eyes flicking to you with a teasing glint. âYou want nice? From me?â
âYeah. Like a full sentence without sarcasm. I feel like thatâs a reward Iâve earned by now.â
âYou earned a participation medal at best.â
You laughed, nudging him with your knee. âUnbelievable.â
He was already looking at you againâcloser this time.
âHold on,â he said softly, âyou have an eyelash on your cheek.â
You blinked, caught off guard. âWhat?â
Before you could move, he leaned in.
His face hovered inches from yours as his thumb brushed gently against your cheek, his touch soft but sure. The pads of his fingers were warm. His eyes, now impossibly close, scanned your face with a kind of quiet focus you hadnât felt from him before. You swallowed.
Neither of you moved.
Your gaze locked, and the space between you slowly disappearedâŠinch by inch, breath by breath. It wasnât planned. It just⊠happened.
Then suddenly, his lips were on yours.
Then it deepened. His other hand pushed the blanket off his head, dropping behind your neck to pull you in, and your hands found their way to his thighs, then to the curve of his jaw. His lips parted just enough, and your pulse jumped as he moved against you.
His hands slid to your waist. He lifted you slightly and shifted you into his lap in one smooth motion. You were now straddling him, knees on either side of his thighs, and he didnât stop kissing you, not even for a second.
The kiss grew stronger. He tilted his head, hand moving to your chin to pull you even closer, his mouth parting yours with a low inhale as his tongue brushed against yours.
Your hands moved back down, gripping at the soft cotton of his hoodie, whenâ
Click.
The lights flickered on.
You both froze.
Your faces were still inches apart.Â
You slowly pulled back, still on his lap. He blinked, eyes searching yours like he wasnât sure what just happened. Like part of him wanted to keep going, and the other part⊠couldnât believe you just kissed him like that.
You stared at each other, the silence heavy now.
His hands were still resting lightly on your waist. Yours were still fisted in the fabric of his hoodie. Both of you breathless.Â
âI need to go back home,â Sunghoon said suddenly, voice low but rushed. His eyes darted everywhere except at you.
You blinked. âRight. Of course!â you said quickly, nodding way too fast. âYeah. Noâtotally.â
He shifted awkwardly underneath you, face flushing as he cleared his throat and muttered, âProbably⊠need a pillow or something.â
It took you a second.
Then you saw the way he was subtly covering his lap with the edge of the blanket.
âOh.â Your voice came out small. You quickly scrambled off his lap, cheeks burning so hot they couldâve powered your apartment during the blackout.
âSorry,â he mumbled, already halfway to your door.
And then, Sunghoon stormed out of your apartment.
-
It had been a couple of days since you last properly spoke to Sunghoon. Not for lack of trying. You hadâŠmore than once. But each time, heâd give you a quick nod, maybe a polite smile if you were lucky, before promptly power-walking away.
Maybe he just wasnât feeling what you were feeling. Maybe that kiss was a fluke, something in the heat of the moment. Maybe your little new crush was painfully one-sided.
But you pushed it aside. You had bigger things to focus on.
Jungwon was coming today.
Youâd spent the entire morning rearranging your apartment, cleaning it from top to bottom, fluffing cushions and spraying perfume not just on yourself but into the air like it could somehow mask how nervous you were. You even did your hair the way he liked it, soft curls and a side part.
And then, there he was.
The door swung open and your best friend stood in the hallway, suitcase in hand and a grin already on his face.
âWON!â you squealed, running up to him and leaping into his arms.
âHello, idiot,â he said, his voice fond as he hugged you back, lifting you off the ground with ease.
The shout mustâve startled the boys in 3C, because right on cue, the door across the hall creaked open and out came Jake and Jay, both peeking out.
They spotted you clinging to Jungwon like a koala.
You beamed. âGuys! Itâs him!â
âThe famous Jungwon,â Jay said, nodding in approval as he stepped out.
âAnd you must be Jake and Jay,â Jungwon said smoothly, setting you down.
Then came the third.
Sunghoon.
He didnât move from the doorway. Just stood there, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Jungwon turned to him, a friendly smile still on his lips, chuckling. âYou must be Sunghoon, then.â
Sunghoonâs gaze narrowed slightly. âWhatâs so funny?â
Jungwon blinked, caught off guard. âNothing,â he said, clearing his throat. âShe just⊠told me you were like this.â
âLike what?â Sunghoon asked sharply, the scoff nearly audible in his tone.
Jungwon scratched the back of his neck. âNothing. She just said you were cool,â he said with a shrug, throwing you a teasing look.
Sunghoon rolled his eyes.
You stood there, suddenly awkward, unsure what the hell had crawled up Sunghoonâs ass. The hostility was as thick as the tension in the air and you hadnât done anything. Not really.
At least you didnât think you had.
Just stood there, arms crossed, a stiff expression on his face while Jake and Jay welcomed Jungwon like he was already part of the group. Jungwon, ever the social butterfly, fit in easily, throwing a few jokes around, complimenting the apartment despite its questionable decor, and even teasing Jake about the ugly dinosaur pyjamas he was wearing in broad daylight.
But Sunghoon?
He was frowning the entire time.
You couldnât figure it out. His jaw was tight, his responses were clipped, and every time Jungwon so much as glanced your way, you saw Sunghoonâs eye twitch.
You walked back to your apartment with Jungwon beside you, chatting excitedly about dinner plans and all the places he wanted to visit during his stay. But when you turned back, just for a second, you caught Sunghoon still watching. Still standing in the hallway.
His arms were still crossed.
And he didnât look away.
-
Sunghoon stood there, arms folded across his chest like they were the only things keeping him together. He stared ahead blankly, jaw tight, doing everything in his power not to glare a hole through the wall. He wasnât sure what he was feeling.
Sure, he knew he had a crush on you. Heâd known since the chicken pot pie, probably. Or maybe since you wrapped that blanket around his shoulders. Or maybe long before that. But what he didnât know was who the fuck Jungwon was, and why he was walking into your apartment.
âDude,â Jake muttered, throwing him a sideways look. âYou couldâve at least smiled.â
âI did,â Sunghoon growled, not bothering to hide his scowl.
Jay snorted. âThat was barely a smile. You looked like you were in the middle of passing a kidney stone.â
âWhy do I even have to be nice?â Sunghoon snapped. âI donât know him.â
âBecause your crushâs boyfriend just came into town,â Jake replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Sunghoon's head snapped to him so fast youâd think he got whiplash. âBoyfriend?â
Jay raised a brow. âNot denying the crush though.â
Sunghoon ignored him. âLet me ask you again. Boyfriend?â
Jake shrugged. âI mean⊠yeah, I guess?â
âWhat the fuck do you mean you guess?â Sunghoon hissed, dragging a hand down his face. âHe canât be her boyfriend.â
âBut he is,â Jay said with a shrug and an infuriatingly smug smile.
âNo, heâs not. He canât be. Because she and IâŠâ he paused, realising too late what was about to fall out of his mouth. ââŠkissed. Three nights ago.â
Jakeâs mouth dropped open. Jay blinked.
âIâm sorry, what?â Jake finally blurted.
âNothing,â Sunghoon muttered quickly, suddenly desperate to eat his words.
âYou canât say nothing when you just said everything!â Jake shouted, grabbing Sunghoonâs shoulders and shaking him.
âTell us right now!â Jay begged dramatically, gripping his own hair.
Sunghoon rolled his eyes, flustered. âIâweâkissed. Thatâs it.â
Jay blinked. âYou know we were kidding about the boyfriend thing, right?â
Jake grinned. âJungwonâs just her best friend.â
âWe just wanted to see if youâd admit you liked her,â Jay added, eyes sparkling with way too much joy. âWhich you did.â
âNo, I didnât,â Sunghoon argued weakly. âI just said we kissed.â
âOkay, Mr Visceral Reaction every time we mention Jungwon,â Jake teased.
Jay smirked. âSay it. Say you like her.â
Sunghoon groaned, eyes shut tight as if the ceiling could swallow him whole. Then, finallyâquietly, begrudginglyâ
âOkay. So what if I like her?â
Jay and Jake immediately turned to each other with identical gasps, smacking each otherâs arms excitedly.
âOh my god, he admitted it,â Jay whispered dramatically.
Jake clutched his chest. âItâs happening.â
âYou guys are disgusting,â Sunghoon groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. âAnd if you keep acting like this, Iâm never telling you anything again.â
âOkay, okay.â Jake raised both hands, trying to suppress a grin. âWeâll behave.â
âBUT IâM SO EXCITED,â Jay squealed.
Jake smacked him on the shoulder. âStarting now.â
Jay nodded solemnly, rubbing his arm. âSorry. That one slipped.â
Sunghoon sighed and leaned against the counter, arms crossed again. âI started liking her last month⊠when you guys went back home for the week. She cooked me stir-fried noodles, and we ate together. Played FIFA. I donât know. I just⊠developed a crush on her.â
âThatâs so cute,â Jay and Jake said in unison, stars in their eyes.
âSeriously, can the two of you act normal for like three minutes?â
Jake shrugged, still smiling. âI just didnât expect you to have a girlfriend before me.â
Jay patted his shoulder. âYouâll get there, buddy.â
Jake tilted his head. âYou think?â
âYeah, you have nice eyes. Great personality.â
Jake beamed. âThatâs so kind.â
âCan we please get back to my problem for like a minute?â Sunghoon cut in, glaring at both of them.
âOh. Right.â
Jay cleared his throat and finally looked serious. âLook. We like her. Sheâs hilarious, and she makes good fucking food. And letâs be real, youâve never liked anyone. Weâve been trying to get you to double date with us for years and you just stare at your phone all the time. But with her? Youâre like... a guy with actual feelings.â
âBut now Iâm losing to Jung⊠whatever his name is.â Sunghoon sighed.
âJungwon,â Jake said. âAnd no, youâre not.â
âHow do you know she doesnât like him?â Sunghoon muttered, staring down at the floor.
âBecause,â Jay said, âif she did, she wouldnât have kissed you.â
âUnless sheâs indecisive or confused or something. I donât know.â Sunghoon exhaled hard, running a hand through his hair. âMaybe I was just⊠a moment. And heâs her person.â
Jake shook his head. âIâm telling youâjust talk to her.â
âYeah,â Jay added. âBefore you spiral even harder and start writing love songs about her. But if you do, I haved like a couple of guitars you could borrow.â
Sunghoon rolled his eyes. But somewhere, deep down⊠a part of him hoped they were right.
-
You were pacing back and forth on your cheap IKEA rug, while Jungwon was laid out dramatically on your bed, arms folded behind his head, thoroughly enjoying the show.
âIâm telling you, heâs avoiding me,â you snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at no one in particular. âWe kissedâKISSED, Jungwonâand now he wonât even look at me! I wave, he nods. I say hi, he nods. I breathe in his direction, heâguess whatânods!â
Jungwon hummed, annoyingly calm. âMaybe heâs nervous. Or maybe he wants you to go to him.â
âI do go to him! And then he speed-walks away like Iâm the plague!â You groaned, pressing your fingers to your temples. âIâm gonna lose it.â
âMaybeâŠâ he tapped his chin thoughtfully, âyouâre just a shit kisser.â
You whipped around and chucked a throw pillow directly at his smug face.
âAsshole.â
He caught it with a grin, clutching it to his chest dramatically. âIâm just saying. Maybe you scared him off.â
âYouâre lucky I havenât strangled you with this blanket,â you muttered, grabbing another pillow just in case.
Jungwon sat up, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. âYou know, sometimes I forget we grew up together because youâre so unpredictable now.â
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
He snorted. âYou used to be fearless. Remember that Heeseung guy you had a crush on in middle school?â
You blinked. âWhat about him?â
âYou were six, and you walked up to him at recess, said âI like your lunchbox,â then kissed his cheek and ran off.â
âAh,â you said flatly, âthe good old days. That girlâs dead now.â
âSheâs not dead,â Jungwon argued, grabbing your wrists and tugging you to sit beside him on the bed. âSheâs just⊠overthinking everything. Look, if Sunghoon doesnât like youâwhatever. But if he does? Youâre missing out just because youâre too chicken to tell him.â
You glared. âI hate it when you make sense.â
âI know.â He grinned. âItâs my worst trait.â
âI justââ you exhaled, flopping back beside him. âWhat if it ruins everything? We literally just got closer. What if I say something and it all goes to shit?â
âOkay, counter-offer.â He sat up straighter. âYou tell him, or I will. I will walk down the hallway, knock on his door, and go âHi, my best friend has feelings for you, she also has performance anxiety but can cook a great bowl of chicken noodle soup.ââ
âYou wouldnât,â you hissed, swatting at his arm.
âThen do it yourself!â he laughed, dodging your attacks. âBefore I start printing flyers and pasting them in the apartment lobby.â
God. Why did he always have to be right?
âFine.â
Your hand was already on the doorknob, breath caught in your throat, just about to leave when the door across from yours had swung open at the exact same time.
And there he was.
Sunghoon.
You both froze, hands still gripping the doorknobs, blinking.
You cleared your throat first. âSunghoon.â
He blinked like he hadnât already been staring. âWhat?â
You squinted. âIs that the only word you know how to say when I call your name?â
He paused. âSorry.â
You opened your mouth to say something else but were rudely interrupted by muffled snorts from behind Sunghoon. Jay and Jakeâs heads popped out from their doorway like nosy meerkats.
âHoon,â Jay said in a loud, exaggerated voice, âwe need more eggs.â
âDesperately,â Jake added, nodding like this was a national emergency. âGo to the store.â
Then Jungwon peeked out from behind you with an equally suspicious grin. âOh, and while youâre there, can you grab some ice cream too?â
You and Sunghoon looked at each other.
âWhat is happening right now,â you said flatly.
Before either of you could respond, four hands shoved the both of you toward the elevator. You stumbled in, the doors sliding shut just as Jay yelled out, âDonât come back without snacks!â
The elevator stopped at your floor.
Your shoulders brushed as you stood side by side, awkwardly watching the floor numbers light up.
Then, finally, you broke it. âAbout that dayââ
Sunghoon shook his head quickly. âDonât worry about it. I wonât tell Jungwon.â
You blinked. âWhat do you mean you wonât tell Jungwon?â
He looked away. âWell, arenât you like⊠crushing on him? I wouldnât want what we did to, you know⊠ruin your chances or something.â
Your entire face scrunched up. âWon and I? What? Ew. God, no. Weâre friends. We grew up together. Thinking about him that way would be like incest or something.â
And just like that, Sunghoon felt like heâd been hit by a shooting star and given a second chance at life. His heart did a full backflip. You were single. You were available.Â
He couldnât help it. He smiled.
âWhy do you suddenly look so happy?â you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
âIâm not.â
âYouâre literally smiling.â
âIâm not.â
âWeâve hung out a couple of times and if Iâm being honest, Iâve never seen you smile thisââ
âCut it out.â He tried to brush it off, biting back the grin. âIâm just glad.â
âGlad about?â
âGlad that I didnât ruin your chances,â he said nonchalantly, looking up like he hadnât just panicked thirty seconds ago.
âMhm.â You narrowed your eyes at him, the golden-orange glow of the sunset casting warmth across his cheekbones. He was handsome. Frustratingly so. âWell⊠because I actually like this other guy.â
Sunghoonâs smile faltered.
âI havenât known him that long,â you continued casually, âbut he seems cool. I donât really know much about him yet.â
âThatâs⊠nice.â Sunghoon turned away quickly, jaw tight. He was definitely grimacing. Please donât let her see that Iâm grimacing, he begged internally.
âYeah, heâs really tall. Really handsome, too.â
âThatâs justâŠâ he exhaled. âGreat.â
âHe doesnât seem super friendly but he has a big heart. Even if he tries really hard not to show it.â
âSeems like a swell fuckinâ guy,â he muttered bitterly.
âItâs a pity though,â you sighed dramatically, still watching him. âI wish I could get to know him better.â
âWell⊠anyoneâs lucky to get to know you.â He tried to smile. It didnât reach his eyes. âI know I am.â
You tilted your head. âNot to mention⊠he lives really close to me.â
Sunghoonâs eyes darted to you. âHe does?â
âMhm.â You nodded, heartbeat accelerating.
âLike how close?â
You took a slow step toward him. âLike⊠just across the hall close.â
âOh.â He blinked. âThat close.â
Silence settled in the small elevator. You both just stood there, not looking at each other, tension hanging in the air like humidity.
Then, out of nowhereâ
âIâm just saying,â Sunghoon said, dead serious, âbut Jake sleeps with the lights on and Jay doesnât wash his hair as often as you think he does.â
You blinked. âHuh?â
âI sleep normal,â he added quickly. âI wash my hair. I do proper haircareâshampoo, conditioner, mask, mist. I could do your routine too. For you. If you want.â
You stared.
âI canât cook, but Iâll try. I can figure skate. I can spin twice in the air. Jay and Jake? Not even one spin. Jay can play guitar, Jake can sing but I can spin, okay? Without getting dizzy too.â
âSunghoon.â
âAnd those idiots never clean up after eating your food. Jay doesnât use coasters. Jake never makes his bed.â
âSUNGHOON!â
He looked at you, breathless. âWhat?â
You stepped forward. Slowly. Then, you mumbled, âItâs you.â
He blinked. âWhat?â
âI like you.â
And for once, Park Sunghoon had absolutely nothing to say.
âOkay,â he said. âCool. Okay. Iâwow. Okay.â
You raised a brow. âThatâs it?â
He nodded dumbly. âNo. Yes. I donât know. I justâholy shit. You like me.â
You smirked, the smile slowly stretching across your face. âYes. I like you.â
The elevator dinged. Neither of you moved.
He looked at you again, still dazed. âHold on, I kinda need a minute.â
You both stepped out into the empty lobby. The sun outside had just dipped below the skyline, casting a pinkish-orange glow through the glass doors. The streetlights flickered on. But you waited.
âItâs been a minute,â you said.
âI know,â he exhaled, hand raking through his hair. âBut you like me back, so I kinda need, like⊠a long minute.â
âBack?â You grinned, the corners of your mouth lifting all the way to your eyes. âSo you like me too?â
He nodded slowly. âYeah. I thought it was obvious from the, uh⊠word vomit.â
âWell yeah,â you shrugged. âBut I didnât want to assume. Didnât wanna be narcissistic.â
âI think even if you were,â he muttered, âIâd still think you were pretty cute.â
You blinked. âDid you justââ
âGross, I know,â he said quickly, face flushing. âI just said that out loud, didnât I?â
You laughed. âYeah. But you kinda canât take it back now.â
âFine,â he said, pretending to groan. âYouâre cute. Ugh. I said it again.â
-
A MONTH LATER
Jay and Jake found it fundamentally unfair. They were the ones who got close to you first. They were the ones who complimented you, made you laugh, showed up when you needed help. They loved you first or at least, thatâs what they told themselves. But here you were, doors locked for the first time in three months, cooking a full-course meal for Sunghoon to celebrate your one-month anniversary.
âYouâre not allowed to come,â Sunghoon told them flatly before slamming the door shut.
âButâ!â they shouted in unison, already mourning the steak they wouldnât get to taste.
Word on the hallway was that you were cooking the perfect medium-rare T-bone steak, paired with your signature brown sauce and a vegetable medley so crunchy and flavourful. Meanwhile, Jay and Jake sat hunched on the couch, scrolling through a food delivery app.
âIsnât it funny,â Jake said, arms folded, âhow we were the ones who befriended her first, and now weâre stuck with Burger King?â
âLifeâs unfair, bud.â
Back in your apartment, things were a little more romantic. Youâd decorated with fairy lights and candles, the room dimly lit. You were still being frugal, splitting every cost you could. But youâd managed to steal two T-bone steaks from the diner you part-timed at.
Sunghoon showed up in a black and white tuxedo, looking like heâd taken the prom theme you had placed as a joke a little too seriously.
âYou look absolutely gorgeous,â he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek.
âAnd you look absolutely handsome,â you grinned.
He walked over to the table and took in the spread. âOkay, what do we have?â
âI made the steaks, obviously, and then thereâs the vegetable medley⊠and your favouriteâmashed potatoes,â you giggled.
Sunghoon exhaled, shaking his head with a disbelieving smile. âHow did I get so lucky?â
You shrugged. âI donât know either.â
He laughed. âThe guys are pissed, by the way. You made me all this, and theyâre over there with cold fries.â
âWhat?â you said, surprised. âI made them something too! Donât worry.â
âYou did?â he raised a brow.
âI had a feeling theyâd be hungry if you were over here.â
âBabe, you didnât have to do that. Theyâre grown men.â
âYeah, but technically my assignment this week was pasta and I have too many leftovers.â
âTheyâre spoiled by you.â
âAnd so are you.â
âTrue, but Iâm your boyfriend. Theyâre just two annoying shitheads constantly trying to butt in.â
âIâll be quick. Iâll just drop the dish off and come back.â
âNo,â he said, standing. âIâll do it. You stay here.â
He kissed your forehead, grabbing the lasagna youâd tucked into the fridge. âYouâre too sweet, you know that?â
âHe walked across the hall and opened the door to Unit 3C.
Inside, Jay was mid-rant. âI just donât get it. Sunghoon isnât even that hot.â
âI mean, he is,â Jake added, âbut she deserves better, you know?â
Sunghoon cleared his throat. âI can hear you two idiots.â
They both froze, turning around sheepishly. âWe were just joking. We love you, man.â
He held up the dish. âAnd to think I came here bearing gifts from my girlfriend.â
Jakeâs eyes widened. âWaitâis that lasagna?â
âShe felt bad we were eating good without you, so she made you dinner.â
âOh my god,â Jay gasped. âSunghoon, I donât mean to be pushy, but please marry her.â
âI canât,â Sunghoon muttered. âNot when you two are constantly inserting yourselves into my relationship.â
âOkay, okay, weâll back off. Justâcan we have the lasagna?â
âAnd can you tell her we love her?â
âI am not telling my girlfriend you love her,â Sunghoon snapped. âIâve barely worked up the nerve to tell her that myself.â
âWait,â Jake said suddenly, âyou havenât told her you love her yet?â
âItâs only been a month.â
âSo⊠you donât love her?â
âI do,â Sunghoon replied, almost too quickly. âI just donât want to come on too strong if sheâs not ready.â
Jay and Jake shared a glance before shrugging.
âWhat?â Sunghoon asked, frowning. âWhy are you looking at me like that?â
Jake cleared his throat. âItâs just⊠she already said it.â
Sunghoon looked up. âWhat?â
âYeah,â Jake replied casually. âYou texted her about picking up those heat packs for her cramps, and she went all soft and whispered, âGod, I love him so much.â Her words. Not mine.â
Sunghoon stood frozen in the doorway, the dish in his hands suddenly weightless.
You loved him.
âSo⊠youâre saying I should tell her?â he asked, voice quiet, almost unsure.
Jay and Jake both nodded enthusiastically. âDefinitely. Especially if it makes her our sister-in-law,â Jay added, grinning.
Sunghoon rolled his eyes. âGod, the two of you can be so annoying.â
âBut you still love us,â Jay shrugged. âSo whatâs the point of complaining?â
He hated that Jay was right.
Back in your apartment, Sunghoon sat across from you, completely transfixed. You were dressed in a soft pink satin dress that shimmered every time you moved. It hugged your shoulders delicately, the neckline simple, elegant. Your hair was curled softly, pinned loosely on one side with a vintage clip, and your lips were glossed just enough to make him stare longer than he shouldâve.
And God, you looked so beautiful.
He tried to pay attention. He really did. But his heart was too loud, his thoughts too full. How was he supposed to say it?
Sunghoon had never told anyone he loved them before. Not seriously. Maybe to his mom years ago, right before he left for the city. But this? This felt entirely new.
Because sitting in front of him was someone who made every quiet part of his life feel loud again. You filled in the spaces he didnât even know were missing. You made his apartment feel less cold, his world a little less grey. And the way he loved youâGod, it wasnât something small. It wasnât a flicker or a passing crush. It was all-consuming and terrifying and the best damn thing heâd ever felt.
He loved you like it was muscle memory. Like even if he forgot everything else, his hands would still reach for yours and only yours.
âHoonie,â you interrupted gently, frowning. âYouâre not listening.â
He blinked back into focus. âSorry,â he murmured, smile tugging at the corners of his lips. âI was just thinking about something.â
âWhat?â you looked up at him, ur big eyes shining.Â
Sunghoon unknowingly smiled, his eyes dripping with honey, god he loved you. He wanted to say that. So badly.
âIâŠI justâuhâfeelâŠthat,â His voice trailed off. âYou look really beautiful tonight. I mean, you always do. But especially tonight.â He hesitated, the words stuck behind his teeth.
You smiled. âThank you. You look very handsome too.â
-
Later that night, the two of you were in Sunghoonâs apartment along with Jay and Jake for the usual game night.Â
You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, your prom-night dress bunched awkwardly around your knees, mascara slightly smudged from earlier laughter, hair pinned half-up. Sunghoon sat slouched in the beanbag beside you, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in concentration. Jake was lying on his stomach, legs swinging in the air, and Jay had somehow made himself horizontal on the couch.
You and Jake were a team. Sunghoon and Jay were not handling that well.
âRevive me!â Sunghoon yelled.
Jay shouted back, âIâm busy trying not to die, dumbass!â
Button mashing intensified. Trash talk flew across the room.
âVICTORY!â Jake screamed, leaping up like a madman.
You followed suit, springing to your feet and clambering up onto the coffee table in your dress. âGET WRECKED, LOSERS!â you yelled, pointing dramatically at Sunghoon. âTHATâS RIGHT, LOSERS!â
Jake joined you on the table, doing a badly timed robot dance. The two of you jumped in sync, yelling in triumph, while Jay groaned into a throw pillow and Sunghoon watched with a hand covering his mouth, half to hide his smile, half to suppress a laugh.
âYouâre all bark, no bite!â you called, face flushed, hair falling loose. âYour character died fourteen times, Hoonie.â
âI let you win!â he shot back, grinning as he sat up straighter. âI was being a gentleman.â
âSure,â you scoffed, sticking your tongue out at him. âReal chivalrous of you, sir died-14-fucking-times.â
He chuckled under his breath, eyes lingering on you for a second longer than usual. Then, without a word, he stood and walked out of the room.
You blinked. That was...odd.Â
You gave Jake a gentle shove off the table and followed Sunghoon into the hallway. He was pacing outside, one hand in his hair, the other fiddling with the watch on his wrist.
âHoon?â you asked, stepping out and gently closing the door behind you.
He jumped slightly, turning toward you. âYou scared me.â
âYou okay? You just left so suddenâŠâ
âIâuhâyeah. I was just trying to figure out how to say something.â
You tilted your head, arms crossing over your chest. âSay what?â
âNothing,â he mumbled with a shrug.
Your expression softened. âAre you mad at me?â You sighed. Maybe your little victory dance had been a bit much. âHoonie?â
âNo, baby, I could never be mad at you,â he said quickly, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.
âThen whatâs wrong?â
âNothing, I justâŠâ
You stepped closer, teasing lightly, âDo you want me to redo my victory dance? I could. You just have to beatbox, and Iâll take it from there.â
That made him laugh.
âCome on,â you grinned, starting to move your body in the most ridiculous way. âIâm pretty sure I shouldâve been a dancer instead of a chef.â
He laughed again, this time louder and then, before he could stop himself, the words slipped out.
âOh my god, I love you.â
You blinked. Your smile faded. Your brain, for one impossible second, completely short-circuited.
âDid you just say you love me?â you asked, heart hammering.
His eyes widened in sheer panic. âNo?â
âI heard it.â
âYou misheard.â
âOh my god,â you gasped, practically vibrating. âYou love me. You love me!â
âFine!â he burst out, throwing his hands up like he was under arrest. âI do! I love you, okay?â
You smiled, âYou do?â
âOf course! I love the way you talk too fast when youâre excited. I love how you make my idiot friends feel like they matter. I love that you make me feel whole. That when Iâm with you, I donât feel hollow anymore. You⊠you make me feel like Iâm not empty.â
You grinned so wide it hurt. âThatâs because youâre not.â
âI used to be,â he said helplessly, gesturing vaguely like he was mourning his past self. âI was mysterious. Brooding. Sexy, even. And now? Now I smile at cat videos you send me on TikTok. Look what youâve done to me. This is all your fault.â
You scoffed, âMy fault?â
âYes! Who else could it be?â he said, breathless, like the truth had been waiting at the edge of his tongue for too long. âYou walk into my life with that stupidly perfect smile, that laugh that makes everything feel lighter, those eyes that somehow hold the whole damn sky and now Iâve got feelings. Big ones.â
He took a shaky breath, pausing for a minute.
âI used to think I was fine on my own. But now? I get out of bed just because I know I might see you. I hear your knock and my whole day lights up. For the first time, I feel like I know what living really means. Itâs you. Loving you. Thatâs it.â
You leaned in and kissed him right in the middle of his rant.
He blinked, dazed.
âYou sure talk a lot for someone who usually says nothing,â you murmured, forehead resting against his.
âI do it when Iâm nervous,â Sunghoon whispered, and then kissed you again.
âI find it cute,â you mumbled between kisses.
Sunghoon grinned into the next kiss, backing you up step by step toward your apartment door, his hands finding your waist. âGod,â kiss âI love you,â another kiss âso much.â
You let out a breathless laugh. âYouâre very handsy for someone who claimed to be brooding and mysteriou.â
âI told you,â he whispered, lips brushing your jaw as he reached behind you, fumbling for the door handle, âyou ruined me.â
Your back hit the door with a thud. He fumbled with the knob like he was drunk on you, eventually pushing it open and guiding you inside.
He kicked the door shut with the back of his foot.
You were still laughing into his kiss. He walked you backward until your knees hit the bed and you dropped onto it with a squeak.
He climbed over you, hands on either side of your waist, face flushed, heart in his throat.
âI fucking love you,â he said again, like it wasnât real until he repeated it.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, eyes sparkling. âI love you too.â

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Welcome to the Neo Orgasm Clinic!
Where pleasure meets empowerment!
We proudly promote safe, healthy and satisfying orgasms for women because your pleasure matters the most! Whether youâre discovering your body, exploring new heights, or just learning what feels good, weâre here to guarantee your satisfaction.
If pleasure isnât achieved, we offer a full refund. Here at Neo Orgasm Clinic, your wellness and results come first.
contains 18+ content
MEET OUR TOP DONORS:
APPOINTMENT STATUS: COMPLETED.
APPOINTMENT STATUS: COMPLETED.
UPCOMING APPOINTMENT ON: COMPLETED.
đ„ŒTAGLIST: CLOSED.
đ©ș DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. It does not depict real events or reflect the actual personalities, behaviors, or beliefs of any individuals mentioned above.
đ©» Likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated.
âïž If you enjoyed this mini series and would like to show extra appreciation, you may send your tips in my ko-fi.
Deliciously delicious đ
Tava rolando pelo tiktok quando me deparo com um vĂdeo interessante...e depois um segundo vĂdeo da mesma pessoa [đ]
E agora tĂŽ aqui imaginando fom ĂĄgua na boa uma aula de dança com o professor Lee Know que enquanto ensina a coreografia Ă© severo de mais, mas quando passa a coreografia com a sua aluna favorita, nĂŁo consegue controlar a vontade de repetir a coreografia num quarto sozinho com ela đ„”
LeilĂŁoÂČ
LeeSoohyuk!CEO x Leitora!UniversitĂĄria
Palavras: 4.739
Resumo: ApĂłs uma noite de bebedeiras, acordar com um contrato para leiloar sua virgindade nĂŁo estava nos planos de S/n, porĂ©m ela o fez. O multimilionĂĄrio Lee Soohyuk Ă© quem arrebata o prĂȘmio, e apĂłs um excelente jantar, toma posse do sua remuneração.
Avisos: Diferença de idade; sexo explĂcito; MENORES NĂO INTERAJAM!; Nudez tem. e masc; Soohyuk experiente e dominador; masturbação feminina (menção do masculino); penetração vaginal; NĂŁo revisado.
đ: Demorei? Demorei. Mas vim mais cedo que de costume, entĂŁo parabĂ©ns pra mim, eu acho... Confesso que nĂŁo estou tĂŁo segura com algumas cenas, mas espero que gostem ( Estava editando e confesso quefiquei bem assim 𫊠toda vez que ele chama a prota de alguma coisa, porque jĂĄ logo escuto a voz pecaminoso dele.)
đŸ Parte 1
Hongjoong foi quem acompanhou S/n para um outro quarto privado, para esperarem o tal "sortudo" para combinarem os detalhes da venda. No momento em que o loiro fecha a porta, a garota começa a desferir tapas em seu braço, o fazendo titubear e reclamar com ela, a fazendo parar.
"VocĂȘ Ă© maluco? Quase que um brutamontes boçal me compra!" Apesar da mĂĄscara ainda cobrindo seu rosto Kim conseguiu ver a forma como seus olhos estavam arregalados, e atĂ© ficou agradecido por ela nĂŁo estar gritando. Ele da de ombros e se afasta da porta, optando por sentar em um sofĂĄ qualquer, e aquilo Ă frustra mais.
O sorriso presunçoso volta a sua face, conforme ele fala preguiçoso "Mas não comprou. Eu te garanti que sei o que estou fazendo, me surpreende sua falta de fé em mim..."
No momento em que S/n se preparou para uma excelente resposta desaforada quando a porta se abriu, e de repente o homem que a arrematou estava ali bem a sua frente. A primeira impressĂŁo que ela teve era que ele Ă© ainda mais alto e bonito ali a sua frente. Os dois se olham, absorvendo a imagem um do outro, e mesmo assim, o modo como ele a media nĂŁo era nojento como o loiro no salĂŁo.
"Soohyuk! Meu amigo..." Hongjoong se levanta pairando ao seu lado, e o tal homem sorri deixando de te olhar, mas mesmo assim, sua respiração parecia não ter planos de voltar ao normal. "Fico feliz que veio!"
"Bom, vocĂȘ conseguiu garantir que eu viria" o tal Soohyuk da de ombros parecendo muito confortĂĄvel com a situação toda, o que a fez se questionar quantas virgindades ele jĂĄ nĂŁo tinha arrematado com Hongjoong.
Pelo menos ele vai saber o que estĂĄ fazendo...
"Tudo bem conseguiu o que queria..." o moreno fala, e se aproxima dos dois, seu perfume inebriando os sentidos da garota, mas ainda nĂŁo se direcionando diretamente a ela "amanhĂŁ de manhĂŁ entro em contato com vocĂȘ, e ajustamos melhor" Lee finalmente a olha, e se aproxima lentamente. As mĂŁos do homem vĂŁo em direção ao laço da mĂĄscara atrĂĄs da cabeça da garota, e ela sente o tecido se afrouxar. O prĂłprio Soohyuk segura a mĂĄscara finalmente vendo seu rosto por completo, causando um fervor automĂĄtico nas bochechas da garota.
Devido a diferença de altura, ela precisou levantar a cabeça para poder observar seu rosto, o que pareceu o agradar, jå que ele sorriu, e segurou delicadamente seu queixo "aproveite o resto da noite" sua voz grave a arrepia por inteiro, enquanto S/n observa o moreno sair do quarto.
...
Hongjoong mais uma vez se encarregou de toda a parte administrativa do encontro. Em apenas uma mensagem ele a informou tudo o que precisava saber: Lee Soohyuk, 37 anos, coreano, CEO, solteiro. IrĂĄ a encontrar no restaurante mais caro da cidade Ă s 20 horas em ponto, e iria mandar um carro para a levar ao tal lugar.
E para variar, Kim a enviou exatamente a roupa que iria usar, porĂ©m dessa vez a caixa acompanhou perfumes, uma lingerie e um cartĂŁo com uma simples instrução: Nada de Ălcool! o que a ofendeu um tanto, afinal nĂŁo Ă© por que ela tomou uma pĂ©ssima decisĂŁo em uma noite, que ele conseguiria piorar a situação.
S/n entĂŁo se arrumou em tempo perfeitamente cronometrado, passando todos os produtos possĂveis da caixa, observando o modo como sua pele passou a brilhar mais uma vez. Hongjoong e sua mania por brilho! Finalmente ela coloca o vestido, mais um modelo longo e extremamente elegante, com tom creme suave, quase champanhe. Ele possui um design ombro a ombro, com mangas longas e justas que vĂŁo atĂ© as mĂŁos, criando um efeito refinado e sensual ao mesmo tempo. Seu corpete Ă© estruturado, com drapeados delicados que realçam seu busto e a cintura, moldando a silhueta de forma impecĂĄvel. A saia Ă© reta e ajustada atĂ© os quadris, fluindo suavemente atĂ© o chĂŁo com um caimento que alonga a figura. O tecido, leve e levemente acetinado, confere um brilho discreto e sofisticado.
Felizmente a morena ainda pode contar com a ajuda de Karina e Giselle que arrumaram seu cabelo, em nada muito fora do comum, apenas ondas elegantes e duradouras, fazendo S/n se sentir uma estrela de cinema de antigamente.
"Vai que ele tem fetishe na Monroe" Giselle comentou quando a amiga a contou sobre os produtos que lhe foram enviados. Ela ri, quando Karina rola os olhos antes de terminar de maquiar a amiga com um batom levemente vermelho.
Ăs 20 horas em ponto, o carro totalmente preto para a frente te dĂĄ sua porta, e S/n Ă© escoltada atĂ© o veĂculo por Jeno e Jaemin que de modo cortĂȘs e gentil enviam atravĂ©s do motorista, que teoricamente passaria o recado para Soohyuk. O caminho foi rĂĄpido e silencioso, e uma vez no restaurante, o motorista a acompanha atĂ© a entrada do restaurante.
A reserva estava no nome do Soohyuk, e a garota nao pode deixar de se sentir um pacote sendo passada de mão em mão, uma vez aje agora era a gerente do restaurante que deveria a acompanhar até o homem que jå a esperava. Conforme caminhava ela tentava não parecer tão deslumbrada com o lugar ou com o tipo de pessoa que jantava ali no momento.
Então a gerente para em frente a uma cortina vermelha, e após um sorriso gentil, ela a abre, e S/n perde o ar com a visão a sua frente: Lee Soohyuk sentado à mesa, vestindo um conjunto branco simples, mas que realçavam sua beleza, jóias douradas enfeitavam seus dedos, punhos e pescoço, e seu cabelo estava penteado para trås, meticulosamente despretensioso, como se ele mesmo tivesse o feito com as mãos. Ao fundo as luzes da cidade brilhavam, e o davam mais destaque.
"Boa noite!" O homem sorri gentil a ela, conforme ela adentrava no local. Ele tinha escolhido uma parte privativa com uma grande janela para a cidade. Se levantando ele segura a cadeira para que ela tomasse o lugar, e ela o fez. "EntĂŁo, o que acha daqui?"
S/n ruboriza levemente, pensando em um modo educado de o dizer que ela Ă© uma universitĂĄria pobre, e que se quisesse entrar ali teria que ser como funcionĂĄria, nunca cliente... mas ela sorri, e murmura que acha o lugar muito bom.
"Pensei em pedir um vinho para nós, mas achei melhor te esperar para saber o que prefere" Lee comenta, olhando ao cardåpio de bebidas, e a morena se odeia por ter travado por alguns segundos, como uma idiota boquiaberta soltando o som mais patético do mundo "aaahh..."
O homem a olha, confuso, e ela sorri sem graça, se perguntando se deveria ou não contar a verdade, então tenta desvencilhar-se da ideia com um baixo "eu não sei se é uma boa ideia", mas Soohyuk não desiste fåcil, e continuou insistindo, até sorrir erguendo uma sobrancelha "Ah! Hongjoong disse que não deveria beber, certo?"
"Bom, eu tenho uma excelente notĂcia para vocĂȘ, meu amor" Lee fecha o cardĂĄpio, a olha atentamente e apoia a cabeça em sua mĂŁo, que estava apoiada na mesa "eu lembro bem do que arrematei no leilĂŁo, mas nĂŁo vou fazer nada se vocĂȘ decidir que nĂŁo quer, mas se quiser seguir em frente, pode ter certeza que sou o cara perfeito para isso." Um sorriso brincalhĂŁo surge nos seus lĂĄbios, assim como um brilho chegou ao seu olhar "e vocĂȘ pode se dar o luxo de pelo menos uma taça de vinho"
"Eu posso falar alguma besteira" S/n comenta em tom de aviso, mas isso faz rir de verdade e dar de ombros "Tudo bem, pode escolher que te acompanho"
Com a garantia de que nada que ele não faria nada que ela não quisesse, a fez querer. Quantas vezes ela teria a chance de dormir com um homem bonito, cheiroso, educado, engraçado e rico? Provavelmente nem em sua próxima vida!
"Posso te perguntar, por que decidiu leiloar?" Apesar de estarem em um local privativo, S/n se sentiu agradecida por ele nĂŁo falar em voz alta. "NĂŁo sĂŁo todas as garotas que teriam essa coragem"
"Pois Ă©, sempre foquei nos estudos, e acho que acabei focando de mais...quando percebi os caras da minha idade pareciam todos imaturos de mais, entĂŁo continuei focando nos estudos"
E entĂŁo os dois entraram em uma conversa sem fim sobre a faculdade da garota, e o trabalho dele. O vinho chegou junto a entrada, mas a conversa nĂŁo parava de fluir, de modo leve e informal. Quando chegaram a metade do prato principal, S/n percebeu que eles estavam zombando de Hongjoong.
" Poso perguntar uma coisa?" S/n indaga em um breve momento de pausa entre as risadas. Lee a indica com a cabeça que prossiga, e ela o faz: "Quantas virgens vocĂȘ jĂĄ arrematou nos leilĂ”es por aĂ?" As palavras saem sem filtro algum, e quando atingem Soohyuk, ele arregala os olhos chocado, a causando risinhos.
"Wow! Por essa eu nĂŁo esperava... mas vocĂȘ me avisou sobre o vinho" ele brinca, a fazendo rir levemente. O ar entre os dois muda de jocoso para algo mais intenso, Ă arrepiando a coluna. O moreno entĂŁo a puxa sua cadeira para mais perto da dele, e seus olhos caem sobre os lĂĄbios da garota, e quando ele fala sua voz Ă© mais grave e sensual "Nenhuma. Eu estava prestes a sair quando vocĂȘ entrou, e atĂ© achei fofo alguĂ©m pensar que teriam alguma chance com alguĂ©m como vocĂȘ."
A voz da garota fica presa na garganta, e era irÎnico como ela nunca ficava sem palavras, mas ele conseguia facilmente a deixar se sentindo uma idiota. Uma das mãos de Lee vai até sua bochecha a acariciar, e ele leva seus låbios até o ouvido de S/n "posso considerar isso como um sinal verde?" Ela confirma com a cabeça, ainda sem conseguir proferir uma palavra, e é surpreendida com o låbio macio dele em sua pele logo abaixo da orelha. E então mais um, um pouco mais a baixo, e outro ao lado desse, e mais vårios até ela perder a conta de quantos eram, e um som vergonhoso sair de seus låbios.
"Acha que pode esperar a sobremesa, querida?" Ele pergunta, se afastando um pouco dela.
"Sinceramente? Quero ser educada e tentando dizer que sim, mas também quero que continue o que acabou começar"
Lee Soohyuk sorri, e pede a conta, ordenando que a mesma venha rapidamente. S/n nĂŁo consegue esconder o sorriso terminando sua taça de vinho, e mordendo o lĂĄbio para tentar parar de rir. O homem pega sua mĂŁo, e beija o dorso a olhando profundamente nos olhos, e começou a fazer uma nova trilha de beijos atĂ© seu pescoço. "VocĂȘ sempre foi meio Casanova, assim?"
"Assim vocĂȘ fere meu ego, querida" Soohyuk responde com um beijo final em seu pescoço.
...
S/n queria prestar atenção no caminho até o hotel, mas Soohyuk falava coisas que para terceiros pareciam inocentes, mas que a provocavam intimamente; e então ela quis prestar atenção no hotel, mas o elevador chegou rapidamente, e Lee a prendendo na parede do elevador, ele tirou uma mecha de cabelo que caiu no rosto da garota; e então ela mal teve tempo de olhar para o quarto do hotel.
Assim que entrou, Soohyuk apenas trancou a porta, jogou a chave cartĂŁo em qualquer lugar, e puxou o corpo da garota para o seu, colando seu lĂĄbio com os dela, decidido.
S/N descobriu a diferença entre beijar um cara qualquer da faculdade, e beijar um homem experiente. Soohyuk a segurava com propriedade, uma mĂŁo na cintura, e a outra em seu queixo. Os lĂĄbios do moreno eram macios, e era ele quem dominava o beijo, enquanto a garota soltava alguns suspiros e tentava se firmar, enfiando as mĂŁos kos cabelos arrumados dele. Eles estavam no meio da suĂte, nĂŁo que ela se importasse com o tamanho da suĂte, por que os lĂĄbios de Lee estavam explorando seu pescoço, e onde ela tinha mais sensibilidade.
"Espera, eu preciso saber, vocĂȘ Ă© 100% virgem?" NĂŁo sĂł a pergunta fez S/n parar, mas a situação a fez ficar um pouco mais lenta, entĂŁo o homem precisou explicar um pouco melhor sua dĂșvida: "vocĂȘ jĂĄ fez alguma outra coisa?"
"Ah! Com outra pessoa? NĂŁo. Sozinha? JĂĄ" Soohyuk grune voltando a beijar a morena desesperado. Ele a pega no colo, indo em direção a cama, e a coloca sentada na mesma, se ajoelhando, e por conta da altura, ele ainda conseguia se mater praticamente no mesmo nĂvel que ela.
"Vou te contar como vamos fazer" Lee começa a falar, ao mesmo tempo que tira o sapato da garota, mas sem desviar seu olhar dela "primeiro eu vou usar minha boca em vocĂȘ, mas vai continuar com esse vestido, por que eu gosto como ele parece apertado nos seus seios quando parece que perdeu o ar..." ele sorri subindo o tecido do vestido sobre as pernas da garota, atĂ© revelar suas coxas. "...E aĂ eu vou arrancar ele de vocĂȘ, e brincar mais um pouco com vocĂȘ, mas usando minhas mĂŁos, por que aĂ vou te preparar ainda mais..." Soohyuk a auxiliou a se deitar com a cabeça nos travesseiros macios da cama, e sorriu conforme se sentou entre as pernas da garota, massageando a pele macia e perfumada "...e eu prometo que vou tentar me controlar para nĂŁo te foder, e ir com calma, como vocĂȘ merece. Entendido?"
"S-sim" a morena gagueja arfando apenas com suas palavras e com a visĂŁo dele todo de branco entre suas pernas. "VocĂȘ pode tirar sua camisa?" Ela pede, com a voz fraca, pegando o homem de surpresa mas o dando uma ideia brilhante: Lee a ajuda se sentar, e pegar as mĂŁos delicadas da garota e levam atĂ© o botĂŁo da camisa.
"Acho que minha garota pode fazer isso, certo?" O apelido minha garota naquele tom baixo e grave, a sobrancelha erguida junto ao sorriso, quase a fizeram gemer, e mesmo com suas mĂŁos tremendo, ela o fez. Cada centĂmetro exposto de pele era uma parte da sua sanidade que se esvaia. Obrigada por ser um completo gostoso!
Ele a deitou novamente e começou a fazer exatamente o que disse que faria, separando ainda mais as pernas da garota e levantando mais o vestido, sendo recebido pela renda vermelha que a cobria. Lee xinga baixo, mas guarda a calcinha no bolso, antes de deixar um selinho nos låbios e no topo descoberto dos seios de S/n.
Ajoelhado no colchĂŁo Soohyuk enrosca os braços na sua coxa, te prendendo no lugar, assim como sua respiração que fica presa no peito se perguntando o que vem a seguir. O moreno assopra um arzinho na parte Ăntima da garota, que tem um sobressalto com a sensação estranha, ele repete o ato novamente a observando com um sorriso de lado, se adorando nĂŁo sĂł com a situação como a visĂŁo que tinha da garota.
"Relaxa, meu amor" A voz grossa e baixa de Soohyuk a faz revirar os olhos, ppr que além de usar o tom e um apelido apelativo, o homem beijava sua pele da coxa, e da pélvis, a arrepiando da cabeça aos pés.
"Falar é fåcil" ela murmura em partes como uma reclamação a demora, e em como ele não sabe como é o ter entre as pernas, querendo que faça alguma coisa logo.
Lee solta um risinho baixo, e mantendo contato visual com o rosto da garota ate finalmente comecar a toca-lĂĄ. No começo Ă© lento. Um beijo Ășnico, de boca aberta, no seu clitĂłris, tĂŁo suave que a morena mal sente. EntĂŁo ele chupa. Com força. A lĂngua passando por vocĂȘ da maneira mais divina, porque ele queria passar a conhecer seu corpo melhor do que qualquer um, atĂ© ela mesma.
S/n ofega, levantando os quadris, mas as mãos do homem jå estão lå, a prendendo no colchão com uma rigidez que faz seus dedos dos pés se curvarem.
S/n geme rolando os olhos, ambas as mĂŁos agarrando os lençóis, e a coluna saindo do colchĂŁo, enquanto Soohyuk a devora. E quando ele adiciona um dedo â o desliza para dentro sem aviso enquanto sua lĂngua desliza rĂĄpida e precisamente contra o clitĂłris da garotaâ S/n se arqueia ainda mais, gemendo tĂŁo alto que ecoa.
"Porra. Continue assim, meu amor." A garota se sente contrair em volta dele, e ele sorri contra sua pele. Soohyuk usa sua voz poderosa coagindo seu orgasmo. O que ela o faz, com um gemido alto e um estremecimento. Ele nĂŁo para de a lamber, sentindo o gosto da garota, e se obrigando a parar, para nĂŁo a estimular de mais.
Lee sente seu pau latejando ainda preso por toda a roupa, mas ele prometeu ser um cavalheiro e não apressar as coisas com a morena. Ele sorri se aproximando do rosto ruborizado dela, se apoiando nos cotovelos com o braço próximo ao rosto dela.
A garota abre os olhos, e sorri como se flutuasse, e essa era exatamente a sensação que tinha, que estava voando com um anjo demonĂaco que era Lee Soohyuk. O homem passa delicadamente os dedos por suas bochechas enquanto ela lentamente voltava a si, e ela o sentiu passar um dos dedos por seu lĂĄbio, antes de deixar um beijo casto.
"No seu tempo, meu amor..." ele murmura, beijando novamente seu pescoço mas dessa vez descendo por seu colo, finalmente a livrando do vestido, que começava a incomodar.
"Se continuar me chamando assim, vou acreditar" S/n brinca ouvindo um sorrisinho dele, que se senta e a olha firme nos olhos antes de responder: "sem problemas, meu amor"
Soohyuk desliza o vestido pelas pernas da morena, e logo se livra do sutiã também rendado e vermelho. Ele beija sua barriga, lentamente subindo em direção aos seios da garota, que sobem e descem conforme ela tenta respirar. Ele percebe que S/n continua a segurar firme nos lençóis da cama, e senta pegando ambas as mãos. Ele beija seus dedos e os coloca em diferentes partes do seu corpo.
"Enquanto eu estiver a tocando, quero que me toque tambĂ©m" ao falar, vĂȘ a garota frisar as sobrancelhas e entĂŁo completa rapidamente "Como quiser! Pode me apertar, pode me acariciar, e porra, por favor, me arranha!" Ele rosna baixo, e a sente mover os dedos por sua pele, e sorri "Boa garota!"
Soohyuk da atenção aos seios da garota, que se tornavam cada vez mais sensĂveis, e seus dedos se esgueiram para dentro da garota, a surpreendendo. Seus dedos ĂĄgeis testam a entrada da garota, que o sugava com vigor. Ele a via gemer e rolar os olhos, enquanto ele tentava a preparar como podia, mas estava quase enlouquecendo.
"Desculpa meu amor, mas preciso estar dentro de vocĂȘ agora!" Lee se livra das calças, sendo observado atentamente pelos olhos curiosos da garota. Soohyuk nĂŁo sentiu vergonha nenhuma quando os dois perceberam a parte umida de prĂ© gozo na cueca branca, que Ă© descartada em um lugar qualquer. O moreno pega uma camisinha na cabeceira ao lado da cama, sentindo os olhos atentos da sua garota na cama.
"Quer me tocar, meu amor?" Ele indaga se sentando na cama mais uma vez, hesitando ela confirma com a cabeça se sentando no colchão. Mais uma vez o moreno beija seus dedos antes de levar as mãos macias da garota até seu membro. Ele reprime um gemido quando sente a garota o segurar firme, arriscando um vai e vem lento, mordiscando os låbios.
"VocĂȘ tĂĄ quente..." ela comenta o olhando, e o encontrando sorrindo ladino. Soohyuk tira delicadamente a mĂŁo dela, e a faz deitar novamente com a cabeça nos travesseiros.
" Isso Ă© tesĂŁo por vocĂȘ, meu amor!"
Lee Soohyuk entĂŁo se posiciona no meio das pernas da garota, e se apoia mais uma vez por cima dela, querendo absorver suas reaçÔes conforme ele a penetra pela primeira vez. Quando ele se introduz, a vĂȘ fechar os olhos, e ele para. Mais continua mais um pouco e a vĂȘ juntar as sobrancelhas, mas nĂŁo sabe se em agonia ou prazer.
"Preciso que fale comigo meu amor, estou prestes a te meter, se nĂŁo me disser o que quer" ele pede, voz rouca, claramente se segurando a pouca sanidade que lhe resta, conforme sente as paredes apertadas e Ășmidas da garota o apertarem vigorosamente.
"Pode continuar, quero vocĂȘ dentro" ela geme, mordendo o lĂĄbio, e ele o faz, mas ainda um pouco hesitante. Quando estĂĄ completamente dentro de S/n, ambas as respiraçÔes ficam mais rĂĄpidas, e os dois ainda mais sensĂveis a tudo, e Soohyuk jura que Ă© a primeira vez que sente isso com alguĂ©m.
"Meu amor, eu posso me mexer agora?" Lee indaga beijando o pescoço da garota, que geme, e confirma.
Ele o faz. De novo. De novo. E de novo.
A boca do moreno paira perto dos lĂĄbios da garota, capturando cada suspiro, cada gemido, cada sĂșplica silenciosa, desesperada e sussurrada do seu nome saindo dos seus lĂĄbios.
"Porra, meu amor! Pensei a noite toda nisso", ele sussurra contra seus lĂĄbios. "Em tirar esse vestido de vocĂȘ. Em fazer vocĂȘ se contorcer. Em ouvir vocĂȘ fazer todos aqueles barulhos lindos para mim. Em como voce aceitaria tudo o que eu te desse como uma boa garota."
S/n se contrai novamente com as palavras dele, e ele sente isso. Grunindo e aumentando a velocidade dos seus movimentos. Ele a sente se contrair mais uma vez, e suas mĂŁos delicadas o arranhar os ombros, o puxando para mais perto. Soohyuk passa a incentivar a gozar, sentindo como ela estava cada vez mais perto.
"Porra. Meu amor. Continua, me aperta" ele ordenava desordenado, sem saber exatamente o que queria, além de o seu orgasmo, e então o dele.
Com seus movimentos ritmados, e seus gemidos cada vez mais vagorosos, mas nunca o volume, o que o enchia de orgulho, mas ele estava prestes a explodir, com todo estĂmulo. Soohyuk sentia-se como se tivesse comido algo afrodisĂaco, mas era tudo S/n. A beleza, o humor, a lĂngua afiada e ao mesmo tempo inocente, o perfume...
Ele observava enquanto a garota se contorcia abaixo dele, as unhas o puxando para mais perto, sentindo os mĂșsculos das costas trabalharem, vĂȘ o momento em que ela perde o ar quando ele a penetra de um forma mais firme, e ela geme mais alto rolando os olhos. E ela nĂŁo parecia se cansar nenhum pouco, enquanto ele parecia que iria perder a sanidade a qualquer momento.
"Assim...N-não para...N-não...por favor..." a voz da garota saiu rouca, com os olhos brilhando em uma carinha pedinte, e ele gruniu enfiando o rosto no pescoço dela.
Soohyuk deixa beijos onde alcançava, mordiscando a pele, e mantendo o ritmo firme, até ouvir uma risadinha engasgada da garota, e levanta sua cabeça parando curioso. S/n sorri passando a mão nos cabelos dele, segurando os mesmos, antes de explicar que ela gostou de ver a cama batendo na parede, e terminar puxando os fios dele.
O moreno sorri malicioso, voltando Ă penetrar mais vigoroso, fazendo com que no quarto se ouvisse apenas os gemidos dos dois, e o som de pele se batendo. "Porra! VocĂȘ Ă© tĂŁo perfeita. Minha garota perfeita." A voz do homem sai rouca em meio aos sons, ao que ela impensadamente respondeu repetindo como um doce eco "Sua. SĂł sua."
A garota começa a sentir seu corpo todo tensionar. Os dedos dos pés começam a se contorcer, a voz sumiu da garganta assim como o ar, além da sensação no ventre, que parecia se contorcer e se enrolar cada vez mais forte. Ela passou a ter a sensação que Lee estava em todo o lugar, o perfume caro em seu nariz, os låbios por toda sua pele, desde seu pescoço até nos seios, e as mãos dele, que passavam ppr todo seu corpo, mas que agora estavam em seu clitóris, a estimulando.
"EstĂĄ quase lĂĄ meu amor..." ele murmura na boca dela, mesmo qus os olhos castanhos estivessem fechados. "Goza pra mim meu amor..."
S/n não saberia dizer se foram os dedos, o membro ou a voz dele, mas ela sentiu O nó no seu estÎmago se romper, seu corpo estremeceu violentamente enquanto se desfazia em torno dele. Soohyuk gemeu ainda mais alto e sonoro, estocando mais algumas vezes antes de se derramar no corpo da garota, a testa pressionada contra a dela e ambas as respiraçÔes ofegantes.
O silĂȘncio preenche o quarto enquanto o casal se deita em baixo das cobertas se recuperando. Soohyuk faz carinho nos cabelos da garota, que estava de olhos fechados tentando compreender tudo o que se passou. Ela finalmente nĂŁo era mais virgem, graças ao homem mais rico e gostoso que jĂĄ viu na vida. E o sexo? Era incrĂvel! PorĂ©m o que ela nĂŁo sabia era que esse mesmo homem estava tentando nĂŁo enlouquecer preocupado pensando que ela tinha se arrependido.
"VocĂȘ estĂĄ bem?" Ele indaga com a voz calma, a vendo abrir lentamente os olhos, o surpreendo com o brilho ali.
"Acho que nunca estive tão bem assim" ela sorri e Lee fica aliviado. Ele parecia não conseguir tirar as mãos, ou os låbios dela, fazendo carinho e beijando seus dedos, suas mãos, seus braços, seu pescoço e de volta aos låbios macios da garota.
"Me diz o que estĂĄ pensando" Soohyuk pergunta, mais uma vez, odiando como a garota que parecia nĂŁo conseguir ficar quieta de repente estava tĂŁo calada.
"Que nĂŁo quero que essa noite acaba, e eu ter que voltar pra minha vida como era antes" a morena suspira, mas suas sobrancelhas se juntam quando escutam o sorriso dele "que bom que nosso check out do hotel Ă© sĂł amanhĂŁ a noite..." Soohyuk a mordisca, tranquilizando o clima antes de continuar "depois disso, a gente vĂȘ"
"Quer dizer que vamos continuar a nos ver?" Ela se senta na cama puxando o lençol para se sentir menos exposta, e Lee adorou ver a animação de volta ao seu olhar novamente. Intimamente ele nĂŁo queria ter ido ao leilĂŁo, e depois decidiu que nĂŁo ia fazer nada com ela, mas conversou com ela, tudo mudou, e agora ele nĂŁo tinha certeza se essa noite seria a Ășnica.
"Quero dizer que vou preparar um banho para os dois, pedir uma comida do hotel, e fazer o que quiser...segunda, vai ser outra coisa, meu amor"
A garota sorri, travessa, e beija o homem, faminta. "Que bom que disse isso, mas acho que deveria ter cuidado com o que diz, Sr. Lee..." a morena comenta, usando um tom sedutor para o chamar, o que o fez se arrepiar. As mãos da garota foram para a nuca dele, onde ela começou a brincar com o cabelo dele "por que eu acho que vou precisar não só de mais pråtica com sexo, como...desenvolver outras habilidades"
S/n finalmente deixou sua mão passar pelo peitoral desnudo e firme, ele sentiu orgulho na forma como ela o olhava, faminta, e incitou que ela continuasse o que começou.
"Ah, sabe...eu acho que vocĂȘ podia me ensinar umas coisas...eu nĂŁo sei fazer um boquete, nĂŁo sei masturbar um homem, sem contar em todas as outras posiçÔes..." Lee morde o prĂłprio lĂĄbio, ouvindo aquilo.
"Ah, claro! Por que vocĂȘ nĂŁo pode saber a sensação de apenas uma, nĂŁo Ă©?"
"Exato! E também tem as fantasias! A gente pode começar com algumas das suas, eu posso pensar em algumas também..."
Os dois caem na risada, as unhas da garota desenhando o abdomem alheio. Lee estava meio deitado, apoiado em seu braço, e a garota muito próxima, o que o deu uma ideia. Soohyuk pega a sua mão macia, e sorri contra ela, a beijando.
"Bom, então eu acho que posso te ensinar uma coisinha antes do banho" a morena morde o próprio låbio, vendo o mais velho passar sua mão por seu abdÎmen levando até o seu membro semi ereto. Ele sorri a desafiando a se recolher, mas ela o segura e começa a seguir as instruçÔes que ele a då, jå rolando os olhos. Soohyuk enfia uma de suas grandes mãos na nuca da garota e em um puxão que a faz gemer cola ambos os låbios, mas antes de a beijar a promete:
"E depois vou te mostrar como se fode, meu amor."
LeilĂŁo
LeeSoohyuk!CEO x Leitora!UniversitĂĄria
‿extra cast: Jeno, Jisung, Jaemin, Haechan, Chenle, Renjun (NCT Dream); Karina, Giselle (Aespa); Hongjoong, Yeosang, Seonghwa, Wooyoung, Yunho (Ateez)
Palavras: 3.791
Resumo: Ao acordar de uma noite de bebedeira com os amigos, S/n acorda com uma ressaca e a descoberta inesperada de que contratou os serviços de um leiloeiro. O bem a ser leiloado? Sua virgindade.
Avisos: Menção ao sexo; linguagem imprĂłpria; Menção a violĂȘncia fĂsica (ameaçou de tapa entre amigos, nĂŁo se preocupem!); mĂnima aparição do Soohyuk, mas ele vem na parte dois, PROMETO! Apesar de nĂŁo ter cenas grĂĄficas de sexo, eu prefiro que menores de idade nĂŁo leiam, entĂŁo por favor, bom senso amorecas!
đ: Feliz dia dos pais para o maior Daddy da Coreia! Essa Ă© a parte 1, e se tudo der certo, amanhĂŁ posto a segunda parte, entĂŁo seremos otimistas (atĂ© por que Ă© aĂ a ação realmente acontece he he) me digam o que acham, e eu dou um beijinho na testa de vocĂȘs đ
đ„ Parte 2
Se S/n pudesse descrever a própria vida, e todos os seus processos de tomadas de decisÔes, palavras como "eståvel" e "sólidas" poderiam facilmente ser usadas, e não seriam mentiras ou hipérboles.
Mas mesmo uma jovem inteligente e calma como ela precisa ter seu momento de insanidade...e esse momento chega regado de ĂĄlcool em um barzinho ajeitado e com seus amigos, para comemorar o fim de um semestre cansativo na faculdade.
Chenle, Jisung e Karina nĂŁo paravam de falar sobre suas mil aventuras sexuais, ou que fizeram ficar em seu canto calado, remoendo sua falta de experiĂȘncia nĂŁo sĂł na parte do sexo, mas com pessoas no geral. Ă como ela mesma dizia: "Homens me dĂŁo preguiça e mulheres me dĂŁo medo". E entĂŁo lĂĄ estĂĄ ela, uma garota de vinte e poucos anos, no terceiro semestre da faculdade, virgem.
Virgem. E sozinha.
Mas atĂ© tal ponto da noite, as coisas estavam normais, seus amigos continuaram a se vangloriar, enquanto ela continuava a ruminar sua triste situação, com mais e mais copos de ĂĄlcool, atĂ© que o resto da noite se tornou apenas um borrĂŁo, e vocĂȘ acordou na tarde seguinte com a luz do sol batendo nos olhos.
Como uma bĂȘbada semiprofissional, fez o que sabia que deveria ser feito para diminuir os efeitos colaterais de uma noite inconsequente: uma aspirina com cafĂ© extra forte, e algumas torradas com muitos ovos mexidos.
Quando pega seu celular para ver as notĂcias do dia, percebe que alĂ©m de ter ganhado fotos estranhas e comprometedoras suas e de seus amigos, aparentemente ela tinha conversado com um contato diferente. Pra começar, ela tinha salvado o tal nĂșmero como "MOSSO QUE VAI SALVAR MINJA VIDA đđ„đŻ" com todos os emogis e erros. S/n nĂŁo sabia o que poderia ser, mas jĂĄ sentia uma dor de cabeça começar a despontar na lateral do crĂąnio. O nome, os erros ortogrĂĄficos e os emogis indicavam que ela jĂĄ nĂŁo estava mais sĂŁ, e o que quer que esse tal salvador tenha feito, a S/n do presente dĂșvida que seja realmente algum tipo de salvação.
A garota senta no sofå, tentando reunir coragem para abrir a tal conversa, jå que tem um péssimo pressentimento sobre o que pode encontrar, então mais um refil de café depois, ela decide começar pela foto de perfil do contato, mas não encontrou nada muito promissor, apenas o nome Le Cygne Noir em letras elegantes e cursiva, e logo abaixo os dizeres:"O luxo dança entre o mistério e o desejo."
Quando a curiosidade a venceu, S/n finalmente abriu a conversa...
S/n: OIIIIII Moço do bar!!!!!
S/n: vOce disse que ia me ajudar!! QueRO SUA AJUDA!
Le Cygne Noir: đ VocĂȘ acaba de cruzar os portĂ”es da Le Cygne Noir â onde o Luxo dança entre o mistĂ©rio e o desejo. Sua presença foi notada!
Em breve, um de nossos curadores lhe responderĂĄ.
Enquanto isso, diga-nosâŠ
â Busca por uma peça que o escolheu em sonho?
â Deseja libertar um artefato antigo de sua solidĂŁo?
â Ou apenas observa, silenciosamente, o que jaz nas sombras?
S/N: MOCO EI JA FALEI! EU QUERO LEIOLQR!
Le Cygne Noir: OlĂĄ, boa noite! Aqui Ă© o Kim Hongjoong, nĂłs conversamos no bar, mas confesso que nĂŁo pensei que entraria em contato tĂŁo rĂĄpido...
Le Cygne Noir: a senhorita tem certeza da sua decisĂŁo? Posso te enviar os documentos por e-mail para assinar agora mesmo.
S/N: VAI MOSSO ME MANDA LOGO!
S/N: EU TO DESESPERADA! đ”âđ«đ”âđ«đ”âđ«đ”âđ«
Le Cygne Noir: Certo, te enviei a documentação por e-mail, preciso apenas que escreva o que irå leiloar, sua assinatura e então nos acertamos o pagamento de contrato da sua contratação.
E claro, mesmo querendo muito ler o resto da conversa, S/n abriu seu e-mail e felizmente encontra fåcil a tal documentação, mas a garota não esperava por nada do que leu na tal documentação.
Seu grito da sala fez surgir um por um de seus amigos na sala de estar onde ela estava. Confusos pelo susto, por acabarem de acordar, e por conta do ĂĄlcool, seus amigos a encaram andar de um lado pro outro do cĂŽmodo.
"O que aconteceu?" Karina e Giselle são as primeiras a perguntar. A garota as olha, a respiração råpida, mão na cabeça e olhos arregalados.
"Euvendiminhavirgindade" as palavras saem vomitadas, e como todos a olham ainda mais confusos, ela toma um ar e tenta falar mais lentamente: "eu acho que...vendi minha virgindade"
SilĂȘncio...
...SilĂȘncio...
...SilĂȘncio...
Até que Chenle irrompe em uma gargalhada alta e maligna enquanto se joga no sofå. Alguns vão pra cozinha se servir de qualquer coisa enquanto as meninas tentam a acalmar e entender melhor a situação com a amiga, que conta tudo o que leu até ali.
"Mas como vocĂȘ conseguiu o nĂșmero desse cara?" Foi uma das perguntas que surgiram, e "como a ideia de vender sua virgindade surgiu, em primeiro lugar?" E Ă© assim que o grupo tenta remontar a noite anterior, com pouquĂssimo detalhes, e pra atrapalhar, alguns estavam longe quando aconteceu â como Jaemin que era o Ășnico sĂłbrio da noite, mas tentava salvar Jeno de uma briga por uma garota qualquer que ele jurava ser a Jessica Alba.
"AĂ meu Deus!" S/n arfa quando sua memĂłria lhe presenteia com um fragmento interessante da noite: chenle Ă© quem surge com o tal Hongjoong anunciando ser o cara mais incrĂvel do mundo, por que ele era dono de um leilĂŁo, e que eles poderiam vender qualquer coisa, e entĂŁo a voz esganiçada de Haechan surge no pĂ© do seu ouvido "VOCĂ PODIA VENDER A SUA VIRGINDADE!"
"A culpa Ă© sua seu idiota!" A garota grita ao contar a memĂłria, jĂĄ indo atrĂĄs do garoto, que se afugenta atrĂĄs de Jaemin e Jeno "Eu VOU TE MATAR!"
Porém felizmente para o moreno suas amigas conseguem te segurar, e o mantém salvo. Renjun que havia pego o seu celular e estava lendo toda a conversa, se manifesta, com novas informaçÔes, que preferia não saber de jeito nenhum...
"Aparentemente vocĂȘ contratou o serviço de leilĂŁo deles, para vender sua Virgindade, e olha sĂł...acho que vocĂȘ deixou sua autoestima falar bem alto aqui." Ele diz, fazendo uma pausa dramĂĄtica que sĂł serviu pra te irritar mais atĂ© ele continuar, com um brilho estranho no olhar "acontece que tem uma multa de quebra de contrato, e a menos que vocĂȘ tenha cem milhĂ”es de reais...meu conselho Ă© que faça esse leilĂŁo".
VocĂȘ nĂŁo sabe se suas recĂ©m descobertas sobre noite passada, as novas informaçÔes sobre suas peripĂ©cias, os ovos ou a bebedeira, mas precisou sair correndo para o banheiro vomitar. Felizmente seus amigos sĂŁo incrĂveis, e traçam um plano para te ajudar: no plano A, Jaemin, Giselle e Renjun te acompanham no escritĂłrio para tentar te livrar da situação, enquanto no plano B, Chenle, Jeno, e Karina ficam em casa para limpar tudo, e encontrar identidades falsas para Haechan, caso nada de certo com o plano A.
...
O escritĂłrio da Le Cygne Noir Ă© tĂŁo elegante quanto sua foto de contato, vidro, mĂĄrmore em cores clara e sĂłbrias, e todo o tipo de pintura, arte e livros preenchem o lugar.
O pequeno grupo é relacionado por uma jovem garota de sorriso educado, coque e uniformes impecåveis. Jaemin toma a frente enquanto S/n tenta não surtar e invadir o lugar. Tudo ali era elegante de mais, grandioso de mais, e ela estava começando a achar tudo demorado de mais também.
"Desculpe, mas sem uma hora marcada nĂŁo posso deixa-los entrar." A tal garota responde, e S/n grune, e talvez ao falar com ela pode ter se deixado levar um pouco de mais.
"Pelo amor de Deus moça! Eu só preciso falar com Hongjoong! Vai ser råpido, ele nem precisa me olhar na cara direito!..." a menina estå no meio do seu monólogo suplicante, quando uma figura surge e ela imediatamente se cala, o observando. Kim Hongjoong.
"E por que eu nĂŁo olharia uma beldade dessas?" O loiro diz sorrindo. Hongjoong tem mais aura que altura, o que confunde bastante o grupo. Ele Ă© um homem bonito, usando alta alfaiataria, joias e acessĂłrios por todo lugar. "Me acompanhem, por favor"
A sala de Hongjoong Ă© tĂŁo chamativa quanto ele. Paredes altas, grande mesa de vidro, revistas em uma outra mesa de vidro, um grande sofĂĄ roxo que estranhamente combinava com tudo, e um grande quadro abstrato atrĂĄs de sua cadeira. Ele Ă© o tipo de homem que tem um sorriso lindo, mas claramente perigoso, como o Gato Cheshire de Alice, e ele sabia. Ver aquele sorriso brilhante trouxe arrepios a espinha da garota.
"Deixa eu ver se entendi, a senhorita fez a contratação do nosso leilão, mas se arrependeu e agora quer cancelar o contrato, mas sem o pagamento da multa..."
"Eu sei que parece absurdo, mas por favor entenda, eu estava bĂȘbada, triste, confusa e o idiota do meu amigo ficou falando...foi tudo no calor do momento!"
Ă impressionante o quanto uma pessoa pode descobrir sobre si, sĂł hoje S/n descobriu que nunca mais vai beber, e que nĂŁo Ă© boa de mais para se humilhar pedindo um favor.
"Tudo bem, eu entendo" ele diz, e vocĂȘ jĂĄ consegue sentir o peso do mundo saindo de seus ombros, mas o homem bonito resolve continuar "mas nĂŁo posso fazer isso". Kim sorri se levantando da cadeira e se sentando em sua prĂłpria mesa a sua frente, e ela sente Jaemin se movimentar para mais perto. "Vou te explicar uma coisa sobre minha função, eu procuro preciosidades para serem leiloadas. E essas preciosidades sĂŁo expostas e vendidas para a elite da elite. E modĂ©stia a parte, eu sou muito bom no que faço! Diferente do que vocĂȘ estĂĄ pensando agora, eu tenho feeling que pode mudar sua vida docinho, com esse rostinho, sua educação quando sĂłbria, e claro, sua virgindade, vocĂȘ pode ficar milionĂĄria!" O loiro se aproxima mais da garota, e delicadamente passa seu dedo indicador pela bochecha de S/n, e ela sabe que deveria sentir medo, mas ela se sente hipnotizada e nĂŁo se afasta.
"E eu jĂĄ tenho a data perfeita, para a noite perfeita, entĂŁo me deixe fazer minha mĂĄgica docinho"
...
Durante uma semana, S/n ainda tentava digerir a histĂłria toda. Seus amigos a ajudavam bastante, atĂ© fazendo algumas piadinhas de vez em quando â menos Haechan, que sempre que comentava algo precisava se esconder atrĂĄs de outro alguĂ©m â, e a constante presença de Hongjoong por algum motivo a fazia se sentir mais segura com tudo.
O rapaz à enviava mensagens todos os dias, praticamente o tempo todo: ele queria saber se estava se alimentando corretamente, se estava se hidratando, que curso faz da faculdade, seus Hobbies e interesses, e ele deixou de a chamar de "docinho" para começar a usar "preciosa"; e como se não fosse suficiente, o loiro a fez comparecer a aulas de etiquetas, a mini aulas de idiomas, e provas de vestidos que ela nunca podia palpitar ou mesmo ver.
Nem S/n ou seus amigos sabiam exatamente o que Kim estava planejando, mas sabiam que nĂŁo seria uma noite simples. Karina e Giselle foram atrĂĄs de seu perfil em todas as redes sociais, e sem surpreender ninguĂ©m, viram o quĂŁo luxuosa Ă© a vida do homem, Renjun seu amado amigo estagiĂĄrio de direito tentou encontrar mesmo uma mĂnima brecha no contrato, mas agora quer fazer estĂĄgio na Le Cygne Noir, Jeno e Jaemin eram os que mais conseguiam a animar (Haechan e Chenle ainda a temiam, mas eram presenças constantes tentando fazer com que seus dias se tornem normais.
Na sexta feira que antecedeu o evento, o grupo recebeu em sua casa junto aos convites, caixas pretas com laços dourados. Hongjoong enviou a todos roupas para aproveitarem a noite junto a amiga.
"Meu Deus! Serå que ele precisa de um estagiårio novo?" Renjun tinha comentado olhando a qualidade não só do seu tuxedo, mas das caixas e os laços também "Serå que ele precisa de um filho?" Haechan pergunta aparecendo na sala jå vestido, e S/n escuta uma de suas amigas pensar alto ao seu lado "serå que ele precisa de uma concubina?"
Mas a garota não pÎde deixar de se sentir estranha pelo fato de seu vestido não ter chegado, e seu convite ser diferenciado. Enquanto todos eram pode papel preto com letras de cor dourada, e um anexo seguindo os mesmos padrÔes, o seu era tão dourado que parecia brilhar em suas mãos, e continha pequenos dizeres no final do papel "convite meramente ilustrativo". Mais tarde, Kim Hongjoong à informou que ele o fez especialmente para que ela guardasse e não se esquecer de nada até ali. Não que ela precisasse de um convite brilhante para isso.
O seu agora empresårio a pediu que fosse para o local do evento muitas horas antes para que se arrumasse lå, e felizmente concedeu a presença de suas amigas.
Tal lugar parecia um PalĂĄcio. Por fora era repleto de Torres pontiagudas, e um jardim frontal com os arbustos formando desenhos de caracĂłis. Suas amigas nĂŁo paravam de arfar e soltar gritinhos ao seu lado, enquanto ela tentava apenas nĂŁo desmaiar logo do lado de fora. O interior possuĂa paredes altas decoradas com pinturas, e o que parecia ouro de verdade, e diversas esculturas que o grupo temia olhar de longe e quebrar.
"Bom dia! Sou Yeosang, e o Sr. Kim me pediu para os acompanhar!" Um rapaz não muito alto com a voz baixa surgiu no campo de vista de todos. Se Hongjoong era bonito, esse cara parece uma pintura viva. Ele comentou que estavam preparando o salão, e ao anoitecer todos os convidados começariam à chegar. Os meninos receberam um quarto ao lado do destinado às meninas, o que fez Haechan começar a reclamar instantaneamente, até irritar Yeosang que o mostrou o anexo entre os quartos murmurando alguma coisa sobre "não receber o suficiente para isso".
S/n foi instruĂda a nĂŁo sair do quarto atĂ© as ordens de Hongjoong, o que significa que apĂłs horas sendo arrumada por mĂŁos estranhas teria que passar mais algumas horas presa ali. Conforme era massageada, maquiada, perfumada, a equipe do loiro sempre passava para a ver, e ela descobriu que todos eram bem legais, atĂ©. Yunho foi encarregado de levar o vestido atĂ© sua dona, que assim como seus amigos arfaram com a visĂŁo final do vestido pela primeira vez. A luz parecia reluzir de dentro da caixa, mas foi quando finalmente o vestiu que começou a cair em si sobre a situação.
O vestido Ă© um modelo longo e deslumbrante em dourado metĂĄlico, com efeito cintilante que reflete a luz como ouro lĂquido. O tecido fluido e acetinado moldou-se perfeitamente ao corpo de S/n valorizando sua silhueta com um caimento justo e elegante. As alças finas e o decote em âVâ acrescentam delicadeza, enquanto a capa translĂșcida, presa nos ombros estendendo-se atĂ© o chĂŁo, o que criou um movimento etĂ©reo, como se a figura fosse envolta por uma aura luminosa.
Uma måscara o complementa a produção com requinte e mistério. Feita em estrutura dourada com arabescos rendados, é inteiramente cravejada de pedrarias brilhantes que refletem a luz, harmonizando-se perfeitamente com o brilho do vestido. Um adorno lateral com pedras maiores, lembrando uma coroa floral, e uma pena clara e delicada acrescentam um toque dramåtico e elegante. Presa por fita de cetim branca, a permitindo manter o conforto sem perder a sofisticação planejada para a noite.
...
S/n foi obrigada a se manter no quarto conforme a noite acontecia no salão principal. Mas felizmente ela tinha cavaleiros do Apocalipse ao seu lado, que sempre que podiam a levavam comidinhas, e um pouco de champanhe, e até se alternavam para ficar com ela.
"Como estå se sentindo?" Giselle que a fazia companhia no momento pergunta observando a amiga e sua cara de tédio sem a måscara.
"Um pouco nervosa" a morena encolhe os ombros, tentando nao esfregar os braços, uma vez que as maquiadores a tinham coberto de brilho "nĂŁo gosto muito da ideia de ficar aqui em cima sem ver ninguĂ©m...e se o cara que...que..." ela nĂŁo sabia muito bem como denominar aquela parte do leilĂŁo, entĂŁo sĂł gesticulou com um complemento "Ah! vocĂȘ sabe! E se ele for um escroto? E se for...feio?"
A garota de cabelos rosa ri da maior preocupação da amiga, mas a tranquiliza: "São todos extremamente gatos, com isso não precisa se preocupar! E além do mais, acho que o pelo jeito que o Hongjoong anda te tratando, ele ia garantir que não ia ter um tribufu pra te comprar"
S/n sabia que ela estava certa, mas nĂŁo conseguiu deixar de fazer careta com aquilo. E apesar das ordens de Kim de que ela nĂŁo deveria beber, o champanhe de Giselle estava uma delicia. Karina quando ficou lĂĄ a indagou sobre como ela se sentia em perder a virgindade.
"Não é como eu imaginei, mas também nunca me importei muito com todo esse tabu" da de ombros, mais tranquila. Graças a Deus o ålcool existe! "Sinceramente essa altura do campeonato eu só espero que sele gato, gostoso e que saiba o que estå fazendo!" Resmunga, fazendo um brinde com a amiga. Alguma coisa estava a dizendo que poderia confiar no gosto de Hongjoong, afinal toda a equipe dele era de tirar o fÎlego.
...
Finalmente Seonghwa bate na porta do quarto, quando ela jĂĄ estava sozinho a um tempinho. O loiro a ajudou a colocar a mĂĄscara, sorrindo para ela "VocĂȘ sabe que Ă© o bem mais caro da noite, certo?" Ele questionou com um sorrisinho de lado.
"Fico lisonjeada. Alguma chance de vocĂȘ ou um dos seus amigos dar um lance?" S/n sorri brincando, mas nem tanto.
"Infelizmente nĂŁo podemos, mas assim que tudo acabar, pode me procurar quando quiser, querida!"
Na ponta da escada, a morena jå conseguia ver a multidão no salão, e precisou de muito esforço para não voltar correndo para o quarto e pular da janela. Felizmente Seonghwa estava do seu lado, e ela pode fincar suas unhas decoradas no braço dele, enquanto tentava não cair da escada. O rapaz sibila com a dor, mas deixa passar, com um comentårio engraçadinho.
Os dois tiveram que passar por um mar de pessoas altas e bem vestidas, todos de olho apenas na garota. Enquanto tentava nĂŁo surtar com tanta atenção em cima dela, S/n conseguiu ver um grupo tocando mĂșsica clĂĄssica, seus amigos a observando e incentivando, e finalmente Hongjoong com um sorriso presunçoso no rosto. Quando finalmente chegou ao seu lado, Seonghwa tirou a capa das suas costas, o que a fez desejar que nĂŁo o fizesse.
A garota se recorda das aulas de etiqueta e sorri, posando ao lado de Hongjoong, enquanto flashes fortes de cùmeras praticamente a cegam. Kim começa a falar em um microfone que ainda não tinha visto.
"Senhoras e senhores, lhes apresento o bem mais valioso da noite..." o salĂŁo ficou em completo silĂȘncio, nem os instrumentistas tocavam mais. S/n decidiu que seria de bom tom manter um sorriso neutro no rosto, enquanto fingia prestar atenção ao que o loiro falava. "Essa Ă© a nossa pĂ©rola da noite. Jovem de 24 anos, estudante universitĂĄria, brilhante, educada, elegante...essa noite, senhoras e senhores, o que serĂĄ leiloado, serĂĄ a sua virgindade!"
Se antes o silĂȘncio jĂĄ tomava conta do local, agora ele se tornou praticamente palpĂĄvel, e S/n interpretou esse silĂȘncio como um pĂ©ssimo sinal e uma ideia horrĂvel, mas Hongjoong sabia, que efeito de dramatização, afinal, ele era feito daquilo.
"E agora nĂłs descobriremos quem serĂĄ o sortudo...ou sortuda a arrematar tal prĂȘmio essa noite!"
Com trĂȘs batidas com um martelinho escondido. Ele mesmo conduziu o leilĂŁo, com o mesmo sorriso de antes, e pensando bem, a garota nĂŁo conseguiu nĂŁo o associar com a versĂŁo mais espalhafatosa do Rumpelstiltskin. Com surpresa ela viu homens bonitos â e mulher bonitas tambĂ©m â começarem a dar lances. Ela nĂŁo sabia o que estava a assustando mais, o fato de pessoas estarem realmente interessadas na sua virgindade, ou a facilidade e rapidez que os lances subiam. Aquelas pessoas estavam gastando milhĂ”es como se estivessem dando balas pra crianças!
O Ășltimo lance que ela conseguiu compreender foi o de um homem loiro repleto de tatuagens na fila da frente, mas o modo como ele a olhava, nĂŁo a agradou nenhum pouco.
"100 mil!" Ele disse, coçando o queixo. S/n engole em seco rezando para que a måscara conseguisse esconder o pùnico em seu olhar, mas pelo menos para seus amigos ficou claro, porém eles não sabiam o que fazer, jå vez que não podiam bater os lances, uma vez que não teriam o dinheiro para tal.
"150 mil!" Uma voz grossa ecoou ao fundo do salão, mas ela não conseguiu ver quem era, então apenas torceu para que fosse alguém que não a desse vontade de fugir.
"200 mil!" O loiro lança, mas a mesma voz grossa surge batendo sua oferta. O tal homem nĂŁo gosta nada da atitude e aumenta ainda mais o lance, chocando S/n em muitos nĂveis. "500 mil!" O tal homem loiro praticamente grita, sem paciĂȘncia.
SilĂȘncio.
A falta de lances faz o coração de S/n para por alguns segundos antes de disparar em extrema velocidade. Hongjoong começa a contagem final "Doule 1!" Desespero toma conta do corpo da garota, e ela não consegue disfarçar, dando um passo para trås, como se estivesse pronta para correr a qualquer minuto "Doule 2!" ela se aproxima de Kim, e no momento em que ia o implorar parar podar fim à aquilo tudo, uma voz a irrompeu antes que precisasse:
"5 milhÔes!"
Finalmente ela pode ver quem competia por sua...honra. O homem era alto, diferente dos outros, ele vestia um conjunto moderno e minimalista em preto. Tinha um blazer preto, abotoado apenas na parte inferior, revelando parte do peito â onde se destacou um colar prateado robusto e uma tira preta horizontal, e o seu cabelo casualmente penteado para trĂĄs. Ele parou a frente de todos, brevemente olhando o tal homem dos lances, com um sorriso vencedor, mas nĂŁo se demorou muito, pois logo ele estava olhando para S/n. Ele nĂŁo a mediu como o outro, manteve as mĂŁos nos bolsos e sorriu. Apenas isso. E se pudesse, ela se trancaria no quarto como ele agora mesmo se pudesse.
Hongjoong fez a contagem final rapidamente, e a virgindade de S/n foi vendida para o tal homem gato. Agora ela sĂł precisava trancar com o tal homem gato...
Coisas inĂ©ditas estĂŁo vindo por aqui nesse perfil...como uma escrita com um ator gostoso que nunca escrevi antes đââïž
Talvez um dia eu vença a batalha contra tĂtulos monossilĂĄbicos e tediosos đ€, mas infelizmente nĂŁo serĂĄ essa noite

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Acabei de ler o primeiro livro da trilogia de "Caraval", e tambĂ©m tĂŽ assistindo "ViĂșva negra" agora, entĂŁo hĂĄ pedido de 0 pessoas, 0 vezes, deixarei aqui conceitos, coisas e tal que gostaria de explorar na escrita, e os motivos:
âą "ViĂșvas Negras"
Começando com o que vou lembrar mais claramente agora. O treinamento militar melhor que qualquer exĂ©rcito, ao mesmo tempo as assassinas sendo bailarinas, por que todo mundo sabe da semelhança... complicaçÔes familiares, complicaçÔes polĂticas, personas complexas... as espiĂŁs, elas tem livre ĂĄrbitro? Elas foram quimicamente induzidas a tudo? Pode alguma delas realmente gostar de ser uma assassina, e ver sua posição como um propĂłsito? SĂŁo todas mocinhas? E se uma delas for vilĂŁ?... gente tem tanta coisa pra explorar aqui, misericĂłrdia! (Mas amo muito, parabĂ©ns Marvel â€ïž)
âą "Circo"
Claro que por conta do livro, tambĂ©m estou com isso na cabeça đ€·ââïž... o legal do circo Ă© que ele pode ser um universo dentro de si, sabe? O mundo pode atĂ© existir lĂĄ fora, mas se assim como no "Caraval" vocĂȘ conseguir prender os personagens lĂĄ dentro, Ă© possĂvel que ele seja um universo por si sĂł; Da pra usar magia; da pra explorar personagens especĂficos, como um mĂĄgico (e magia de verdade) as dançarinas, e claro os palhaços (que eu nĂŁo faria, por que tenho pavor deles, mas beleza); sem contar a quantidade de arquĂ©tipos que dĂĄ pra usar dentro dele, enfim, um prato cheio que eu nem sei se saberia por onde começar.
âą "Ballet"
Um fato sobre mim Ă© que sou bailarina nĂŁo profissional, e amo um clichĂȘ de ballet! Principalmente ligado ao "lago dos cisnes", me perdoem, Ă© bĂĄsico mas funciona muito bem. O conceito de "bem" e "mal" em diversos nĂveis, nos personagens (da pra fazer igual ao filme e focar na prota, ou atĂ© expor os Ying e Yangs nos outros personagens de modo mais ainda claro tambĂ©m), o mundo competitivo do ballet tbm que pode ser extremamente tĂłxico como o filme, ou se quiser fugir de todo o clichĂȘ e toda a ideia de cisnes, trazer um ar mais legalzinho pra tudo. Acho que inclusive Ă© um dos temas mais simplĂłrios da lista, mas amo que amo
âą "Casamento por contrato"
Tema simplesÂČ. Outro conceito que amo, Ă© o casamento forçado por contrato, aquele slow burn, aquele "eu quero mas nĂŁo posso", que as vezes tambĂ©m Ă© um "e se a gente se aproveitar enquanto pode, e depois terminamos quando o contrato acabar" que no final nenhum deles realmente quer, mas tambĂ©m nĂŁo sabe como falar...acho atĂ© que tenho um rascunho de uma histĂłria assim, se pĂĄ algum dia eu volte e termine... outro simples que funciona delicinha, parece atĂ© macarrĂŁo num almoço de domingo!
âą "Almas gĂȘmeas" + "Vidas passadas" / "Doença de hanahaki"
Indo por partes, eu amo uma ligação de almas, um reconhecimento de almas, também um pouco influenciada por "A Maldição do Tigre" (inclusive tenho uma fic perdida e inacabada com o tema, mas que nunca conseguiu me agradar de fato, mas fazer o que);
Agora, eu acho que a hanahaki disease o puro suco do spirit fanfic, sempre gostei, por que tambĂ©m tem um certo slow burn, alguns desencontros, e se vocĂȘ tiver sorte: um final feliz... mas pode ser que nĂŁo tambĂ©m nĂ©...
âą "Mafia"
Outro puro suco do spirit e do wattpad, mas minhas motivaçÔes sĂŁo poucas pra esse: Ateez em Ice on my Teeth đ€·ââïž o que posso fazer? Sou uma autora e leitora simples
âą "Mundos de fantasia" / "Monarquia"
TambĂ©m completamente influenciada por "Carnaval", mas eu amo mundos 100% de fantasia, e apesar de estar na vibe circense, eu geralmente prefiro aqueles que tem um toque medieval, sabe? Castelos, aqueles vestidos, cavaleiros, reis â a propĂłsito, Ă© o Ășnico lugar onde reis podem ser aceitĂĄveis...â, e meus favoritos: dragĂ”es, fadas, bruxas...
E no quesito monarquia, adoro uns reis medievais, mas espero um dia conseguir escrever uma monarquia mais atual, como em "Vermelho Branco Sangue Azul"
âą "Vampiros"
Ando muito em uma vibe literatura gĂłtica, e minha figura favorita sĂŁo os vampiros đ€·ââïž, e apesar de gostar do Edward, eu prefiro os clĂĄssicos mesmo: O Conde Orlok, o Dracula e suas mil versĂ”es, a Carmilla... um bĂĄsico que Ă© de-li-ci-o-so đ«Š
âą "Super herĂłis" đïž!
Esse Ă© novo na lista, e 100% influenciado pelo novo superman e pelo novo quarteto fantĂĄstico đ, mas ao contrĂĄrio dos outros conceitos, que adoraria explorar em histĂłrias originais, esse aqui eu prefiro as fanfics mesmo, e acho que se tiver mais Surtos posso trazer mais um pouquinho đ€đ»
Enfim, Ă© isso! Obrigada por ler esse post sem sentido que vale mais pra poder tirar isso de dentro do meu cĂ©rebro, beijocas đ
mysteries of our disguise revolve
clark kent (superman 2025) x f!reader
summary: youâre just the new intern at the daily planetâanxious, invisible in your books, and falling for the man who, disguised, saves the world between coffee breaks. he could catch the sky if it fell. but for some reason, he keeps choosing to catch you.
word count: 22.4k (i know itâs a lot but itâs worth it)
warnings/tags: +18 mdni, angst, banter, fluff !!!, clark has a savior complex, friends/coworkers to lovers, intern!reader, slow-burn office romance, lots of feelings and introspection, miscommunication, the readerâs sort of a sensitive and insecure gal at times, clark picks the reader up, mentions of reader's hair, both of them are very awkward at times, idiots in love (proceed with caution), declarations of love, p with plot, fingering (f receiving), handjob, oral (m and f receiving), whiny clark kent !!!, cum swallowing, p in v, missionary, happy ending.
a/n: first time writing for clark kent!!! to say iâm nervous would be the understatement of the century. i finally got to watch superman last week, and let me tell you: iâve been obsessed with it <3 i walked out of the theater and pretty much ran home to start writing this fic. so yes, this oneâs completely self-indulgent. i just got carried away by the feelings and couldnât stop writing, hence the length lol. i really hope you enjoy this story. if you do, likes, reblogs and comments mean the world. and feel free to scream in the tagsâiâll be screaming too đ«
Sometimes, you truly wished you didnât have a brain.
It sounds ridiculous, worded like that. You know for a fact youâre not the first person to want a quiet mind, to dream of a day when youâre not held hostage by your own intrusive, spiraling thoughts. You take a look around and realize there are much bigger problems out there in the world.
Scratch thatâright here, where every few days, some inexplicable, monstrous creature appears out of the blue and starts tearing through everything that gets in its way, like Metropolis is a giant city made of Legos.
And yet, you canât help but drown in self-doubt. The worst part is how suddenly it all hits you. Thereâs no warning or mercy. One moment youâre fineâfunctioning, even laughingâand the next, something inside you flickers and dies. The illusion of confidence crumbles, and you're left looking for the broken pieces, wondering when youâll finally figure out whatâs wrong with you.Â
If only there were a way to cut it out, the rot, and replace it with something clean. Something shining. Something better.
The day youâre accepted for an internship at the Daily Planet, you stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror and try to tell the girl in the fogged glass something that sounds like hope:
Itâs going to be okay. Youâre capable of this. Just show them your potential.
But the voice in your head isnât convinced. It places an imaginary hand on your shoulder, deceptively gentle, until its fingers dig in, cold and burning all at once. It leans in, just behind your ear, and hisses the thought youâve been trying to avoid:Â
Itâs only a matter of time before they realize they couldâve chosen someone better.
Just so much for a girl in her twenties.
You squint at the girl on Jimmyâs phone.
Sheâs beautiful. Blonde. The kind of effortlessly pretty that feels unfair. If you didnât know her from these selfies, you wouldâve thought she was some kind of model. Tall, blue-eyed, glowing with confidence. She even looks like the type of person whoâd throw a tantrum if someone accidentally stepped on a catâs tail.
Picking at your nails, your eyes flick from the screen to Jimmy. Then back again. Jimmy. Blonde girl. Jimmy. Blondeâ
âSheâs super pretty,â you say finally, handing the phone back to him over the desk divider.
He stands up with a smug little shrug, grinning as if heâs about to accept an award. âWhat can I say? Ladies just seem to love me.â
At that moment, Lois passes by right on cue, bracing herself on your desk and leaning toward Jimmy with a certain look that usually comes before total verbal destruction. âIâm still trying to figure out why,â she mutters dryly. âGuess I know what my next articleâs gonna be about.â
A giggle catches in your throat, too fast to stop, and you mask it with a fake cough.
Jimmy eyes you like youâve betrayed his loyalty. âYouâre supposed to be on my side. Proximity makes us allies.â
âIâm sorry. I just canât resist a good joke,â you mumble, lifting your hands in mock surrender, earning an exasperated sigh from him.
Lois high-fives you without missing a beat. âYou can always change seats.â
With a scoff, he declares, âTraitors. Both of you.â
As he launches into a dramatic defense of his dating history, Lois unwraps a candy bar, taking a bite before giving voice to her thoughts. âHonestly, I don't know why Clark gets away with disappearing for an hour and a half during lunch. I miss one deadline, and Iâve got Perry breathing down my neck.â
âEver heard of this revolutionary thing called⊠privacy?â Jimmy asks her, raising his eyebrows in her direction.
She rolls her eyes, gesturing with the candy bar. âIf I find out heâs out there eating real food while the rest of us are surviving on vending machine snacks, Iâm suing.â
You're about to jump in with an equally sarcastic remark when the elevator dings.
The doors quietly slide open, and there he is.
Clark Kent. Carrying a cardboard tray of four coffees, his tie slightly crooked and hair looking like the wind styled it for him on the way in. There's a coy tilt to his smile, like he knows heâs late but hopes this peace offering makes up for it.
âHey,â he says warmly. âThought we could all use a little caffeine. Fuel for the hardest part of the day.â
Lois lifts her chin. âLook who finally decided to rejoin society.â
Balancing the tray in one hand, he straightens his glasses. âI brought bribes.â He hands hers over first, the corner of his mouth quirking up. A second later, Jimmyâs follows, and he gives Clark a quick pat on the back.
Then, to your complete surprise, Clark holds one out to you. No matter how many times he does it, you still get excited by his thoughtfulness.
You blink owlishly. Your name's neatly written on one side of the cup with a permanent marker, just above your order: two creams, two sugars. He still remembers your order and has never gotten it wrong. You take it calmly, like it might vanish if you move too fast, struggling to fight the smile wanting to break free. âThanks, Clark.â
He bows his head, scratching the back of his neck, and looks up to meet your pleased gaze, studying how your expression softens. âYou know there's a legal limit to how many times you can say thank you in a day, right? Pretty sure youâve already gone over it.â
No clever, witty comeback comes to mind, so you turn back to your monitor, hoping the screen hides the heat crawling up your neck. Still, you canât help whispering a very soft, âThank you,â just before Clark turns on his heel and walks away.
He pauses for a split second, long enough to glance over his shoulder. His eyes land on yours again briefly, like heâs trying to find a hidden answer in your features, and he gives the smallest nod, almost imperceptible, continuing toward his desk, the hem of his coat swaying with each step.
Your heart flutters in your chest as you chew on your bottom lip, twisting your ankles together beneath the desk to keep from fidgeting, hoping youâre playing it cool.
âJeez,â a familiar voice mutters nearby. Jimmyâs shaking his head, arching a knowing brow. âYouâre down bad.â
âShut it.â
âI swear to God, if youâd just admit itââ
You lob a yellow highlighter at him, managing to hit him squarely on the shoulder with a satisfying thwack. He opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off with a pointed finger. âKeep your voice down. Thereâs nothing to admit. Iâm just happy I have something to sip while I work. Thatâs all.â
Spinning lazily in his chair, he folds his arms behind his head like a painting of a man at peace. âIâve got to hand it to youâitâs adorable, watching you try to lie to me. Iâve been sitting across from you for what, a month now?â
A faint line appears between your brows, and you catch the highlighter as he tosses it back your way.
He grins. âIâve grown familiar with all your faces, young lady. And that dreamy look? The puppy eyes? That little tight-lipped smile?â He props his chin on his hand, his voice descending to a murmur. âYeah. Those arenât for public consumption. Thatâs VIP treatment.â
Fighting Jimmy is pointless. Heâs the kind of guy who never loses an argumentâmostly because he talks over you until you forget what your point even was.
He just doesnât get it. You can find someone attractive without liking them, right? Itâs just a stupid crush. A stupid work crush, to be precise, which is significantly worse than a normal one, because now the object of your hopeless affection walks past your desk on a daily basis like itâs nothing.
At some point, you stop being sure if you're trying to convince Jimmy or yourself.
Your brain whirs back to your very first day at the Daily Planet. You remember being led around by a chatty woman from HR, who kept smiling at you with what appeared to be feigned sympathy. She pointed out the break room, the vending machine, and in the end brought you to your new, empty desk right across from a redheaded guy who immediately stood and extended a hand.
âJames Olsen,â he commented. âWelcome to hell.â
Before you could respond, he waved Lois over from a few desks away. âLois, come meet the new intern.â
You told them your name, attempting to seem casual while subtly folding your arms across your chest like a human shield. You didnât mention you already knew who they were, or the fact that youâd read Loisâs columns like gospel. Some things were better kept to yourself.
Then, along came Perry White. The Perry White. It only took you one glance at the man to recognize him: the iconic gruff editor-in-chief with a permanent scowl and a cigar that looked surgically attached to his mouth. He stomped over, barely glancing your way.
âWhereâs Kent?â he grumbled, words muffled by the cigar between his lips.
Lois and Jimmy exchanged a look. Silence. Apparently, no one felt like volunteering information.
Kent, as in Clark Kent. The name alone triggered something weird in your stomach. He was the guy who somehow landed exclusive interviews with Superman like it was no big deal, most of which youâd devoured in one sitting.
In the nick of time, as if heâd heard his name from afar, Clark entered through the elevator, brushing his fringe to the side with one hand. Slung over one of his shoulders was a worn satchel bag, and in the other, he carried a cardboard tray, loaded with steaming coffee cups. He spotted Perry and made his way over, towering over pretty much everyone in the immediate vicinity.
âI know, Iâm late again. Sorry, Perry,â he apologized, already reaching into the tray. âMaybe a hot coffee will help start your day?â
Perry grunted, took a cup, and walked away without another word. Clark contemplated him as he got farther and farther away, and once he was gone, turned back to the rest of you with a quiet exhale. âReally glad I bought an extra one today.â
Only two cups of coffee remained. He handed Jimmy and Lois theirs, then scanned the tray, his brows snapping together. His gaze landed on you, standing just a little behind the group, hands clasped awkwardly in front of you. That was when it hit him.
âOh, Iâmââ he stammered, fixing his posture. âI didnât know there would be someone new. Iâm so sorry, I wouldâve brought you something too.â
âThis is the new intern,â Jimmy supplied casually, taking a trial sip of his drink. âStarted today. Doesnât bite, probably. Has a name and everything.â
You offered a nervous little smile, giving Clark your name.
Clark repeated it under his breath, as if he was trying to memorize it. His attention flicked back to the empty tray, later returning to you. âNext time, Iâll make sure to bring you one. What do you usually get?â
Shaking your head, you tried to wave it off. âNo, really, itâs okay. You donât have toââ
But Clark shook his own head right back, stubborn and visibly determined. âI insist.â
Jimmy leaned in, elbowing him. âNo, for realâhe insists.â
Lois smirked into her cup. âHe's going to agonize over this all day.â
Clarkâs ears reddened as he cast a glance at you again. âJust... let me know. So I get it right.â
Ultimately, you ended up telling him your order: two creams, two sugars. He nodded seriously, and repeated it: âTwo creams, two sugars.â
âBetter write it on your arm or something,â Jimmy interjected, sitting down on his chair. âIn case it comes up in your next Superman interview.â
The next morning, you were late. Disastrously, embarrassingly late. Not just five-minutes-past-start-time late. More like why-even-bother-showing-up late.
You burst through the front doors of the Daily Planet like a fugitive fleeing a crime scene, lungs clawing for air, sweat clinging to your lower back and pooling around your temples. The last ten blocks had been a blur of dodged pedestrians and half-choked apologies, and every eye in the office felt like it had turned your way.
Avoiding eye contact, you slid into your seat. It was only your second day, and already youâd earned a reputation: the intern who canât be punctual. What would be next? Forgetting your name? Accidentally setting the printer on fire? Calling Perry âdadâ? You were so far inside your own head you barely registered the beverage sitting on your desk.
A lone paper coffee cup. You froze.
It was from the café around the corner, the same one Clark brought coffee from yesterday. An orange Post-it was stuck to the side, curling slightly at the corners, your name written just beneath it.
Hope you have a good time here. The handwriting was clean and tidy, with no signature, though you knew who had written it.
Your fingers brushed the cup tentatively, and the warmth seeped into your fingers, anchoring you in a moment that felt strangely tender. It was a small gesture, but it had found you when you were at your most unravelled, and somehow, that made it hit harder than it should have.
Glancing up, you noticed Clark was already seated at his desk, typing with ease. When your eyes met, he didnât look away, just lifted a hand in a soft wave.
Before you could even process it, Jimmy bent over the partition, nodding at the cup. âWow,â he uttered, pressing a hand to his chest. âOn day two? Must be nice to be his favorite.â
âExcuse me?â
âNext thing you know, heâs bringing you lunch and rescheduling your dentist appointments.â
âItâs just coffee,â you retorted, but your hands didnât loosen around the cup, clutching it like it contained the secret to world peace.
âObserve: the flustered intern in her natural habitat, attempting to rationalize a clear romantic gestureââ
âDonât you have any photographs to take?â
His nose crinkled. âDonât worry, Iâll keep your tragic office romance off the record. For now.â
To shut him up, you took a long sip, and immediately burned your tongue. Of course. When you glanced over again, Clark was observing you with mild alarm, eyes wide, like he wasnât sure if he should intervene. But then he returned to his screen, his shoulders just a little stiffer than before, and you looked back down at the cup. The note.
You werenât saying that was when the crush started. But it sure didnât help.
Fast forward to the present day, your fingers have been levitating over the keyboard for an embarrassing amount of time, the blinking cursor taunting you like it knows. You just hope nobodyâs noticed the light leaving your eyes as you spiraled into a memory that felt much warmer than the air-conditioned newsroom.
You turn your head to the left for what you swear will be the last time today, though deep down, you know thatâs a lie. A practiced one at this point. Clark is already typing, posture relaxed but focused, forearms braced against the desk. Heâs moved his chair today, and the faint movement of the muscles beneath the back of his white shirt makes you blink hard, as if that might reset your brain.
âPerv,â Jimmy interrupts your thoughts in a sing-song voice, not even bothering to look up from his computer.
You jab the side of his ankle with your shoe.
He hisses, eyes squinting shut. âTell me Iâm wrong.â
You donât. What frightens you the most is that perhaps he has clocked you right. Straightening in your chair, you roll your shoulders back like you can shake it off. Crushes pass. This one will as well. Maybe by the time your internshipâs ended.
Taking a sharp breath, you decide you need to get back to work. You canât afford another mistake just because Clark Kent exists in the same room as you.
An email lands in your inbox. Itâs one of many, the kind you handled almost without thinking twice. The task in it was far from difficult: skim the article, fix the typos, clean up the formatting, and make sure the version that goes online looked as polished as something with your name near it should. Routine. Safe.
At first, you donât even flinch. Youâre wearing headphones, the world on mute, until Jimmy taps your shoulder and motions for you to take them off. The moment you do, the noise rushes in. You register the low hum of tension in the room, and then comes the voice of one of your coworkers, shouting across the bullpen that an unedited version of an article had been published.
Silently, heads begin turning to find the culprit. And still, you donât let yourself panic. Not until you hear the title.
Beneath the Streets, Above the Skies: The Creatures We Canât Explain.
Itâs yours.
Goddammit.
Your stomach flips as you scroll through the now-public piece on the Daily Planetâs website. Itâs all there: the all-caps notes left by the writer mid-draft, barking out instructions to a future editor.
[FIX THIS. TOO WORDY.]
[DELETE â USE STAT FROM EARLIER DRAFT?]
[MAYBE CHOOSE A STRONGER QUOTE HERE.]
Youâd sent the wrong version. Drafts mixed up, tabs blurred together, one careless attachment. And worst of all? You werenât the one to catch it. By the time someone did, it had already been up long enough to embarrass the paper.
The article is eventually pulled, of course, but it had already been read by others.
A few people come to your rescue, trying to comfort you with those well-meaning phrases that sting more than they soothe.
Itâs fine. Happens to the best of us.
Donât beat yourself up over it.
Itâs just one article.
Lois, in a moment of impossible generosity, offers to buy you an entire chocolate cake if itâll get you to smile. She says it with a lopsided grin, trying to lighten the mood, but you can see it in her face, the silent sympathy. The confirmation that⊠yes, it had been bad.
What makes it worse is that it confirms what you already suspected about yourself: youâre not good at this. The little voice in your head, the one that is usually subdued by the clack of keyboards, is now screaming. You can hear going insane it in the spaces between your thoughts and heartbeats.
You had one job. Youâve been here for over a month, and you still managed to screw it up.
Panic blooms in slow, suffocating waves, rising behind your ribs and poisoning your bloodstream. You walk to Perryâs office on numb legs that barely feel like they are attached to the rest of your body. Your name had been called moments before. Knocking once, you step inside, your back flat against the cool surface of the door.
He doesnât even look up right away. Just keeps reading something on his screen. âSomething bothering that young brain of yours?â he asks without turning. âBecause if youâre not going to be focused, I need to know. I donât do hand-holding. This couldâve been a disaster.â
Your heart pounds so loudly youâre surprised he doesnât pause to comment on it. When he finally decides to spare you a glance, it isnât anger youâre met with. He looks tired, and even irritated, that he has to explain these things to you at all.
âDonât be sloppy. I donât like sloppy. Got it?â
Fervently nodding, you say, âYes, sir.â You might grant him a smile, or perhaps something close enough to one, anyway. Then you leave, holding yourself together, and storm out of his office.
The newsroom is all windows and noise, impossible to disappear into, but taking the elevator isnât a viable option at the moment. The stairwell, by contrast, is dim and forgotten, since no one uses it unless the elevators break down. That makes it a perfect place for you to hide.
You sit on the concrete steps and fold in on yourself, allowing yourself to cry. Sweaty palms pressed to your face, tugging at your hair like it might anchor you in your body. Silent sobs wrack your chest, and tears slip down your face, pooling at the edges of your mouth, making their way towards your chin and neck. Your knees draw to your chest, and you let yourself dissolve into shuddering breaths.
You arenât just crying over the article, or the look Perry gave you, or the shame you saw in every pair of eyes that passed your desk.
Youâre crying because at some point, without you even noticing, youâd let yourself believe that maybeâmaybeâyou were starting to belong here. That maybe you werenât a complete fraud. It turns out it doesnât take much to unravel those thoughts. Just one mistake. One article. One email you shouldâve double-checked.
A couple of minutes pass, and you hear the door being opened and then shut. Youâre too far gone by then: cheeks damp, fingers gripping your knees, shoulders drawn tight toward your ears. The sound of someoneâs footsteps approaching you makes your stomach lurch, and instinctively, you swipe at your face, trying to clean yourself up with the heel of your palm as if that could erase the fact youâve been crying.
You hear it. His voice.
ââŠHey.â
Clark.
You rub your eyes, keeping your gaze fixed on a chipped bit of concrete near your foot, your throat too raw to answer.
Thereâs a pause. You donât even hear him move, yet you feel him there, not close enough to crowd you, but not far enough either. He waits. Itâs his thing, apparently.
Before you can stop yourself, you speak. âIâm fine,â you croak, too quickly. A reflex.
He doesnât reply right away. A beat slides, and he mutters, âDidnât ask.â
That earns a weak exhale from you. Not exactly laughter, but akin to it. You rest your forehead on your knees, and because you canât help it, because itâs bubbling up and thereâs nowhere else for it to go, you start talking. More like rambling, actually.
âI was tired, and I was trying to finish it fast, and I thought Iâd already attached the right file, andââ You stop, inhaling sharply. âGod, Iâm pathetic.â
Clark still says nothing. You risk a glance in his direction and find him standing just a few steps down from you, one hand loosely resting on the railing.
You interpret his demeanor as an invitation to go on. âItâs so stupid. Everyoneâs supposed to make mistakes. Thatâs what they say. But this doesnât feel like a mistake. It feels like confirmation. That I shouldnât be here. That Iâm playing pretend, and now everyone can see it.â
Itâs only a matter of time before your voice cracks, and you suck in a breath like it might steady you, but it only makes your chest hurt.
Gently, without needing to say anything, he sits down beside you, leaving just enough space so you donât feel boxed in. You feel the warmth radiating off his body even through the distance. A comforting kind of heat.
âI didnât want anyone to see me like this,â you croak. âItâs miserable.â
âItâs not.â
You shake your head, and the tears come back again for a second round, your whole frame shaking. More tears. You thought you were done.
Thatâs when you feel it. The hesitant pressure of his hand between your shoulder blades. He doesnât move it, just lets it rest there, warm as you continue to cry your heart out. Youâre pretty sure he must think youâve gone mental. Once he notices youâre not backing away from his touch, he begins rubbing your skin in small, slow circles. No pressure. No expectation.
Eventually, after long minutes of trying to even your breath, you shift toward him on instinct, and he opens his arms, enveloping you. You fold into the space he makes for you, still trembling, trying to convince yourself this isnât humiliating. His chest is solid against your cheek, and he smells like cologne and paper and something sweet you canât quite place.
You donât ask why he came. You believe you already have your answer. Lois probably saw you bolt. Maybe Jimmy sent him. Maybe he drew the short straw.
It turns out you say it out loud, because Clark speaks gently into your hair. âNo one sent me.â
You choke on your own saliva.
âI just noticed youâd been gone for a while,â he adds. âThatâs all.â
Pulling back a little, just enough to look at him in the eye, you find his expression to be unreadable in that Clark Kent way. âI didnât even realize I was gone that long,â you admit.
He smiles, barely. âI know.â
A long silence hangs in the air between you. Not uncomfortable, but thick with things unsaid.
Then he asks, almost like he already knows what youâll respond next: âWhy are you so hard on yourself?â
You laugh, though it comes out watery and bitter. âI donât know how else to be.â
He watches you for a moment. The world outside the stairwell feels a thousand miles away.
âI think,â Clark begins carefully, âyou hold yourself to this impossible standard. You think if you slip up, everyone will rub it in your face.â You stare at him, swallowing hard. âBut no oneâs waiting to punish you,â he explains. âThey already like you. I alreadyââ He stops himself mid-sentence. âYou donât have to earn that every second.â
His hand is still on your back. You donât know what youâre supposed to say to that, so you just sit there with him. With yourself, and with everything youâre carrying. The silence lingers, suspended in time, and you canât help but sniff after all that crying. Youâre certain your eyes must be far beyond puffy and red-rimmed, your face blotchy, and you donât even want to think about what your mascaraâs looking like right now.
âWas itââ You hesitate, keeping eye contact. âWas it a lot? That I hugged you?â
Clarkâs brows bump together in a scowl. âWhat do you mean?â
âI meanââ You gesture vaguely between your chests. âIt was a full, like⊠torso-on-torso kind of hug. Which feels very much like a panic-hug. And Iâve only been working here a month, and youâre⊠you.â
His smile widens, carving those charming, endearing hollows into his cheeks. âI donât mind.â
âYeah, but I do. You probably have, like, policies about emotionally unstable interns clinging to you.â
âIf thereâs a policy, I havenât read it.â
âFigures. Of course, you read everything except the employee handbook.â
Playfully surrendering, he snorts. âGuilty.â
Thereâs a beat. He looks like heâs considering something as those blue eyes of his map your face.
âWant to hear something thatâll make you regret hugging me at all?â
You scratch your nose. âSure?â
âWhat do you call a dinosaur with an extensive vocabulary?â
ââŠNo.â
He grins, too pleased with himself. âA thesaurus.â
âOh my God.â
âI warned you.â
âNo, butâa thesaurus?â
âWhat do you mean? Itâs a classic!â
âI shouldâve hugged Perry instead. Or the janitor. Literally anyone else.â
âThat hurts. I opened my arms to you.â
âI did the arm-opening,â you shoot back. âYou were just conveniently located.â
Heâs chuckling, but his expression softens again when he sees you swipe under your eyes. You try to smile. You try. And it almost works, until your voice comes out small again. âI just didnât want to mess up. I wanted to be good at this.â
âYou are. Messing up doesnât make you less good. Youâd never say that to another human being.â
You look at him. The way he says it makes you understand he believes it. Youâre not used to that. Most people say things like that with ifs and buts tacked on. Clark doesnât. He just lets the truth sit there between you. Pressing your lips together, you gape at your lap, and then back at him.
ââŠOkay,â you whisper.
âOkay,â he echoes.
A pause.
âWanna hear another one?â
âClark, pleaseââ
âWhat do you call fake spaghetti?â
âI donât even want to think about that one.â
âAn impasta.â
You groan louder, forehead tipping dramatically against his shoulder. âJust fire me already.â
Clark giggles, not moving an inch. âCanât. Iâm just the delivery guy.â
âOf terrible puns?â
âOf coffee and emotional support.â
You laugh, this time for real, short and soggy and kind of breathless. In this tiny stairwell, with your head spinning and your chest still aching, this had been exactly what you needed.
By the time youâre both standing again, your eyes feel like theyâve been rubbed back and forth with sandpaper. You wipe at your face with the sleeve of your cardigan, though Clark hands you a tissue without saying anything. You take it, thanking him while intending to fix your appearance in the reflection of his glasses.
âYou always carry tissues with you?â
âA man needs to be prepared.â
He doesnât rush you, although both of you know that eventually you have to go back. âReady?â he asks gently.
You nod like a liar, returning to the office. Jimmy spots you the second the door to the stairwell opens. He stands near the copy machine, holding a mug shaped like the Daily Planetâs globe, and raises his eyebrows like heâs seeing something scandalous. Lois leans out of her cubicle and gives Clark a slow look, then swings her gaze to you.
âWell, well,â she murmurs, wrapping a loose strand of hair around her finger. âWe thought youâd fled the country.â
Jimmy snorts into his coffee. âI must confess Iâve never tried stairwell therapy. Sounds very promising.â
Clark clears his throat, cheeks just slightly pink. âShe was just upset. Thatâs all.â Inching toward you, he whispers into your ear, âYou sure youâre okay?â
You nod, and this time, itâs not entirely a lie. Your chest twists a little: not from embarrassment, but from the warm way everyone seems to be looking at you. You sit back at your desk, and Jimmy passes you a couple of snacks wordlessly, winking at you.
Lois throws a scrunchie at your head, giving you a thumbs up. âFix your face,â she says. âIf you cry again, youâll dehydrate and die. And I donât have time to explain that to Perry.â
Your throat tightens again, but for entirely different reasons.
You like Lois.
You really, really do.
Sheâs sharp-tongued and sharp-minded, the kind of journalist who could scare a senator into answering a question theyâve been dodging for a decade. She doesnât soften herself to fit the room. If anything, the room adjusts to her. You admire that. You admire her.
You trust her, too, in the weird way you trust people after you decided not to trust them at all.
Which is why it catches you off guard, the quiet pinch in your chest when you see her standing next to Clark, cackling. And him, tittering the way he does when heâs truly listening, the corners of his eyes crinkling just barely behind his glasses.
They look like puzzle pieces that have known each other forever.
In your defense, this was all supposed to be a harmless observation. Youâre standing next to the copier, waiting for it to spit out your stack of edited pages.
All of a sudden, the copier beeps, and you jerk away.
âHey.â Jimmy materializes out of nowhere behind you, nearly making you drop your stack. âYou okay? You look like you just found out your favorite character dies in the end.â
You force a laugh, too high-pitched. âNo, I was justâŠthinking. That Clark and Lois would make a good couple. Like, objectively. Theyâre veryâŠcompatible.â
Jimmy blinks.
Then blinks again.
Then tilts his head as if youâre announcing youâre moving to Mars. âWhatâwhy would you say that?â
You stare at him, and the weight of what youâd just admitted out loud hits you like a train.
âIâve picked up this terrible habit of saying my thoughts out loud,â you half-whisper, burying your face in the warm papers youâve just printed. âYou didnât need to know that.â
âHold on, hold on.â Jimmy steps in front of you, looking way too interested. âBack up. You think Clark and Lois are compatible?â
The copier makes an unholy crunching noise, and you yank the paper tray open, because you donât want to meet his demanding gaze. âI meant it likeâŠas a neutral statement,â you lie, badly. âA purely objective, journalistic observation. A general public-interestâŠthing.â
âLike youâre a neutral third-party scientist, observing the wild mating rituals of the office?â
âExactly.â
âYouâre so not a neutral third party. That might be the worst save Iâve ever heard.â
âGive me a break.â
âNo, seriously, this is interesting. Tell me more about this neutral thought process. Was it before or after you began looking at Clark like he personally invented gravity?â
âDrop it, Jimmy.â
Jimmy looms closer the copier, puffing out his chest, looking way too smug for someone who sometimes accidentally deletes half his own files. âListen. I love Lois. Everyone loves Lois. But Clark and Lois? No way.â
You glanced at him. âWhat do you mean âno wayâ? TheyâreâŠtheyâre them.â
âYou said it yourself. Iâve seen Clark, a grown man, blushing when someone compliments his tie. You think Lois has time for that?â
You donât answer right away. Your gaze drifts back to Clark, whoâs now scribbling into his notepad while Lois steals the last bite of his muffin, and you force yourself to avert your attention from that scene. What you believe to be the truth sits heavy in your stomach, even as you joke around.
Because hereâs the thing: this isnât Loisâs fault. Youâd fight anyone who said a bad word about herâso why does it still sting? Why does some ugly voice in your head start listing every way you fall short in comparison? This profound ache that you feel isnât about her, not really. Itâs about you: about how you always seem to be two steps behind the version of yourself youâre supposed to be.
Comparison is a cruel game, especially when the other player doesnât even know sheâs on the board.
Jimmy nudges your arm, the teasing gone a little softer. âHey. Donât overthink it.â
Youâre fiddling with an old bracelet that dangles from your wrist. âYouâre only about thirty years too late.â Gathering your pages, holding them a little too tightly, you take a step back. âI should get back to work.â You choose that to be your response, given itâs easier than saying I donât want to feel like this, or I wish I didnât care, or I think Iâm falling for him, and I donât know how to stop.
And because the alternative is staying here and letting Jimmy be right.
Again.
They arrange the plan casually, almost in passing. Someone mentions something about finally clocking out, someone else brings up the bar a few blocks away from the building, and then Lois chimes in with, âWeâre all going, no excuses,â unwilling to take no for an answer.
And somehow, that settles it.
The sun dips low as the office empties, everyone spilling into the street with sleeves rolled and voices louder than theyâve been all day. You walk a step behind Jimmy, whoâs listing the barâs drink specials like heâs memorized them for a play he forgot to audition for.
The night has that kind of electricity. The possibility of being something good. Memorable.
The barâs noisy in the comforting way only post-work places could be: the hum of old songs, clinking glasses, the rise and fall of casual arguments about baseball, or film, or whether Perry White had once owned a parrot (Jimmy swears yes, Lois says no, and Clark just answers âIâm afraid I have no parrot knowledgeâ).
You don't mean to drink your first cocktail that fast. You just... forget to pace yourself, but it helps, giving you permission to just exist. Laugh at Jimmyâs impressions. Pretend youâre not glancing at Clark more than you should.
The group is gathered near a back booth when Clark slips away. You only notice because itâs like a light flicks off inside you. When you spot him through the bar windowâoutside, on the sidewalk, phone pressed to his ear, fingers pushing through his hairâyou follow without thinking.
You donât hesitate, slipping through the crowd and nudging the door open, letting it swing closed behind you.
He half-turns at the sound, catching you in his peripheral. A tiny smile lifts the corner of his mouth. He raises a single finger as if to say: One sec. So you lean against the wall beside the door, letting the cool air cling to your skin, internally cursing yourself for not putting on your coat before going out.
âOkay, Ma. Yeah, Iâll give him a call tomorrow. No, I promise, itâs fine. Yeah. Yeah, love you too. Sleep tight,â he says into his phone, ending the call and tucking the device into the pocket of his black slacks. âSorry. That was my mom. Sometimes she calls without checking the time first. She gets all excited.â
You smile, your mouth twitching. âThatâs⊠adorable.â
He shrugs, glancing down at his feet, almost bashful. âSheâs always worried Iâm working too much.â
âWell, are you?â
His eyes find yours, and for a second, he doesnât answer. At long last, he retorts, âMaybe.â
You study himâthe way his posture seems to be at ease out here, how the line of his shoulders relaxes in the quiet. Thereâs something about him that always feels held back, as if heâs managing himself carefully, like heâs afraid of taking up too much space.
Which is funny, considering how much space heâs been occupying in your thoughts lately.
âAre you annoyed?â you ask.
His smile fades. âWhat?â
âYou seemed⊠I donât know. Off.â
âNo,â he says, seemingly caught off guard. âNot annoyed.â You nod slowly, unsure if thatâs a real answer or the kind people give when they donât want to be asked twice. âI just needed some air. Thatâs all.â
You let that sit between you. Let the quiet stretch a little. The last thing you want is to pry, but thereâs something you want to know. It seems that lately you always want to know more with him, even when youâre afraid of the answers you might receive.
Next thing you know, your brain, being the traitor it is, decides now would be the perfect time to blurt: âSo, uh⊠are you and Lois a thing?â It comes out too fast and loud, way too sincere. You immediately want to grab the words midair and cram them back into your mouth.
Clark straightens so quickly itâs like someone snapped a rubber band on his arm, his jaw clenching. âWhat?â The pitch of his voice cracks up a little, like his vocal cords havenât gotten the memo that heâs supposed to be cool and composed.
âYou and Lois?â you repeat, trying to style it as harmless curiosity. You throw in a half-shrug that feels more like a full-body spasm. âI mean⊠itâs not a crazy question. Sheâs Lois Lane. Beautiful woman, insanely good hair. Iâd date her.â
âSheâd eat you alive.â
âYeah, but itâd be an honor.â
âLois and I are just friends. Really good friends. Weâve been through a lot together, but⊠itâs never been like that.â
Looking down, you nod in agreement, peering at your heels. Did they always have that much shine? You shift your weight, unsure where to put your hands. âGreat,â you reply. âI wasnât trying to make things weird. Itâs justâpeople talk, you know? Office gossip. Background noise. Someone had to ask.â
Clark cocks his head to the side, his forehead creasing. âSomeone?â
âYeah. I was just the unfortunate soul selected by the people. Took one for the team.â
He smiles then. âThe team.â
âYeah. Julie from Sports. And, uh⊠Carl.â
âCaro?â
âYeah,â you say, faking confidence. âHeâs new. Big into Hawaiian shirts. Youâd remember him if youâd seen him. That dudeâs hilarious.â
âRight.â He huffs out another quiet laugh, gesturing vaguely toward the bar. âWanna go back inside?â
You shake your head. âActually... I think Iâm heading home.â
âOh. You sure?â
âCertainly. Iâm just tired. Itâs been a long week. Brain soup.â
âI get that,â he says, softer now. But he doesnât move. âDo you want me to call you a cab?â
âRelax. I can get one myself. Last time I checked, I still owned a phone.â
He still doesnât budge. âOr⊠I could walk you home.â
âYou really donât have to.â
âI know.â Heâs already turning toward the door. âWait here. Iâll grab our stuff.â
And just like that, he disappears inside, the door swinging shut behind him with an almost faint thud.
The moment heâs gone, you let your head fall back against the bricks and close your eyes. It hadnât been in your plans to ask about Lois. Actually, you hadnât planned for any of this. You just saw him step outside and followed like gravity stopped being theoretical.
But sometimes, he looks at you like he sees something you donât, which is the part that terrifies you.
The door creaks open behind you. You straighten quickly, trying to shake off whatever expression you were wearing. Clark has your bag slung over one shoulder and your coat draped carefully over his arm. He looks absurdly responsible.
âYou really didnât have to do all that,â you say as he hands everything over to you.
âToo late,â he replies. âChivalry wins again.â
You walk the first few blocks in companionable silence. The city has started to go quiet, and even though the night is soft, your brain isnât.
Then, because the world is poetic when itâs inconvenient, your heel catches a crack in the pavement and you go down like a cursed fairytale. âShitâdamn it!â
âWhoaâgot you,â Clark huffs, catching you just in time. His hands are at your waist, strong and certain, and you hate how easily your pulse betrays you.
You wince. âAnkle. Ow.â
He guides you down to sit on the front steps of a random building, pursing his lips. He crouches, eyes scanning your foot like heâs searching for something under the skin. âProbably just a twist. You should be alright.â
âHow do youâŠ?â
âWhat?â
âHow do you know itâs not swelling?â you ask, scrutinizing him. âYou barely looked. Didnât even check it properly.â
âJust⊠a hunch, I meanââ His mouth opens, then closes, and then opens again with a whole new sentence. âLook, I didnât hear anything snap, so... unless your bones are stealthy...?â
âThatâs not exactly how ankles work.â
âI mean, you havenât turned purple. That has to be a good sign.â He laughs, tight and awkward, and you snort despite yourself. His hand rakes through his hair. âSorry. Just trying to be optimistic.â
âYou sure you werenât a paramedic in a past life?â
âOh, no. Iâd be terrible at that.â
Still, you watch him a second longer. He looks... nervous, like heâs afraid he said too much.
He kneels with his back to you. âHere. Get on.â
âExcuse me?â
âPiggyback. Letâs not make it a thing.â
âItâs already a thing. A humiliating one.â
âLet me reframe it: this is me being chivalrous, and you being temporarily horizontal.â
âThat is not how that word works.â You sigh, dramatic. âFine. Just⊠please, donât drop me.â
As you climb onto his back, his hands reach back to catch the backs of your knees, and when his palms find skinâwarm where your skirtâs ridden up slightlyâit short-circuits something in your chest. Itâs not even overtly intimate. Itâs just⊠contact. Unflinching contact. You feel it like a current, a hot spark that rushes up your spine and settles somewhere inconvenient.
âHave I already mentioned this is embarrassing?â you mutter, resting your chin lightly against his shoulder.
âYou say that like Iâm not honored.â
âIâm a grown woman. Youâre carrying me like a backpack.â
âYou are basically a human backpack,â he quips back. âAnd kind of a noisy one.â
You smack his shoulder gently, making him laugh. You let your eyes drift closed for a second, his back is broad under your touch. You become aware of how safe it feels, how easy it is to trust him.
âClark?â
âHmm?â
âYou didnât even blink when I said I hurt my ankle. Like you already knew it wasnât serious.â
He pauses. âI had a feeling.â
You lean back slightly to see his face, though the angle mostly gives you a view of his glasses and the top of his cheekbone. âYouâre weird.â
Smirking, he glances sideways just enough for you to catch it. âTakes one to know one.â
You let it drop, at least out loud. But your brain doesnât. It files this away with the other strange Clark Kent momentsâthe way he sometimes seems to flinch at distant sirens, or how youâd swear he once turned around because someone two desks over whispered his name.
By the time you reach your apartment, your ankle has started throbbing again, a dull ache radiating up your calf. Clark shifts slightly to let you down as you fumble for your keys.
You arenât exactly drunk, but your head definitely feels funny. âHere we are,â he says, and you slid off his back and onto the ground like a sack of potatoes with a masterâs degree.
âThanks,â you mumble, trying to stand in a way that suggests grace and control. âYou can, um. You can go be normal now.â
He sticks his hands in his pockets. âI was normal before.â
âThatâs debatable.â You finally open the door, triumphant, but instead of going in, you linger in the doorway, facing him. âThanks for the rescue. Again. Iâll see you Monday?â
âYeah,â he says softly. âGoodnight.â
He doesnât move, and neither do you. Your fingers tighten around the doorknob.
Thereâs an unexpected pull in your chest. The way his collar is rumpled. The way his hair curls behind his ears. The way the night had been soft, and the sidewalk felt warmer when he walked beside you, andâ
An unbeatable desire to kiss him invades your whole being. You want to touch his jaw and feel the shape of his mouth and know what it would be like to exist under his hands. To be held by Clark Kent.
He finally steps back, appearing reluctant. âYou might want to put some ice on it. Maybe take something for the pain?â
âYes, sir.â
âAnd give me a call if it gets worse.â
âOnly if I want to be carried again.â
âHappy to oblige.â
And thenâfinallyâhe walks away. You close the door behind you, pressing your forehead to the wood, heart knocking hard against your ribs.
Youâre beyond head over heels.
Another Monday at the Daily Planet. Itâs 8:56am, and as the elevator doors open with a cruel little ding, you carefully step out, checking your surroundings.
Everything looks the sameâthe hum of all those computers, some colleague having a hard time with the copier, Perry barking out unintelligible orders in the distanceâbut you are not the same. Not since last Friday.
Your ankleâs still a little sore, you havenât been sleeping well, and Clark Kent could be somewhere in this building, existing like a real person with real hands and a real mouth you definitely didnât imagine kissing at least ten times this weekend.
You weave through desks, praying for invisibility, whenâ
âMorning, sunshine,â Jimmy sing-songs from his chair, already halfway through a bagel, a smile plastered on his face. âHowâs the foot?â
âClark told you,â you say flatly.
Jimmy gives you a look, his eyes going round with faux innocence. âWho, me? No! I just assumed you mysteriously developed a limp and Clark suddenly discovered how to piggyback people from years of quiet farm strength.â
âI cannot believe he told you.â
âOh, come on. Itâs adorable.â Jimmy leans back in his chair, using his feet to make it spin. âYou? Carried through the city like a Victorian maiden? I wish I had footage. Iâd set it to music.â
âI hate you.â
He stops spinning to point his bagel at you. âYou say that, but I think you secretly love being the main character.â
âDo I look like someone who enjoys attention?â
âNot attention in general. Just his.â
You donât dignify that with a response. Mostly because heâs not wrong, and your face is already betraying you. Sliding into your chair, you pretend to focus on your monitor like it contains NASA launch codes.
Maybe if you donât look up, youâll avoidâ
âMorning,â Clark says gently, materializing beside your desk. You look up, and there he is. Soft smile. Soft eyes. Probably soft everything.
You panic and blurt the most neutral, irrelevant thing your brain can conjure: âDid you see that viral video of the goose chasing the guy through Centennial Park?â
Clark blinks. âI havenât.â
âCrazy stuff. Natureâs relentless.â
â...Okay.â
You clear your throat, willing yourself not to combust.
âAnyway,â Clark continues with his inquiry, âI just wanted to check in. Howâs the ankle doing?â
âFine! Yep. Great. I can do five jumping jacks. Not that I have, but I could.â
He raises his eyebrows, visibly amused. âThatâs good to know.â
âCool,â you reply, cringing on the inside. âCool, cool, cool, cool.â
And then you both just stand there, marinating in awkward silence. Eventually, Clark raises a hand in greeting and excuses himself to his desk, not before placing your usual coffee next to your keyboard. You thank him without managing to meet his eyes.
Your fingers hover near the cup, though you donât pick it up right away. The warmth radiates against your skin. Youâre aware of everythingâyour pulse, your breath, the tight flutter in your chest.
You try to return to your work. Really, you do. Itâs just that your thoughts donât seem to line up in a straight line today, and somehow English doesnât even feel like your mother tongue anymore.
Then Jimmy slides a folder across your desk. âPerry wants you to proofread this by noon. No pressure. Except all the pressure.â
You sigh, taking a sip of coffee and trying to remember how to be a functioning adult. Youâve got a job to do, feelings to repress, and exactly three hours until lunch.
Later that day, after a full shift spent second-guessing every adjective you typed and rereading all those drafts like they were confessionals, you finally make it home.
Shoes abandoned by the door. Work shirt flung somewhere in your hallway. The glow of your laptop waits on the coffee table, your latest half-thought article still open, the cursor blinking, mercifully patient.
You settle into the couch with a sigh and think: this, at least, is something.
And thenâyou notice it. A crucial absence.
Your charger.
Still plugged in beneath your desk at the Daily Planet like itâs mocking you. Of course. Of course the universe wants you to suffer. As you reach for your phone, ready to spiral, it buzzes in your hand.
Jimmy Olsen.
You answer blandly. âIf this is about that goose video againââ
âRelax. Itâs not.â He speaks as if heâs chewing something. âAlthough, side note, thereâs a new edit where the goose honks to the beat of Eye of the Tiger andâanyway. Thatâs not why Iâm calling.â
âThen what, Jimmy?â You drag a hand down your face, dreading every second of the call.
âYou left your charger hereââ
âDonât even get me started on that.â
ââbut I already gave it to Clark.â
Silence. Heavy, jagged silence.
âYou what?â
âGave it to Clark. Figured he could drop it off, since he already knows where you live.â He pauses, then adds, in the worldâs most audible smirk: âWink wink.â
âYou didnât actually wink just now, did you?â
âOh, I did, physically. With both eyes.â
âJimmyââ
âYouâre welcome. He said he was heading that way anyway.â
The line clicks dead. You stare at your phone for a moment longer, and then, because thereâs nothing else to do, you stand.
You wander to the balcony, scanning the street in search of a man you know very well. Thereâs no way youâre mentally or emotionally prepared for this. Murmuring something unspeakable, you dart to the bathroom mirror. Itâs too late to fix anything. Nevertheless, you splash cold water on your face, wiping under your eyes and blinking at your reflection like thatâll make you look alive.
Three polite, measured taps on your door have you looking at the doorway with utter fear, and thatâs when you consider faking your death.
In the end, you open the door. Clarkâs wearing a big coat that makes his shoulders look broader than human decency allows, holding your charger like itâs something precious.
âHey. Delivery service. Courtesy of Jimmy Olsen.â
You draw in a long breath. âThank you. IâIâm sorry you had to do that. He really didnât need to drag you intoââ
He shakes his head before you get to say more. âItâs no trouble. I was happy to.â
You step back, thumb tapping the edge of the door. âDo you wanna come in for a minute? I mean, you donât have to. Obviously. But if you want water orâtea? Bad tea. Thatâs all Iâve got.â
He smiles, stepping inside as if he were trying not to track in mud. âWaterâs perfect. Thanks.â
You leave him in the living room while you hunt down a clean glass, and as you pour, you curse yourself for the mess of dirty dishes on the counter. Once you come back, heâs not moving. Just standing by the couch, staring. At your laptop.
âI didnât mean to meddle in your stuff,â he says gently. âBut⊠were you writing something?â
You make your way around the couch. âOh. Yeah. No. Itâs nothing.â
He sits after getting rid of his coat, seemingly not believing your words. âCan I ask what itâs about?â
Placing the glass on top of the table, you take a seat beside him, your knees folding under you, fingers worrying at the seam of your pants. âItâs kind of dumb.â
âI doubt that.â
âItâs justâsomething I started on Saturday night. I donât know. Itâs not an article, really. Not for the paper. Just⊠thoughts. About Superman. Or not him exactly. More about what he means to people.â
He says nothing. So you keep going.
âI guess Iâve been thinking about why people need something to believe in. Like a⊠structure. A symbol. Something to hang all their hope on. And for some people, thatâs Superman, even if heâs flawed. He gives people permission to believe the world isnât doomed.â
You pause. âAnd Perry would throw it in the trash if he ever came across it,â you add, bitterly. âSo. Doesnât matter.â
Clarkâs gdoesnât tear his gaze away from you. âIâd like to read it.â
You blink. âWhat?â
âIf youâre okay with it,â he says, nodding toward the laptop. âIâd really like to.â
Hesitating for a second longer, you eventually slide the laptop in his direction. He adjusts on the couch as he leans forward, careful with the device, treating it as something delicate.
âBrace yourself for excessive metaphors.â
âOh, I love metaphors. The more excessive, the better.â
And so he begins to read.
You try not to stare. At him, at the screen, at anything. You focus on the ticking of a clock you didnât even know had batteries, wondering if Clark will also think that what you wrote is too silly. Too emotional or abstract. Perhaps he'll want to know why you were writing about Superman in the first place.
Thereâs a sudden shift in his demeanor. Itâs subtle, barely anything. His shoulders drop a fraction, and when you take in the full sight of him, heâs grinning, reading all the way through.
âThis is good,â he says, still concentrated on the screen. âReally good.â
âYou donât have to say that just to be nice.â
He shakes his head once, firm. âNoâI mean it. The structureâs clean. You build your argument gradually, but it doesnât drag. Your transitions are solid. And your toneââ He glares at you now. ââitâs vulnerable without tipping into sentimentality. Thereâs conviction in it, but you donât preach. It feels like a conversation.â
Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. âItâs not finished yet,â you manage eventually, voice tight. âI still have to go over the middle section. I think I wasnât that clear once I got into the part about collective memoryââ
âEven so. Youâre onto something. If you let me, Iâd love to help you get it in front of Perry.â
Your eyes bore into his, edging closer to where heâs located. He looks entirely sincere. A sharp pressure envelops your chest, and you want to thank him for his kindness, but what comes out instead is a hoarse: âReally?â
âReally. We could try and talk to him one of these days.â
Before you can stop yourself, you lean in and hug him.
You donât even think about itâyour body just does it, and then youâre flushed against him, arms around his neck, your face tucked against the warm fabric of his coat. He smells like paper and some brand of laundry detergent you donât recognize.
He hugs you back, and itâs not one of those loose, polite things. His arm curves around you like he means it. You close your eyes, just for a second, just long enough to remember what it feels like to be held like that.
âI keep doing this,â you utter, voice hushed by how near he is. âRandomly hugging you.â
âI donât mind it. Not at all.â
When you pull back, youâre still half in his space, breathing a little faster than usual. The relief is short-lived.
You ask for the antidote to the ache that keeps you up at night, something to quiet the want that only he seems to understand. âCan you please do it?â
âDo what?â
Does he want you to say it?
You stare at him, and something in your stomach dives. âPlease, kiss me,â you plead, your voice barely rising above the hush of breath between you, and yet it seems to echo in the small apartment. Your cheeks feel burning hot, but you donât, canât, wonât look away. Not now. Not with him so close youâre convinced your skin might start fusing with his.
That seems to shake something in him. It might be the first time youâve seen him truly stunned. His lips part slightly, eyes flicking from yours to your mouth, trying to make sense of the fact that this is real. That you want this from him.
One hand lifts reverently and settles along your jaw. The pads of his fingers cradle the hinge of it like youâre beyond fragile, afraid of pressing too hard. His thumb barely skims the corner of your mouth, and you perceive a jolt going down your spine.
His touch is featherlight, but his breathing is not. Itâs affected, perhaps as much as yours. âYou really want me to?â
You nod. Or try to. It comes out more like an eager lean into his palm, your body already answering before your mouth does. Itâs been too long since youâve been touched this way, like you mattered.
Your thighs press against his, knees brushing the outside of his, as if you were nearly straddling him. When your hands move instinctively to his chest, you see it: the first button of his shirt undone. The faint rise and fall beneath it.
You glance up, asking without words. He doesnât back away, and you press your fingertips lightly there. His pale skin feels smooth to the touch, and his heartbeat flutters beneath your fingertips, stuttering out of rhythm.
He wants this as much as you do. The human body doesnât lie. It canât. It doesnât pretend to want something it doesnât crave.
âI do,â you insist, the words catching faintly at the back of your throat, transfixed in a whirlwind of emotion. âI need you to do it.â
A shallow breath leaves him. Thereâs a thin, glowing ring of blue circling his pupils, his gaze so dark it nearly swallows the light. His other hand slides around to the nape of your neck, achingly gentle.
Clark pulls you in, and his lips meet yours.
At first, itâs a series of tender collisions, just the press and lift of mouths, as if heâs testing the shape of you against him, trying to memorize it in pieces. One kiss. Another. And another. They donât last long because they donât need to.
Itâs when you tilt your head and open your mouth to him that he gives in. Thatâs all it takes.
He deepens the kiss instantly, as if heâs been waiting for that signal all along. His mouth claims yours with an urgency that feels both new and inevitable. His lips are plush, cool with mint, probably the vague trace of chewing gum still clinging from earlier.
Your hands fist the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline, his glasses knocking into your nose once, twice. Your body shifts, and then youâre fully perched in his lap, thighs spread over his. His arms adjust around your waist, steadying you there, holding you like he canât bear the idea of you leaving. One of his hands slides to your lower back, while the other, still at your neck, traces along your jaw, then behind your ear, fingers tangled in your hair.
Sighing into him, your breath gets caught in the cavern of his mouth. The world gets smaller, somehow quieter. Just the sound of his breath mixing with yours, the thud of your pulse in your ears, the heat pooling between you like a live wire.
And even through it, he never stops being gentle. He doesnât rush it. Doesnât push too hard, though his body trembles beneath you every time he elicits a new sound out of you.
At some point, your lungs scream for oxygen, having grown unaccustomed to the sheer indulgence of kissing for several uninterrupted minutes. You pull back only enough to press your forehead to his, gasping his name. Youâre kissed raw, lit from the inside out, and the only thing anchoring you is the reassuring pressure of his arms, still wrapped around your frame.
Your lips linger over his, and when you open your eyes, you find his still closed. Neither of you speaks for a moment. His thumb traces a distracted path across your lower back.
Then:
âYou should start forgetting your charger more often,â he murmurs, voice a little raspy.
That alone has you focusing on evening out the creases of his shirt with your palm, mostly to avoid combusting. âI swear it wasnât on purpose.â His finger gently lifts your chin, coaxing you to meet his gaze. The quiet ache of tenderness in his eyes nearly does you in. âHey.â
âHey.â
The words youâve been actively trying to cage in for months fall out of your mouth without permission, but you donât regret them. âI like you.â
He gathers you tighter against his chest. âWell, I canât say Iâm not flattered,â he says, teasing, that crooked half-smile already returning. A laugh bubbles out of himâbut itâs giddy, boyish. You cut him off by covering his mouth with your palm.
âDonât make fun of me. Iâm trying to have a moment here.â
He gently peels your hand away, lacing your fingers with his instead, and brings them to rest against his chest. âIâve probably been dreaming about this since your first week at the office,â he admits.
You glance up and notice his glasses have slipped down the bridge of his nose. Carefully, you push them back up with a fingertip. âI was always looking at you, you know,â you confess, quieter now. âCouldnât help it.â
âYou talk like I didnât bring you coffee on your second day,â he teases, brushing his nose against yours. Leaning back just enough to take you in, his eyes sweep slowly across your face. âI havenât been able to stop thinking about you.â
The words melt straight into your spine, and before you can think better of it, you surge forward and kiss him again. He meets you without hesitation, and when you break away, you leave a trail of humid kisses across his cheeks, down the line of his jaw, until your mouth finds the curve of his neck.
âI think my kissing might be a little rusty,â you croak into his skin. âCould probably use some improvement.â
âYouâre kidding? It was fantastic. What are youâoh.â A beat. Then: âOh. Sure.â Heâs grinning like an idiot now, draping an arm around your waist. âI mean, I can help you with that. Practice makes perfect.â
âHow noble of you, Kent.â
Your first kiss (kisses, pluralâyou lost count around the third) marks a shift in the fabric of everything. Youâd seen it coming, even gave yourself a pep talk in the mirror that morning.
But then Clark sets a coffee on your desk, just as he always does, and says, âHope you have a really good day today,â and suddenly your pep talk is useless. Youâre smiling like someone who knows something others donât. Because you do.
Together, you find a rhythm. You donât talk about what this isâyetâbut somethingâs shifted. No overt PDA. Not even flirtation, not really. Just⊠little things. Things that no one else clocks. The way he passes you a folder with an unnecessary brush of fingers. The way he saves you a chair in meetings and pulls it subtly closer to his, so that your knees bump under the table.
Itâs the kind of thing that would be completely invisible to anyone else, but to you, itâs everything. Itâs a love letter made of glances and millimeters, what you replay at night before bed, giggling at your ceiling like a fool.
Weeks pass in a blur of late nights and whispered conversations in elevators, and work has never been this motivating. Even Perry has stopped looking at you like youâre one bad coffee spill away from being escorted out by security.
One of Clarkâs articles makes the front pageâagainâand when Jimmy sees it, he promptly rolls up the newspaper and smacks Clark in the arm with it. âAlright, headline hero. At this point, youâre just showing off.â
Clark ducks his head with a laugh, caught mid-fumble with his bag, a coffee, and what looks like three different folders sliding out from under his arm. You want to help him, but instead you just stand at your desk, watching like an idiot, warm with the kind of affection that makes your hands feel too light.
Lois arrives like sheâs been summoned by sarcasm. She chews the end of a pen and corners Clark against his desk, watching him try to stack his chaos. âYou know, Kent, I find it fascinating. You always seem to be conveniently nearby when Supermanâs handing out interviews like candy on Halloween.â
He doesnât look up, adjusting his monitor as if that could save him. âWhat can I say? Maybe Iâm his type. We havenât kissed yet, if thatâs what youâre wondering.â
She narrows her eyes. âDonât try to be clever with me. What do you give him? Why does he only let you interview him?â
âHave you considered he just⊠likes my writing?â
âSo now youâre accusing him of bad taste?â
Jimmy slides into frame, palms raised. âOkay, okay. Timeâs up, guys.â He puts both hands on Loisâs shoulders with exaggerated care. âYou, my friend, are tense. Breathe. Maybe try yoga. Or tequila.â
Blowing air through her cheeks, she finally peels away, muttering, âI just wish Superman would leave his favoritism aside.â Before heading to her desk, she gives Clark one final, mysterious look.
Jimmy drops into his own chair dramatically, putting his feet over his desk. âWell, at least I tried.â
The day presses on. When lunch rolls around, youâre still grinning. You spot Clark at his desk, half-eaten sandwich in one hand, the other scrolling through something on his monitor, glasses barely askew. You approach with your hands clasped behind your back, adopting a mock-serious tone.
âMr. Kent.â
His eyes flick up, and he swallows a bite too quickly. âOh. Hi. To what do I owe the pleasure?â
You tilt your chin toward the newspaper near his bag. âJust wanted to congratulate you on the article.â
He lowers his voice until itâs almost inaudible, cheeks going faintly pink. âThank you, baby. I would've hugged you the second I saw it, but, you knowâŠâ
âTo celebrate⊠I was thinking dinner? I could make homemade pasta.â
âGosh, Iâd love that. Your place?â
âYeah.â
âI wish I could kiss you right now,â he murmurs, gaze soft and so full of feelings it nearly unmoors you. âYou look beautiful today.â
It hits you in the ribs, the way he says it. You offer him your fist. âFist punch?â
His smile is half laughter, half reverence. He bumps your knuckles with his own, his fingers linger a beat longer than necessary.
As night folds in around your apartment, youâve been stirring the sauce for the past twenty minutes, though itâs been done for at least ten. The smell of garlic and basil lingers in the air, the wine is uncorked, and the candles you litâjust two, nothing too obviousâare dripping lazy wax trails down their sides and onto the counter.
Your phone buzzes where itâs propped upright beside the sink.
Clark: Hey, Iâm so sorry. Something came up. Can we rain check dinner? Promise Iâll make it up to you.
You just stand there, wooden spoon in hand. No call or explanation. Just the same vague apology he's given you three times now, each time with a different flavor of excuse. Each time with the same effect: you, left waiting with something you didnât mean to take so personally.
Thereâs an answer teetering on the edge of your tongue. You even type, Itâs alright! :-), with the smiley face and all, mostly to seem breezy. Effortless. But your thumb pauses, then backspaces slowly until the message disappears, and you leave him on read. Not as a form of punishment, but because you donât know what else to reply.
You try to be patient. Try to be the kind of person who shrugs things off, who doesnât take a rain check as anything more than bad timing. The problemâs that youâre not wired that way: you feel too much. You think too much.
Turns out, keeping your brain from imploding is the hardest part. Youâve even been practicing it lately, this thing of not jumping to the worst-case scenario. Telling yourself not everything is a sign, and that people get busy and have lives.
The thingâs that your brain has a voice of its own. A mean one, which sounds an awfully lot like yours.
Maybe he kissed you because he felt like he had to.
Maybe he doesnât know how to say it, but heâs changed his mind.
Maybe he never wanted something serious, and youâre the only one building stories out of crumbs.
Dragging your feet back to the living room, you sit down in the nice pair of clothes youâd chosen for the occasion, and blink at the empty coffee table. As your body sinks into the couch cushions, the fatigue of disappointment sinks deeper than any full day at the Daily Planet. The TV throws shadows on the walls, some sitcom playing to an invisible audience.
And when your eyes finally close, you let sleep take the shape of mercy.
The pasta incident, when the spaghetti went cold and your heart even colder, wasnât the last time he left you waiting.
Almost two weeks later, it plays out again.
The door clicks open an hour and a half past when he said heâd be here. You donât greet him. Instead, you remain in the kitchen, back precisely angled away from the entrance, pretending to be focused on dinner even though itâs gone cold.
Clarkâs footsteps are calculated, a careful shuffle across the living room carpet, testing the silence. He pauses just inside the kitchen's threshold. âHey, honey,â he says, a little too bright, a little too loud, his greeting threading through the stillness. âSorry Iâm late. There was something I had to take care of.â
You crane your neck slowly. His hair is damp, curling at the edges, exactly as it does after sweating. His shirt is inside out, rumpled, the collar a crumpled mess. His cheeks are flushed, a deep, uneven red, and his chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths, as if he sprinted the last few blocks. He looks utterly disheveled.
You donât ask where heâs been. Not yet. âYour shirt's backwards,â you retort instead, the words flat, neutral.
Startled, he bows his head, looking down and letting out a short, forced puff of air as he rubs the back of his neck. âMy bad. I didnât even notice.â His eyes, meeting yours, hold a flicker of surprise, quickly veiled.
âYeah. You seem⊠in a rush.â
He doesnât contradict you, just watches, completely tongue-tied, his posture subtly tightening. You drop your gaze back to the casserole dishâstuffed eggplants, roasted earlier in the dayâand put it back into the oven, hoping itâll survive the fifth reheat of the night.
Behind you, you feel him inch closer. A familiar warmth spreads across your back as his body presses gently against yours. His arms wrap around your waist, his hands resting lightly on your stomach, chin settling onto your shoulder while he brushes his lips against your cheek. âYouâre quiet.â
You lift your shoulder in a half-shrug. âAnd youâre late.â
His hold around you tightens, rocking both your bodies back and forth before spinning you around to face him. His eyes, filled with longing, seek yours. âI missed you.â
If only that could be enough. You wish you could live off the sound of his voice and the weight of his hands on your body, letting his presence fill all the empty spaces, though you canât help craving the one thing he wonât grant you: clarity.
Clark kisses you hungrily, a low, frustrated sound catching in his throat the moment you open to him, your tongue clashing with his. His cold hands glide up your back, slipping beneath your shirt to find bare skin, and you gasp as his fingers knead your lower back, the swift curve of your spine.
In one seamless motion, he lifts you onto the counter, and the kiss evolves into one heated and consuming, more of a desperate embrace. It's almost like heâs trying to make up for every second heâs missed, every moment of absence now erased by the force of his presence. Your fingers tangle in the damp hair at his nape, giving it a firm tug. That has him groaning against you, stepping further in between your knees, pressing flush against you.
His kisses deviate, trailing south, turning sloppy. "Itâs been two months since our first kiss," he rasps against your throat, lips dragging over your damp skin, leaving open-mouthed kisses and a trail of heat.
For a moment, you let yourself vanish into him, surrendering to the overwhelming sensation, the promise of fleeting oblivion. You swallow hard, a whine bubbling up in your chest as his hips grind into yours with rhythmic pressure.
A sharp sizzle coming from the oven cuts through the haze.
You stiffen, hands finding his chest, pushing against him, breathless. "The eggplants."
He lets out a dazed breath, his forehead still resting against your clavicles before you manage to slide off the counter. You crack open the oven just in time, a cloud of smoke puffing out.
Plating the food, you meticulously avoid his gaze. The comfortable intimacy of moments before has been shattered. âYou couldâve let me know youâd be arriving this late.â
âI told youââ
âI know,â you cut in. âSomething came up.â
He exhales, planting hands on his hips. His body remains a few feet from you, a physical barrier building. âOkay. So youâre mad.â
âIâm not mad.â
âDisappointed, then?â
âClark, itâs not even about tonight.â
âThen what is it about?â
You hesitate, picking up both your plates. Then: âWhere were you?â The silence that follows stretches too long, and he merely stands there, observing you âRight.â
âI donât want to fight.â
âIâm not fighting. Iâm just⊠tired.â
He takes a single step closer, his brow furrowed. âYou donât believe me.â
You glance at him, quietly. âShould I?â
That hits him like a slap. âI told you I liked you, that I care about you. About us. Iâve shown you that.â
âBut then you vanish,â you say in rejoinder, voice trembling. âYou show up looking like youâve just escaped a fire. You donât answer calls. You donât explain anything. Donât you think that drives me crazy?â
âIâve been telling youââ
âClark, itâs not about you saying it! Itâs about me believing it. And you donât exactly make that easy.â
âThe real problem here is that you donât trust me.â
âYou think I want to be like this? You think I like doubting people when theyâre kind to me? Well, Iâm sorry,â you snap, the words coated in sarcasm, a desperate defense. âWould you like me to book a therapy session mid-dessert?â
âMaybe you should,â he agreesâand the moment he does, his shoulders slump, a quiet wave of regret washing over his face.
Biting your tongue, you carry your plates to the table, placing them down on the wooden surface. He stays in the kitchen, breathing hard.
âIâm sorry,â he says again, softer now. âI justâ I donât know how to do this when you already assume Iâm going to leave.â
âIâm not assuming,â you say, barely a whisper, sitting down at the table. âIâm just preparing for what usually happens.â
âYouâre staring at me like Iâm about to vanish.â
You blink, wounded by his accuracy. âBecause people do. They do that.â
âIâm not people!â he exclaims, suddenly louder, cracking with what you perceive as frustration. His fists clench at his sides, knuckles white, though he remains rooted in place. "Iâm me. And Iâm standing right here, arenât I?"
âFor now. Who knows if something else will come up?â
Something cracks in him then. He exhales a sharp sound of utter defeat. His blue eyes dart around the kitchen, looking everywhere but at you, like he suddenly doesnât know where to put his hands. With a jerky motion, he turns abruptly and moves to the couch, grabbing his bag, and after a quiet clink, he places the set of keys you gave himâyour apartment keysâ on the table.
He doesn't look back at them. Or at you. âOkay,â he mutters under his breath. âOkay.â
âClarkââ you start, a desperate plea forming in your throat.
âThank you for the food,â he says, slinging the bag over his shoulder. âIâm sure itâs great.â
Then the door clicks again, and heâs gone.
The Daily Planet office, once a source of nervous excitement, now feels like the perfect stage for an excruciating play, where every creak of a chair, every muffled phone call, and every far-off laugh from the newsroom, feels amplified.
One day bleeds into the next. Two become three. Three into four. Time unspools in quiet, colorless strands, and you and Clark donât speak.
You develop a radar for him. The way his broad shoulders appear in the periphery of your vision when he walks past your desk. The clean scent that lingers for a moment too long in the air after heâs been near. The rustle of his coat, the click of his shoes.
Each tiny signal sends a fresh jolt through you, a cocktail of longing, hurt, and a futile sense of hope that he might just look at you differently.
He never does. His gaze, when it lands anywhere near your orbit, can be described as nothing more than fleeting. His profile, when you cast him a quick glance, is unreadable, stony. He still places your usual coffee beside your monitor. The one you havenât asked for. The one you donât touch.
Itâs the careful avoidance of two people who know too much about each other, and yet, not enough.
Jimmy, bless his usually boisterous heart, is the first to notice the shift. The absence of his jokes feels heavier than any of his previous teasing. He watches you some mornings when you walk inâdoes a quick, puzzled double takeâthen looks away with a frown youâre not supposed to catch.
Your new routine includes staying late at the newsroom. Not because youâre more productive, but because being alone in the office feels better than being alone in your apartment. You stare at the same document for hours while words blur and sentences unravel in front of you.
But when your mind finally stills, it drifts to the article. The one you wrote about Superman. The one Clark urged you to show Perry.
Youâd written it during a different time. A better one. It had come from a place of awe, from a belief that Superman was more than a shiny cape and strengthâthat he was what Metropolis aspired to be: a symbol of better days, of striving, of hope.
Now, hope feels like a language youâve forgotten how to speak.
Today, you donât believe in hope. You believe in a man who held you like he meant it, once, and canât meet your eyes now.
Nevertheless, you print the article, not really knowing why. Maybe because itâs the only thing in this building that still feels like it belongs to you.
Gathering the pages, you breathe in, hold it, let it out. Outside Perryâs office, you linger for a full minute before knocking.
His office is its usual chaos: tottering stacks of newspapers, coffee cups in varying states of decay, and the smell of old cigar smoke clinging to the walls like wallpaper.
âWell, donât just stand there,â he grunts. âWhatâve you got?â
You step inside slowly, article in hand, your grip faltering slightly as you set it down on his desk. âI know this isnât what I was assigned, but Iâve been⊠working on something for the past weeks.â
He squints at you. âYou been using our electricity for your side projects?â
âNo! IâI wrote it at home. I swear.â
He huffs, puts on his reading glasses, and begins scanning the first page. You try not to stare at him, but itâs impossible. Your eyes cling to every twitch in his jaw, every slight narrowing of his eyes.
His face gives away nothing, and you brace for the worst. That itâs too sentimental. Too soft. Too young.
Finally, he leans back, lifting his chin and pinning you with a piercing look. âDo you like it?â
You blink owlishly. âWhy are you asking me?â
âBecause I want to know.â
âItâs not up to me,â you deflect. âYouâre the one who decides if it runs.â
âI know that. But you wouldnât bring me something you didnât believe in. So Iâll ask again: are you proud of it? Do you think it belongs in the columns of this paper?â
For a moment, your throat closes up. You hadnât realized how deeply youâd buried your own opinion. Youâd been so focused on disappearing, on not making noise, not taking up spaceâespecially this weekâthat you forgot to consider what you thought of your own work.
Perryâs looking at you like heâs not going to breathe until you answer.
So you speak, nodding in agreement, and right after adding, âI believe people will find it comforting.â
âThen you know what comes next.â
Your confidence may not be at its best, neither is your hope, but this is enough. At least to keep writing, to walk back to your desk.
Itâs enough to make it to tomorrow.
Sleep wonât come.
Youâve tried everything: writing until your hand cramped, scrolling endlessly, even lying on the floor like a starfish, begging the ceiling to knock you out. Meditation felt like self-punishment tonight. Silence only made the memories louder.
So you call him. Once, twice, but youâre met with nothing else than his voicemail. You donât leave a message. What would you even say? Hi, I know you said you cared about me and then walked out of my apartment looking like you were breaking from the inside out, but I miss you and I canât breathe right now, and can you please justâ
You decide to hang up, tossing your phone onto the couch and flicking on the television. Static. Infomercials. Cartoons. Some old film from the 1940s.
And thenâLois Laneâs voice. The screen flickers to life, showing a live, chaotic feed. A shaky handheld shot from a rooftop shows a scene near Metropolis General Hospital. A glowing creature, a blur of silver and blue and fury, throws what looks like an empty city bus like itâs paper. A streetlamp explodes and sirens scream in the distance.
It all makes you wonder where Superman is.
Heâs not flying in for a rescue, not beaming reassuring smiles, not waving at kids from the sky. Heâs in the dirt, bloodied at the temple, gritting his teeth as he lifts a half-crushed ambulance off the street.
You sit up straight, your heart climbing to your throat.
Loisâs voice crackles through the footage: ââbeen a difficult few weeks for Metropolisâs hero. Fans online have pointed out the change in his demeanor: less smiling, more⊠focused. Almost withdrawn. Weâve reached out to the authoritiesââ
Itâs physically impossible for you to hear the rest because youâre entranced watching him. Heâs moving like someone who hasnât slept in days. Fighting like he doesnât care if he gets hurt.
You canât look away.
The camera pans wildly as Superman lunges forward, slamming his shoulder into the creatureâs ribs with a sound that resembles crumbling concrete. Thereâs a fresh gash across his cheekbone, his hair disheveled, not in the windswept, magazine-cover kind of way, but genuinely messy: flattened in places, curling in others, soaked with sweat.
For the first time, youâre not watching Superman. Youâre watching someone else. Someone who looks likeâ
No. No, that would be insane. The idea is so preposterous, your mind rejects it, but the seed of recognition has been planted. It can't be. Not him.
Once again, Loisâs voice cuts through the footage, her tone sharper now, edged with that reporterâs concern she usually hides under cool professionalism.
âSuperman was spotted fighting alone for nearly half an hour before backup arrived. And while officials say the Justice Gang is expected to contain the situation soon, many are asking the same question: what happens when Superman is no longer invincible? What happens when he burns out?â
Staring at the screen, you contemplate his eyes flickering up for a secondâjust a secondâlike heâs heard something above the noise. And theyâre blue. The exact kind of blue thatâs filled your mornings for the last three months.
Your breath stutters. The camera angle shifts. This time, it shows his jaw flexing as he takes another hit, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand.
Youâve seen that gesture. Too many times. âNo,â you whisper out loud. âNo, thatâs not possible.â
Youâre already moving, with your heart in your mouth. You donât even know what youâre reaching for at first, until your hand brushes something at the back of the drawer beneath your TV. Itâs a pair of old prescription glasses you never quite got used to, the ones you always said gave you headaches.
Holding them up, you hover them in front of the TV, and your world rearranges itself.
There he is.
Clark.
Clark, with that same square jaw, that same tilt of his mouth when heâs gritting through something.
Clark, who stammers when heâs nervous, who brings you coffee even when you wonât drink it.
Clark, whose shoulders you could rest your whole weight onânot only because heâs strong, but because heâs been carrying the sky for so long and somehow still made room for you.
Clark, who sat next to you on the stairwell that day when you felt like quitting.
Clark, whose kindness never felt performative, who looked at you like you were worth listening to even when you were barely making sense.
Clark, who vanishes into smoke and ash and headlines. Who leaves through the fire escape and returns hours later. Who smiled at you across the office like it meant something, and maybe it did, maybe it always didâbut now you know the cost of that smile.
If you lower the glasses, heâs Superman again.
If you lift them⊠itâs the Clark you know.
Theyâre the same man. Two halves of a single truth.
âOh my God,â you whisper again, this time not out of disbelief, but something much deeper. Something hollow and shattering.
Loisâs voice keeps going, but itâs background noise now, a murmur beneath the ringing in your ears.
You sit back on the couch, eyes locked on the screen, heart thudding like a trapped bird. Every memory starts to rearrange itself, clicking into a terrifying, undeniable pattern. His sudden disappearances. The uncanny way he knew you werenât hurt that night at the bar. The tension in his voice each time he apologized for being late. The way heâd always kiss you like it was the last time heâd ever get to.
The truth has slipped through a crack you never saw until now, and thereâs no unseeing it. He was lying to you, but not in a cruel way. He was just trying to protect you.
The monster finally goes down in a shuddering collapse of concrete and bone. The camera shakes violently, jolting as dust swallows the scene, and then steadies just in time to catch Supermanâor Clarkâlanding hard on one knee.
Green Lantern, Mr Terrific and Hawkgirl all converge around him, bruised and dust-streaked, checking in on each other. But your eyes wonât leave his face. Thereâs a scratch across his brow along with many others. His mouth twitches into a faint smile as the crowd outside the hospital begins to clap, nodding at them. He doesnât need to say anything, at least not right now.
For one suspended second, his gaze falls directly into the camera lens, and itâs not the kind of look meant for press or headlines or statues carved in his honor. Itâs private, and heavy, and it feels like heâs looking straight into your apartment, straight through the screen.
Straight through you.
Loisâs voice snaps back into focus: âMetropolis, you can rest easy tonight. For now, Superman and the Justice League have subdued the threat.â
You press a hand to your mouth, the glow from the television casting his silhouette across your walls, larger than life, yet so impossibly familiar now it almost hurts to look.
He steps away from the others. Sirens flash red against his suit, casting ripples of color through the smoke. A few children break from the crowd, darting past yellow caution tape, their small arms wrapping around his legs in awe-struck gratitude. He kneels momentarily, accepting their hugs with the kind of gentleness that breaks you open.
You canât hear what he says to them, but it softens their faces. One of them gives him a flower. Another just holds his hand.
Then, without fanfare, he lifts off the ground, launching himself into the sky. The wind kicks up rubble, camera crews duck, the picture shakes, and he vanishes into the sky like he was never really there.
Gone.
You stare at the empty space he left behind on the screen, breath snagged in your lungs.
âWhere are you going?â you mumble, reaching for the screen. âWhere are youââ
The muted clatter of ceramic on concrete interrupts your rambling.
Slowly, you turn your head to your balcony, afraid of what youâll find. Out past your window, a potted lavender plant lies cracked and wilting. Clarkâs standing there, just outside the glass. âIâm sorry,â he says, voice muffled, wincing is he gestures to the shattered pot at his feet. âI didnât calculate the landing right.â
Rooted to the floor, as if your feet have been sealed to the carpet, you stare at him through the glass as if heâs a hologram. A turbulent mixture of strange feelings clashes inside you, and you fight them back, stepping to the side as you open the window. His boots scuff against the floorboards, dragging slightly as he steps inside
At first, he canât seem to bring himself to look at you directly. He paces around the living room, running his hands through his hair, sighing like someone whoâs rehearsed this moment a thousand times and still doesnât know where to begin.
âClarkââ
âThis is why I disappear all the time,â he blurts, abruptly stopping in front of the television. âWhy I cancel our plans. Why I show up late, or leave before Iâm supposed to, or text you lame excuses like âSorry, got held upâ when Iâm halfway across the planet.â
Itâs hard to make the connection. The leap between the man who fumbles with his tie and tells bad puns over takeout, and the mythological figure on screen who bends steel and outruns storms, whose every move seems broadcast across the globe.
Theyâre two versions of a whole you never imagined could overlap. And yet⊠it makes sense, somehow. Of course Clark would be Superman. A man so genuine, so generous, who expects for nothing and finds the way to see beauty in rusted scraps and broken thingsâwho better to carry the weight of hope?
âI shouldâve told you sooner. God, I meant to. I wanted to, I swear. I was going to, that night after I read your article. You were sitting there, talking about Superman like he was some kind of miracle and I justââ He breaks off, shaking his head. âIt got too easy to pretend I could have both. Be with you. Protect you. Keep it all going without having to risk what we had.â
Interrupting him now would feel like an act of pure cruelty. You see the disoriented anguish in his gaze, the way his fists clench and unclench with each passing second, how desperately he seems to need to unburden himself.
You wonder what wouldâve happened if, instead of crashing onto your balcony and shattering a pot in the process, he had simply returned to his own apartment. Would the love you hold for him feel so present in any other scenario?
âI know this is a lot to process, but I came to understand something about you.â His voice holds such certainty it frightens you, because lately it feels like everyone else can decipher whatâs happening to you except for yourself. âYou think youâre just this temporary thing, because you donât see yourself the way I do. Thatâs why youâre always bracing for things to fall apart.â
You want to explain yourself, to give a reason for your not-at-all-desirable behavior, but you realize you canât in this moment. Not when honesty radiates from him like heat.
In the blink of an eye, heâs holding your hands in his, his grip gentle yet firm, and he brings them to his lips to press a short, tender kiss to the back of them.
âI canât seem to make sense of it. Iâve tried. But itâs been impossible for me to find a single reason why you should believe that about yourself.â You brush a tentative finger along his injured cheekbone, stopping just before you swipe dried blood, though he still offers a soft smile. His gaze is so profoundly tender you wonder if this is the first time you're truly contemplating the depth behind them. âIâm in love with you. And if I could show you your reflection through my eyes for one day, youâd understand why youâre the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing before I fall asleep.â
You never thought this type of experience could be granted to you. The belief that such moments were reserved for certain people feels now demystified. Perhaps no other moment in your life couldâve prepared you for this.
Of all the unrealistic scenarios you'd concocted over the years, mostly in your adolescence, when fantasies of a pure and overwhelming love did nothing but numb you, you never wouldâve imagined someone would love you in this way, declaring their love for you so sincerely.
The need to get rid of the blood on his face gnaws at you, and you find yourself gently tugging him towards the kitchen, neither of you saying a word. You search for a clean dishcloth in some forgotten drawer, holding it under the faucet for a few seconds. Once itâs dampened, you press it softly against the bruised areas on his lip and cheek.
He tries not to move, placing both hands flat on the counter behind you, caging you with his whole frame. This scene reminds you of the last time you were both here, the day that marked two months of seeing each other.
A day to forget, actually, because it devolved into a complete disaster.
âI got used to living with this voice in my head that sabotages me. I donât know when it started. Part of me thinks itâs always been there. Sometimes itâs quieter. Other times, itâs so loud I canât think straight. But Iâve never been able to shut it up completely.â
You take a shaky breath, putting down the cloth once itâs no longer useful. Clark doesnât pull away, nor does he move closer. He remains right where he is, poised, his entire being waiting for what youâll say next.
âI never feel like I deserve the good stuff that happens to me. I wish I did. God, I do. Perry even said heâs publishing the article I wrote and I still have to convince myself heâs not just doing it out of pityââ
His eyebrows lift, and he canât help but cut you off. Waitâreally? Heâs publishing it?â A broad, genuine smile blooms on his face, almost illuminating the dimness of your apartment. âThatâs amazing!â
âThank you. I was planning on telling you, butâyou know.â Your gaze drifts to the symbol on his suit, and you trace it with a tentative finger, the synthetic material feeling utterly strange under your touch. âThe thing is I overthink everything. Always have. And I donât know if youâll think Iâm crazy or exhausting or whatever, but I canât control it. I wish I could. So every time you went away, when you started canceling plans or looking at me like you were somewhere else entirely, I got scared.â
So this is what it feels like to truly open your heart to another soul.
âI thought that voice was right, and that you were pulling away because you regretted it because youâd realized I wasnât worth the trouble. And maybe you just didnât know how to tell me, since we work together, and we share the same friends. Plus, things between us have beenââ Once again, your words tangle, and you internally blame the raw emotionality of the moment. âI canât get away from myself, Clark. But other people? They can walk away. And I thought thatâs what you were doing.
Thereâs a pause, and his advice seems to be: âDonât trust your brain.â
âWhat do you meanââ
âDonât believe everything it tells you. I mean it. If you need me to tell you I love you, I will. If you need me to tell you how beautiful and sweet you are, Iâll do that too, and happily. Because I want to help you. Itâs not like I can spare you from those thoughtsâbelieve me, I wouldâve if there were a way. The least I can do is make you realize that voice in your head isnât always right.â
Some things cannot be put into words, and you simply have to act in their name. You kiss him, your arms finding their way around his neck, pulling him as close as possible as you smile against his lips, trying not to generate any pressure where heâs hurt as you say, âShit, I love you so much.â
Itâs incredible how one can transition from immense sadness to something that must closely resemble the deepest tranquility ever known to humankind. He holds your face between his hands, his thumbs caressing your cheeks with such fondness it could make you sick. You donât know how someone can look so happy and so overwhelmed at once. âSay that again.â
âI love you.â
âAgain. Please.â
You kiss him between each word, letting them stretch longer and deeper until your mouths canât bear to part. âI. Love. You.â
He tilts your face toward his, his hand cradling the back of your head as if heâs afraid youâll float away. âPlease tell me your brainâs not saying anything right now.â
âItâs been surprisingly quiet.â
âThen letâs keep it that way.â
You make a strangled noise as the kiss turns fierce, not knowing exactly where to put your hands. Thereâs so much you want to do, so much of him you want to touch and skin to trace with your fingers. That simmering desire had grown between you both, never quite breaking through the surface. Not because you didnât one want it, but because you'd asked him to hold back.
Remember that tiny voice in your brain? The mean one? That one had told you several times that you had to wait a certain amount of time before sleeping with him. Because if you didnât, if you got too close too soon, he might realize he wasnât into you. Physically speaking. And you had done just that: waited.
But now, all patience shatters. Thereâs no room for cautious stretching of things anymore, not when the man you love, the one youâve been pining for months, stands before you
He doesnât get the hint when you kiss back or when your teeth nip at the skin of his throat, not until you take his hands, which are resting politely on your lower back, and push them lower, guiding them up to cup your ass through the layers of clothing.
You hear the way he breathes out, a grunt caught somewhere between surprise and shock, as you shift even closer and speak softly over his lips. âI want to do it. Tonight.â
âAre you sure? Because we could totallyââ
âClark, stop being such a gentleman.â You tug him toward the couch and fall back onto it, kicking your shoes off without grace or ceremony, your heart gallops with anticipation as you stretch out, swallowing hard.âIâd like you to touch me, then Iâd like to return the favor, and then I want you to fuck me. In that specific order,â you admit. So as not to lose the habit, you whisper the word that never fails to soften his expression: âPlease.â
You notice the impressive bulge straining at the front of his suit, and he nods his head in earnest, one of his large hands pushing your thighs open. âYeah. I can do that.â
Electricity now runs through your veins, each part of you igniting under his hands as he touches you. He doesnât rush. Doesnât rip your clothes off or fall into clichĂ©. He wants to take his time with you, grazing the soft curve where your neck meets your shoulder. As his hair slips through your fingers like silk, you clutch at him, sighing into his touch. Your eyes flutter open to ask him: âDoes the suit stay on?â
âWell, that depends,â he replies, lifting his head and meeting your wanting gaze. âDoes itâturn you on?â
A low fire spirals in the pit of your stomach, your chest heaving with a shaky inhale. âItâs certainly doing the job.â
âSo first you write about Superman like a professional journalistâŠâ he trails off, his palm smoothing his palm over your stomach to undo the button of your jeans with ease, lowering the zipper of your jeans millimeter by millimeter, â... and now you get wet for him?â
Wiggling your hips to help him peel off your pants more easily, you gape at the ceiling momentarily. âIâm sorry. Do my inappropriate thoughts bother him?â
âI actually believe heâd very pleased, to be fair,â he murmurs, settling on the couch beside you. His hand returns, slower this time, tracing over the cotton that clings to your heat. âYou see, heâs a simple man. Safe to say heâd really like you.â
Clark teases his thumb to your clit through the cotton and your back arches from the couch. âClark, Iââ
âIâll go slow.â He presses his lips against yours briefly, running the length of his nose along yours, your skin buzzing where it brushes his. âDo you trust me?â You nod, unable to speak, struggling to keep your eyes open. He presses against you again, this time with purpose. Slow, deliberate circles over your clit, his free hand curling around your waist to keep you steady as you writhe beneath him, holding you down to the earth. âThen relax. Iâve got you.â
You werenât a virgin, but heâs making you feel like one. Or maybe something even more tender than that, like youâre being touched properly for the first time in your life. Every graze of his fingers sends heat crawling under your skin, his ministrations alone having you whimpering into his neck, tugging at his hair.
âTake them off,â you beg, your hips bucking up to meet him, chasing his hand every time he attempts to pull away, needing more. Itâs more of an instinct at this point.
He doesnât make you ask twice, your underwear being gone in a flash and ending up dangling from one foot. He parts your folds, and you see his eyes darken with unfiltered awe, staring for a beat longer than expected. âJesus,â he mutters, almost to himself. âYouâre gorgeous
Clark spreads your slick across your swollen flesh, his long fingers reverent in their exploration, never faltering. When he circles your clit again, raw and bare now, you jolt, the pleasure pulsing bright and fast, like youâre going to blow up at any given moment.
He seems to enjoy watching you squirm, listening to the whimpers torn from your throat. âYouâve got no idea how hot you look right now,â he pants beside your ear, voice ragged and affected by the noises he keeps pulling out of you. His own hips grind lazily against your thigh, the pressure of his cock unmistakable, rock hard behind the fabric. âI want to see you come.â
âJustâkeep doing whatever youâre doing,â you gasp, clinging to his arm and biting back a moan when he kisses you languidly. A new wave of warmth runs under your skin, and you swear you can feel your blood rushing south. âClark, Iâmâdonât you dare stop.â
Your words spur him on, and he tightens the circles, faster now, his other hand closing around your inner thigh for leverage. That ache in your belly sharpens to a desperate pressure, and your whole body looms into him as if drawn to gravity itself.
âOh my GodâClarkââ You grip his shoulder, nails scrapping against the harsh material of his suit. Itâs too much and not enough, and every time he flicks just right, youâre launched impossibly higher. Youâre a panting mess, legs starting to tremble as pleasure coils tight in your gut.
âCome on, youâre almost there,â he encourages you, kissing your sweaty forehead. âYouâre doing so good. Let go, baby.â
You break. It starts at your core, deep and volcanic, spreading like a spark catching on dry leaves. Your thighs clamp around his hand, head thrown back as the orgasm ripples through you, crying out his name with a sound borderline raw and unrestrained. He doesn't stop until your hips stop jerking and your back settles against the couch again, twitching with aftershocks.
Youâre left gasping, eyes blurry, vision haloed in white. âIââ you try to speak, but your voice fails, coming out broken. Instead, you let out a sigh. âJesus.â
He presses a kiss to your shoulder, then slowly works his way up to your mouth. âI came as well. Mentally.â
A disbelieving laugh bubbles out of you, and you swat at his face, covering your eyes with your forearm. Youâre about to sit until you feel his breath ghost across your belly, shoving your shirt further up. You rake your hand through his fringe, brushing it back, hissing when his lips graze the patch of skin just above your clit. âAre youââ
âItâd be stupid not to take the opportunity.â He finds your legs and places them over his shoulders, effortlessly dragging your body to the edge of the couch, kneeling by the carpet and between your thighs, his large hands framing your hips.
Clark licks a broad stripe up your folds, collecting your arousal on his tongue, and you cry out, shoulders slumping forward from the overstimulation, still sensitive from your first orgasm. Yet he peers up at you with feigned innocence, kneading the flesh of your thighs. âI can stop if you want me to,â he says, a husky edge to his usual tone.
âDonât want you to,â you purr, guiding his mouth to where you need him the most. âMake me feel good.â
Devotedly, devastatingly even, he takes your words to heart, lapping at your clit with careful, coaxing pressure, sometimes flicking with the pointed tip of his tongue, sometimes flattening it to trace languid strokes. He groans at the taste of you, sinking a finger into your heat and making you clench instinctively around the intrusion.
âItâs tight in here,â he ponders aloud, not sparing you a single glance, much more preoccupied with the way youâre squeezing him. âWeâll have to see if Iâll fit.â
You mean to laugh, but it comes out as more of a sob the moment he adds another finger to the equation, and you can hear every single squelching sound your cunt makes in response to his movements.
âGod, it feelsââ Your voice cracks as his lips seal over your clit again, drawing firm circles around it, the pacing of his digits inside you forcing you to alternate your attention. âSo good, Clark. Youâre being so good to me.â
Itâs not that youâre just saying these things out of pocket. Youâve noticed he likes it, likes being praised. Not only in this context, where he has his head buried between your legs, but it usually happened whenever he did something right, and you would be there, praising him, telling him heâd done a great job.
His pupils would dilate a little, and heâd always shut you up with a kiss, but he canât right now. He seems to be destined to hear and acknowledge your words, nearly rutting into the edge of the couch the more you say. His desperation sets something alight in you, and it only makes you want to explore that side of him even more.
âIf you make me come again, Iâll suck your cock,â you mumble, dragging your nails lightly along his scalp. You donât miss how his shoulders stiffen through the suit, and he pushes his face deeper into your core. âI canât wait to have you in my mouth,â you add, smiling through the haze.
âWhatâs got you this chatty, huh?â He pumps his fingers deeper, faster, a relentless rhythm designed to shatter your composure. His teeth scrape along the inside of your right thigh, seemingly enjoying the noise that reverberates in your chest as he bites gently on it. âYou have Superman right here with you and all you do is talk.â
Three of Clarkâs fingers stretch you out and you canât no longer think straight. Neither can you breathe, having utterly forgotten how consonants and vowels combine to form words.
This, it seems, is precisely what he intended: to have you reduced to a writhing, desperate mess that canât stop mewling his name over and over. The questions, the teasing, all of it is obliterated by the rising tide of pure sensation as your world narrows to his touch and everything it means.
When you tell him youâre close, the ache coiling tight in your belly for the second time in the night, every nerve in your body lights up. Heâs a man on a quest, who whimpers in unison with you the more your breath staggers.
He asks you to come on his tongue, because he wants to know exactly what it tastes like. Because he simply must. Heâs been fantasizing about this, he confesses, about touching himself thinking of you, about how soft your skin looked in your work clothes, aboutâ
Your orgasm tears through you, fast and overwhelming, and you cling to his shoulders, riding out the tremors. His fingers remain deep inside you, and he curves them to hit that sweet spot one last time before you tell him itâs too much. His hair is mussed where your fingers yanked it, his chin glistening with your essence, and you tug him closer to kiss him, tasting yourself in the aftermath.
Somehow, without even breaking the kiss, he manages to peel the suit from his body, letting it fall in a heap beside your shoes on the floor. All thatâs left is the snug fabric of his underwear, and the sight of him nearly steals the breath from your lungs.
You trail a hand down his abdomen, fingertips brushing along the faint trail of hair beneath his navel until they meet the solid outline of his cock. You palm him softly through the fabric, feeling the twitch of need under your touch.
Now that heâs bare before you, no more slouchy coats hiding him away, you take in the rest of him. The defined lines of his chest, the softness at his waist, the tension coiled in his thighs. It takes everything in you not to outright stare, not to drool, although your mouth waters anyway.
By the time heâs lying back on the couch, youâve taken his place, kneeling between his legs. He laces his fingers behind his head, muscles taut like heâs trying to anchor himself there, to stop his hips from jerking up on instinct.
You start slow, teasing. Your fingers wrap around his shaft, stroking him lazily as your lips press hot kisses to the tip. You circle your tongue around it, dipping into the slit just to hear what kind of sound you can pull from him.
He exhales like heâs in pain. Beautiful, tortured pain. You hesitate for a split second, uncertainâwas that too much?
âDo it again,â he breathes, voice wrecked, his chest rising in uneven pulls of air. âPlease⊠thatâJesus, that feels really good.â
And you want to please him. You want to give him everything, so you do it again.
The head disappears past your lips. He groans as you sink down a few inches, his hips tensing immediately, and you hum in satisfaction at the sharp hiss he lets slip. You take more of him, then a little bit more, until youâre jerking the rest of him off with your hand, saliva slicking your chin, your throat fluttering and eyes stinging every time he brushes the back of it.
Swallowing around him, your nails scratch the line of dark hair that leads below his navel. Thereâs nothing delicate about this. Not right now, not when heâs chanting your name like a prayer, not when youâre dizzy from the taste of him. His breathy moans echo in your ears, more intoxicating than anything else youâve ever heard.
At some point, you glance up, and the eye contact nearly undoes you. Clark looks ruined, entirely entranced. His brow is furrowed tight, a deep crease between his eyes that mightâve read as frustration if you didnât know better.
To some stranger, he might even appear to be angry. His jaw is clenched, lips parted as if heâs struggling to form coherent thoughts. His hips tremble under your palms, twitching like every nerve in his body is firing at once. Heâs holding himself still with impossible effort, his thighs taut, hands clawed into the couch cushions to stop from thrusting up into your mouth.
âPerhapsââ His voice is hoarse, and he swallows hard. âPerhaps we should stop.â
You slow your pace but donât let go.
âI donât want to finish yet,â he groans, neck strained, his composure cracking under the tension. âNot this fast. I want to last. I wantââ He cuts himself off with a hiss when you press a wet kiss to the flushed head again, pulling back the foreskin. âGod, I just want more time with you like this.
You keep your hand wrapped around him, dragging your palm slow and tight from base to tip, letting your thumb swirl over the sensitive slit. His hips twitch again, betraying how close he really is.
âBut canât Superman come twice?â you ask, tilting your head to the side. He blinks, dazed, not fully registering the meaning of your words at first. You give him another firm stroke and watch his brows knit in pleasure. âItâs been a hard day.â
âBaby, I swearââ
âDidnât you save an entire hospital tonight?â you whisper, leaning in to mouth at his hipbone. âKept it from collapsing?â
âYeah,â he grunts. âYeah, Iâyes.â
âThen you deserve it.â
âBut twice?â
âYou heard it right. Once in my mouth, just like this, and then again inside me.â
Clark makes a sound thatâs somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. His arms collapse from behind his head, hands flying to his face, shielding himself from how hard words just hit him.
âOh my God,â he mumbles, palms pressed to his eyes. âYou canât say things like that.â
âWhy not?â you inquire, jerking him a little faster now. âYouâre blushing.â
âIâm notââ he lies, breath catching when your lips part around his cock once again, still not getting used to the feeling. âI justâIâm so close.â
One of his hands finds your hair, smoothing it back from your face with a gentleness that makes your heart ache. He cups the back of your head as if heâs holding something sacred, brushing his thumb along your temple as his other hand clenches the couch cushion.
âYouâre unreal,â he murmurs, eyes locked on your movements, still stroking your hair. âYou donâtâyou donât even know what you do to me. Youâre gonna be the death of me.â
Your hand tightens around his base just a little, urging him closer to the edge. He grits his teeth, unable to hold on any longer.
âIâm sorryâbe careful, Iâm gonnaââ
He empties his load into your mouth, hips stuttering in jerky thrusts. His entire body tenses beneath you, trembling as the pleasure crashes through him, head tipped back against the couch. Clark comes for what feels like ages, pulse after pulse of heavy release filling your mouth, and you take it all, letting the salty taste land on your tongue and flood your senses.
Shortly after, everything moves in a blur. Clark insists that the couch isnât ideal for whatâs about to happen. Something about angles, support, long-term consequences for your spine. You, naturally, insist youâre perfectly fine where you are.
In the end, the one with super strength settles the debate. Which is to say: he wins. He lifts you effortlessly into his arms and carries you to the bedroom like itâs the most obvious solution. The couch had been fine. Serviceable, even, but it was time for an upgrade.
Now, sprawled across your bed, you kiss beneath the warm press of blankets. Pre-cum smears over your stomach, leaking from him in needy dribbles as he hovers above you, holding his weight on his forearms, cradling your face between his hands.
His voice is low. âJust to be clear. Weâre not using aâŠ?â
âCondom?â
He nods, cheeks flushed. âYeah.â
âI told you you could come inside me.â
That stuns him into silence. âAre you sure? Want me toâgo buy some?â he manages, faltering a little.
âSome?â you echo, amused. Your gaze dips down his body, landing on the leaking head of his cock, his hips twitching as if straining to stay still. âIâm on birth control,â you murmur.
He blinks, his Adamâs apple bobbing. You can almost hear the gears in his head grinding, trying to decide whether or not youâre serious.
âI mean it. It wasnât for sexual purposes in the beginning. Iâve been on the pill for years. But if it makes you uncomfortableââ
âWhat exactly makes you think I donât want this?â
âSay that to your face. Youâre looking at me like I just proposed a blood pact.â
Huffing a breath, he pulls back enough to meet your eyes. âSo⊠weâre doing it. Like this.â
âYes.â
âBare.â
âWould you like to see my birth certificate?â
He lets out a strangled laugh, one hand sliding down to part you gently. His fingers glide through your folds, collecting your slick to lube himself up. Just as heâs about to wretch your entrance, he pauses, brows drawn tight. âReady?â
âIâve been ready since we left the couch.â
âYou canât be joking when Iâm this close to being inside you.â
âClark,â you plead, lifting your hips. âPlease, justââ
He pushes in.
At first, itâs just the tip. The stretch is instant, unavoidable, and you throw your head back, nearly knocking into the headboard.
âEasy,â he grits out. âBe careful.â His thighs tremble where they cage you in, and he slides in another inch, groaning through clenched teeth.
âTh-thatâsâfuckââ Your mouth hangs agape briefly before you shut it again. You canât even think, eyes landing on where your bodies meet, and his whole frame looks huge on top of you, the sight alone making you whimper. âClark, pleaseââ
âWait.â He stills, tearing his gaze away from you, squeezing his eyes shut. âI need a second.â
âWant me to kiss you?â
He lifts his head slightly. âAre you the devil?â
You bite your lip, fingers digging into the muscles of his lower back. âWhat are you doing? Counting?â
âTo a million.â He buries his face in your neck, forehead damp against your skin, feeding the rest of himself into you in shallow thrusts, and the final stretch burns as he bottoms out. âYouâre impossible sometimes,â he growls against your skin, groaning as you clench around him. âJesus, youâre still so tight. I donât evenâI donât know how to move.â
A desperate sound slips from your lips when his mouth brushes behind your ear. His hand strokes up your thigh, bending you slightly beneath him, folding you open. âYouâre so big.â
His arm trembles beside your head. A bead of sweat trails down his temple as you comb your fingers into his hair. âDonât say that,â he pants.
âWhy not?â
âBecauseââ he pulls back, just the head left inside, ââyouâre playing with fire.â And then he slams his hips forward, hard, drawing a strangled cry from your throat. âI usually like how you always have something to say, but right now? I just want to fuck you. If thatâs okay with you.â
Itâs official: your long, unplanned celibacy ends here. Courtesy of Superman himself.
As if heâs learning you by heart, each thrust is measured and unhurried, his hips rolling into yours with a careful intent and setting their own tempo, savoring the way your bodies fit, the subtle give and take of your curves.
Your breath hitches when he finds it: that angle, that precise, exquisite spot inside you, and your legs instinctively tighten around his waist in response. A groan slips from him when your walls flutter around him in gratitude.
He starts to unravel. His body writhes against yours with an instinct he hadnât dared show before now, his muscles working as he moves deeper, hungrier, shedding the last vestiges of his gentle restraint. You press your chest to his, fingers splayed across the flex of his back, memorizing the slope of his spine, the tremble in his arms as he struggles to hold himself back. Every sound he makes, every choked whimper, every whine he later tries to mask, you trap in your memory like precious treasure.
The moment he buries himself to the hilt, you swear youâre going to snap in half. The fullness is dizzying, and you cry out his name in a quiet plea. His lips graze your cheek, his hand smoothing your hair as he whispers something you canât quite catch, lost in the roar of blood in your ears.
Itâs not rushed at all. Heâs learning you second by second, mapping your responses, and each time he shifts the angle or tilts your pelvis just so, it steals another moan from you. He knows now. Where to press, where to grind, where to thrust until your feet curl and your throat aches from trying to hold in the sounds.
âClark,â you mewl, voice torn and trembling. A strand of his hair, dark and damp, sticks to the shell of your ear. He shifts to kiss you there and then stills, forehead resting against yours.
âI thought Iâd lost you,â he chokes out, the words raw and fragile in comparison to your heated skin.
The confession pierces you with more precision than anything else tonight. Your body is still pulsing around him, hips still twitching and asking for more, but your heart stutters, aching with sudden clarity.
You donât know if he means that night you stopped talking, the agonizing silence between you. If he means the days you went quiet and he watched from afar. You cradle his face in both hands, your thumbs tracing the sharp lines of his cheekbones, forcing him to peer down at you. His pupils are blown, his mouth swollen from all the kissing, and you feel a pang in your chest because heâs never looked so vulnerably human.
âYou didnât. Iâm right here. Iâm not going anywhere.â
His throat bobs, and pushes in again, quivering, a silent affirmation of your words.
Itâs like something breaks open inside him. The last of his control gives way.
His thrusts get rougher, more insistent, his mouth finding yours mid-moan, and you kiss him through the frantic rhythm, through the way his hand slides between your sticky bodies to circle your clit, hoping to make you fall apart. He needs thisâneeds you to come around him, to feel you clench and call his name and prove to him youâre his. That you chose him. That youâre still here. That you're real.
Youâre close. So close that the precipice looms. âDonât stop,â you gasp, clawing at his shoulders, needing something to hold onto.
âI wonât. I wonâtââ His groan catches in his throat, escaping as a raw whisper. âYou feel so good. Youâre perfect. Canât believe youâre letting me do this to you.â
The pressure builds so fast it becomes borderline unbearable. Heat coils in your belly, every muscle taut as a bowstring, straining toward release.
âIâClarkâIââ Your body arches, back lifting off the bed.
âCome on,â he begs, short of breath, his hips grinding relentlessly. âCome for me. I want to feel you.â
And when it hits, it crashes. Your orgasm blindsides you, flashing behind your eyelids, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream, body trembling violently under him as incandescent pleasure tears through you like a searing current. Your walls spasm around him, squeezing, and he cries out a primal sound of absolute abandon before surging forward with a final thrust and spurting his release inside you.
Itâs messy. Itâs beautiful and overwhelming and glorious.
He collapses, half on top of you, still deeply buried, his body spamming in unison with yours. Youâre both left shaking and sweating, but in the most magnificent way.
Clark plants a series of tender kisses to the valley between your breasts, the soft underside of your jaw, the corner of your mouth. âI didnât know it could feel like this,â he murmurs, awe coloring every syllable.
You press your nose to his hairline, drawing in the scent of him. âMe neither,â you reply, contentment curling in your chest.
He simply stays there, wrapped around you, his weight a comforting anchor. The moment stretches and neither of you dares speak too loud for a while. Itâs the kind of silence that means everything.
Eventually, he lifts his head just enough to meet your gaze. His lashes are damp, a quiet sigh leaving him, and with an almost reluctant pull, he finally shifts, easing himself out of you. The sudden emptiness is palpable, an ache that makes you want to reach for him again, but heâs already moving, surprisingly graceful as he rises. He glances around your bedroom, then towards the bathroom.
âWant me to get a towel?â he asks, gesturing vaguely between your legs. âA wet one, ideally.â
You blink, chest lifting with a giggle. âOh, right. Yeah, bathroom cabinet, bottom shelf.â You watch him disappear, the absurdity of the moment deeply endearing. He emerges a moment later, a small hand towel clutched in his fist, already damp, and he kneels back between your legs, cleaning you.
The warm cloth against your skin sends a fresh shiver through you, but itâs his focused, unselfconscious tenderness that melts your insides. He looks up, an apologetic grimace on his face. âI just realized I donât exactly have a change of clothes on me.â
You trace his jaw, the curve of his ear. âWell, I mean,â you muse, a playful smirk tugging at your lips, âwe could always see how you look in my pajamas. Iâm sure my oversized college sweatshirt would be⊠form-fitting.â
âI don't think youâre ready for that sight.â He pats your inner thigh, then rises, tossing it to the side. âCome on. Letâs get into bed.â
You slide under the blankets, the silk against your bare skin a welcoming sensation. He joins you immediately, the mattress dipping under his weight, and pulls you close, your bodies spooning, limbs tangling. His arm finds its way around your waist, his hand splayed flat against your stomach. Your fingers twine with his, and your leg hooks over his, pressing your hip to his.
Thereâs a moment in which you turn your head on the pillow, meeting his eyes in the dim light. He now lies on his side, facing you, one hand tucked beneath his head.
âI love you,â you say again, the words unbidden.
A smile spreads across his face, lighting up his tired eyes. He pulls you impossibly closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then looks down at you. âYou know those people who use songs as their alarm?â
âWhat does that have to do with what I just said?â
âThey say you should always choose a song youâll never get tired of.I donât think Iâll ever get tired of hearing you say those words.â
âThat⊠was a weird route to get there.â
He kisses the tip of your nose, lingering on your lips shortly after. âIâm just saying. You could say it every day. Every hour. And Iâd never get sick of it.â His thumb strokes your hand and you melt into him, every molecule of your being sighing in tranquility. âBy the way,â he says, his tone sounding hesitant, âI told my parents about you.â
You pull back, just slightly, enough to stare up at him, your eyebrows shooting to your hairline. âWait. What?â
âIt was like a week ago.â
âWe werenât even speaking.â
He lets out a small, sheepish chuckle. âI know. But I still thought about you all the time. My mom scolded me through the phone for not telling you the truth sooner.â His nose crinkles, probably remembering the call. âThey said theyâd really like to meet you someday.â
âSo, our first trip together is going to be⊠Kansas?â
âSmallville,â he corrects proudly. âWhat can I say? Iâm a traditional guy.â
âWell, to be a âtraditional guy,â you havenât even asked me to be your girlfriend yet.â
âOh. Right. I guess Iââ
âAre you going to?â
âIâwould you want to?â
You laugh, pulling him into a kiss. âYouâre such a dork.â
When you break apart, heâs smilingâreally smiling, the kind that lights up his whole face and carves deep dimples into his cheeks.
âSo is that a yes?â
âYes, Clark. Iâll be your girlfriend.â
âOkay. Good. Because Iâm already very emotionally invested.â
At that moment, you snort into his chest. Sleep begins to pull at your limbs, heavy and soft, and your eyes flutter closed without resistance. His arms tucks your head beneath his chin, his breath steady against your hair, and for the first time in what feels like forever, your mind is quiet. No anxious spirals. No fear of him vanishing now that youâve let your guard down. Just stillness.
Maybe itâs true, what the wise ones say: youâre never too much in the hands of the right person.
Somehow, it feels even truer in his.
dividers by: @bbyg4rlhelps <3
I'm speechless...like Hooolly Mooly đ«Š
đŻđđđđđđđđđ Ă© đđđđ đđđđđđđ
đ»đđđđđ: Idol!Jaemin x Idol!Fem.Reader x Idol!Jeno
đđđđđ: 4.313
đŸđđđđđđ: Ser uma idol pela SM Ă© saber que caso seu grupo tenha sucesso com suas promoçÔes, terĂĄ a chance de se apresentar no tĂŁo comentado festival prĂłprio: "SM Town" - o que felizmente Ă© o seu caso. Os shows do evento sĂŁo Ășnicos! Cada grupo tem uma tracklist especial, stages diferentes, oportunidade de colaboraçÔes novas, e o que Ă© negligenciado pelo twitter...as novas amizades feitas nos bastidores. Alguns artistas jĂĄ possuem suas prĂłprias relaçÔes complicadas, e vocĂȘ estĂĄ prestes a iniciar e talvez se complicar com uma amizade bem conhecida. Jeno e Jaemin que inconscientemente se aproximam da mais nova queridinha da empresa, e sĂŁo surpreendidos com uma saborosa proposta de dobradinha.
đŹđđđđđ: PornĂŽ com muuito puco plot; Jeno Ă© mais dominante e Jaemin Ă© mais submisso, enquanto a leitora Ă© meio brat com o Jeno e dominante com Jaemin; linguagem incrivelmente imprĂłpria; sexo vaginal; sexo sem proteção (pessoas bonitas e nĂŁo ficcionais usam proteção!!); penetração dupla; me avisem se esqueci alguma coisa;
đŻđđđđđđ: @uzmacchiato
đŹđđđđđ: Oii gente, tudo bem? Demorei tanto tempo pra terminar isso aqui que chega a ser ridiculo! Maaaas espero que gostem mesmo assim, assim como tambĂ©m espero conseguir trazer mais coisas por aqui, jĂĄ que estou de fĂ©rias por alguns dias. Aproveitem a histĂłria :)
đŹđđđđđÂČ: A inspiração veio desse vĂdeo esse aqui: đ e um tantinho da interação dos trĂȘs de "challengers" (aĂ Carol mas vocĂȘ jĂĄ viu o filme? NĂŁo. Mas vem com a mĂŁe que dĂĄ bom đââïž)
Ser idol da Sm assim como muitos dos amigos que fez durante anos da indĂșstria, e participar da SmTown se mostra cada vez mais divertido. O que vocĂȘ quase nĂŁo imaginava antes de ntrar para a industria, Ă© que os bastidores sĂŁo ainda mais divertidos que palcos!
Entre uma performance e outra, as entradas e saĂdas de grupos e stages, Na Jaemin se aproximou de vocĂȘ enquanto esperava junto a Seulgi a sua vez de retornar para uma apresentação. Ele mantinha um lindo sorriso no rosto, do tipo que faz todas as garotas derreterem, e vocĂȘ, Ă© claro uma delas.
"Sabe, eu sei que a gente só começou a se falar recentemente, mas eu acho que agente tem muita coisa em comum... o que acha da gente se ver essa noite? Sabe, conversar e se conhecer um pouco mais... ver um filme..."
Pode ter sido o tom de voz, a mĂŁo delicada afastando uma mecha do seu cabelo do rosto, o sorriso enquanto olhava para seus lĂĄbios, ou a sugestĂŁo de um filme , mas algo dentro de vocĂȘ te diziam que as suas intençÔes nĂŁo eram tĂŁo inocentes quanto pareciam, nĂŁo que isso te incomodava, mas o que te pegou de surpresa foi o primeiro e Ășnico Lee Jeno se aproximou de vocĂȘ nĂŁo muito depois, com o mesmo discurso, mas com uma abordagem bem diferente de Jaemin:
O moreno se aproveitou da diferença de altura entre vocĂȘs dois, e abusou da desculpa de "muito barulho" para poder falar bem mais perto de vocĂȘ, colando ambos os corpos, e colocando a mĂŁo na sua cintura, no momento de propor uma noite tranquila.
E quem pode te julgar? VocĂȘ Ă© apenas uma garota, afinal! Uma garota sendo encarada por um Jaemin e por um Jeno extremamente confusos na sua porta de hotel.
" S/n eu acho que vocĂȘ nĂŁo entendeu..." Jeno começa a falar, uma vez que os dois entram. Ambos parados te observando, enquanto vocĂȘ sorri ao se sentar na ponta da cama.
"Ah nĂŁo eu entendi, entendi muito bem aliĂĄs!" Seu sorriso aumenta ainda mais, com sua clara diversĂŁo ĂĄ perplexidade visĂvel nos dois rostos "Eu sĂł pensei, como vocĂȘs queriam uma noite comigo" aponta para si "e eu queria uma noite com vocĂȘs" fez o sinal de dois apontando para os morenos "porque nĂŁo juntar o Ăștil ao... agradavel?!"
Jeno e Jaemin ficam eståticos te observando. As palavras e a situação fazendo download em seus cérebros. Não importa oque tinham imaginado para essa noite, um ménage a trois definitivamente não estava na lista!
Sim, os dois eram melhores amigos e confiariam suas vidas um ao outro e hĂĄ uma certeza implĂcita que se fariam um sexo a trĂȘs, seria um com o outro, mas hoje? NĂŁo estavam preparados mentalmente para tal!
Mas seria tão ruim assim? Os dois definitivamente te acham gostosa, ou não teriam feito tal proposta, muito menos estariam no seu quarto, te encarando, ponderando...até de mais.
O primeiro a tomar iniciativa Ă© Jaemin. O rapaz de cabelos cobres foi atĂ© a sua direção em passos decididos, e quando estĂĄ a sua frente, segura seu rosto levando seu rosto em sua prĂłpria direção, colando ambos os lĂĄbios. Primeiro Na apenas encosta lĂĄbio com lĂĄbio, testando qual seria sua reação, e se vocĂȘ falava sĂ©rio. Quando viu como suas pupilas dilataram, e soltou um grunido baixo, Jaemin passou a beija-la, muito mais necessitado. O rapaz buscava por seus lĂĄbios gemendo e aproveitando o gosto do seu gloss.
No momento em que vocĂȘ levou uma de suas mĂŁos para sua nuca, onde começou a brincar com os cabelos ali, Jaemin se rendeu sentindo os joelhos vacilarem, e ele praticamente cair ajoelhado a seus pĂ©s;
" TĂŁo bonito..." vocĂȘ murmura contra os lĂĄbios carnudos e agora brilhantes do rapaz. "TĂŁo gostoso..." depois de muito custo se afasta do beijo, percebendo a posição de Jaemin te fez sorrir, afinal nĂŁo imaginava que ele seria do tipo submisso como estava se mostrando. Segura o rosto dele, e começa a distribuir bejinhos pelo rosto macio;
Quando sua boca chega no pescoço do moreno, continuou a distribuir beijos, com lambidas mordidas e muitos elogios , respondidos com arqueijos, e as grandes mãos nas suas coxas a apertavam, fazendo seu desejo aumenta cada vez mais causando arrepios por todo seu corpo.
VocĂȘ segura o rosto do rapaz com ambas as mĂŁos, amando a forma como ele parecia te adorar com o olhar, as pupilas dilatadas, ou respiração ofegante, ao olhar passeando por todo seu rosto.
"VocĂȘ vai ser um bom garoto pra mim Jaemin-shi?" Sorri acariciando a bochecha do rapaz, que inclina o rosto contra seu toque te satisfazendo "Tudo bem, porque nĂŁo me mostra o quanto me quer, hum?"
Jaemin se levanta te puxando junto. Os låbios do rapaz voltam a devorar os seus, desesperado. Na usa suas mãos fortes para te segurar contra ele, te fazendo sentir a ereção contra sua barriga. O jeito como ele te prendia, o permitia apertar tudo o que conseguia alcançar : sua cintura, sua bunda, suas coxas.
Jaemim encontra seu lugar sensĂvel abaixo da orelha, te fazendo gemer de surpresa, som que o moreno jurou ser o paraĂso. Começando a ficar impaciente, vocĂȘ se afasta, apenas o suficiente para ele reclamar, se vocĂȘ conseguir se livrar da camiseta que ele vestia, e da sua tambĂ©m.
"Porra!" Na murmura maravilhado com a visĂŁo dos seus seios cobertos pelo sutiĂŁ preto, perfeitos para ele. Sem hesitar Jaemin começa a deixar beijos e mordidas no pele que a peça nĂŁo cobria, aproveitando para os palpar, tirando o ar dos seus pulmĂ”es. Enquanto isso, VocĂȘ usa a meia nudez do rapaz para passar os seus dedos sob esse abdomem tĂŁo perfeitamente esculpido. Jaemin encontrou o paraiso nos seus seios, se livrando do sutiĂŁ que o impedia de se aproveitar como bem queria.
De repente o ar é roubado dos seus pulmÔes em surpresa, quando sua cabeça é puxada para trås com um delicioso puxão de cabelo, que a arrepia e a faz revirar os olhos gemendo;
" Vou te contar umas coisinhas docinho, " Jeno segurava seu cabelo firme em sua mão esquerda, com o feição dura te observando com pupilas dilatadas. com a mão direita ele segura seu rosto pelo maxilar a obrigando a manter seu rosto no lugar, jå que insistia em se mexer porque Jaemin continuava com seu peito na mão e boca "Não gosto de ser enganado, muito menos ignorado. "
Ele se surpreende com o tamanho do sorriso que abre "Ă? Acontece que nĂŁo enganei ninguĂ©m , e nĂŁo Ă© minha culpa se jaemin - shi Ă© um garoto tĂŁo bom!" A enfaze que dĂĄ nas Ășltimas faz Jaemin gemer contra sua pele, te arrepiando.
"VocĂȘ precisa aprender a ser menos vadia", a mĂŁo de Jeno puxa ainda mais seus cabelos para logo os soltar abrutamente "Jaemin tira o resto da roupa dela, e deita na cama"
Apesar da ordem partir do amigo, o mais novo olha para vocĂȘ em busca de aprovação, e sĂł se mexe quando te vĂȘ concordando. Sem conseguir controlar o boca vocĂȘ solta: "Olha, parece que o nosso Jaemin prefere a mim..." seu tom zombateiro e sobrancelha erguida fazem Jeno rir com escĂĄrnio e murmurar alguma coisa sobre Jae nĂŁo ser propriedade dele "Ă... acho que vou manter ele sĂł pra mim "
O mais novo que tinha acabado de te despir e estava prestes a se deitar Ă© puxado para mais um beijo seu, apenas para salientar seu ponto, e provocar os nervos de Lee.
"Eu disse que podia beijar ele agora?" Jeno separa os dois por ambas as nucas, ouvindo gemidos dos dois lados.
" VocĂȘ nĂŁo manda em mim " Tenta argumentar Jeno lambe sua boca e fala contra a mesma: " hoje eu mando, docinho"
Jeno sorri trazendo um arrepio a sua coluna, ansiosa pelo o que ele serĂĄ capaz. O moreno faz Jaemin se deitar no cama, os pĂ©s na direção da cabeceira. Seu plano inicial era aproveitar a boca faminta de Jaemmin para o auxiliar, mas jĂĄ que ele claramente obedeceria apenas vocĂȘ, encontrou outra forma de torturar os dois: VocĂȘ foi colocada sentada no abdomem definido de Na, sentindo a definição do musculo te estimular deliciosamente. O tal rapaz geme, segurando sua cintura, a movendo lentamente em cima do prĂłprio corpo;
"Ă claro que vocĂȘ ia gostar ..." Jeno murmura, mas vocĂȘ nĂŁo sabe pra quem exatamente, ja que tanto voce quanto Jaemin tinham sorrisos largos no rosto. O mais velho segura seu pescoço, apertando firme, tirando o ar dos seus pulmĂ”es. "VocĂȘ vai me deixar foder essa garganta linda" ele diz prĂłximo ao seu rosto, e sĂł entĂŁo vocĂȘ percebe que Lee se despiu por completo, o corpo parecendo que foi esculpido por um Deus grego, te dando ĂĄguia na boca, "E vocĂȘ " o moreno se abaixa para falar com Jaemin " NĂŁo vai gozar agora."
Jeno te puxa, trazendo sua cabeça na altura da sua pĂ©lvis. O membro do rapaz estava completamente duro. VocĂȘ observa com olhos famintos ele se acariciar, espalhando prĂ©-gozo por toda sua longa dimensĂŁo, e vocĂȘ jĂĄ começa a pensar em uma desculpa para uma possĂvel perca de vez no show de amanhĂŁ.
Lee ama ver como o seu olhar exala desespero para o abocanhar, e te tortura um pouco mais, segurando seu falo dando leves batidas contra sua bochecha, primeiro do lado direito, depois do esquerdo, observando como sua respiração fica desnivelada.
"Chupa" Jeno ordena segurando o prĂłprio membro a frente do seu rosto , recebendo um sorriso satisfeito seu antes de finalmente o colocar na boca, e porra! Quando coloca o pĂȘnis de Jeno na boca, começa com a cabeça inchada e brilhante, sentindo seu gosto almiscarado. Passando a preencher sua boca com o que conseguia do membro, gemendo e ouvindo o moreno soltar um som baixo, mas grutal.
Ficando sem paciĂȘncia, Lee gira seu cabelo no pulso, transformando um rabo de cavalo, e com um breve aviso, o moreno começa a se mover, primeiro lentamente para testar como vocĂȘ se comporta. Quando ele sente vocĂȘ relaxar mais o maxilar, perde o controle e assume uma velocidade muito mais rĂĄpida e acertiva.
Jaemin por outro lado começa a se sentir negligenciado e torturado, tendo o seu corpo deliciosamente em cima do seu, sentido seu calor emanar para ele, mas sem poder fazer muito alĂ©m de ouvir seus gemidos enquanto Jeno fode sua boca e garganta tomando toda sua atenção. Conforme vocĂȘ era movimentada pelo outro rapaz, tanto Na quanto vocĂȘ sentiam seu centro contra o abdĂŽmen sarado, sendo constantemente estimulada, tendo sua excitação melecar toda a pele branca. Cansado o mais novo leva um de seus seios atĂ© a boca, brincando com o mamilo, enquanto o outro recebe a atenção da sua mĂŁo.
Sendo estimulada intensamente por Jaemin e suas habilidades, e o membro delicioso de Jeno na boca, vocĂȘ começa a gemer sem se preocupar com seu volume, e sem perceber Jaemin começa a gemer junto, o que te incita mais.
Enquanto Jeno foca em como o prĂłprio pau desaparece na sua boca, suas bochechas ficam ruborizadas, e seus olhos enchem de lĂĄgrimas, jaemin sorrateiramente se livra de seus jeans e cueca. VocĂȘ sente o membro do mais novo encaixar entre na sua bunda, mas sem te penetrar, apenas aproveitando a movimentação que fazia para o estimular.
Jeno percebeu que tinha algo de errado, quando os gemidos de Jaemin começaram a ficar mais altos que os seus. Tirando seu rosto da prĂłpria pĂ©lvis, ele olha incrĂ©dulo para Jaemin, enquanto vocĂȘ ri fascinada com a situação.
"Tudo bem, tudo bem...querem me desobedecer? Sem problema..."
Jeno reclama segurando a ponte do nariz perfeito, enquanto vocĂȘ se defende "Hey! Eu nĂŁo fiz nada!"
"NĂŁo, mas deixou ele se aproveitar. Agora deita pra la" o moreno manda e vocĂȘ obedece rolando os olhos, mas fazendo mesmo assim, pois nada te faria parar essa noite.
Quando se deita confortavelmente nos travesseiros, Jeno a faz apoiar os pés no colchão e abre suas pernas, a expondo para os dois, fazendo um leve rubor subir as bochechas. O mais velho manda Jaemin te chupar, como se tivesse o informando que o jantar estå pronto. E Jaemin parceria faminto;
Na se colou em seu centro, colocando suas pernas em cimo dos próprios ombros, abraço sua cintura, o que te impossibilita de se mover.
No exato momento em que a hora do rapaz entra em contato com a sua intimidade, ele o faz com Ăąnsia, lambendo sua boceta enquanto murmura coisas desconexas. Automaticamente vocĂȘ suas mĂŁos vĂŁo para a cabeça de Jaemin, tentando o afastar mesmo que levemente, mas Jeno te impede, pegando-as e prendendo seus pulsos cima da cabeça, enquanto sorri para vocĂȘ, acariciando sua bochecha
"VocĂȘ nĂŁo queria seu bom garoto? Agora vocĂȘ vai ver que precisa ter muito cuidado com o que anda desejando, meu amor"
Seu olhar vai do moreno para o mais novo. Jaemin que parecia estar levemente distraido pela breve conversa, sorri quando seus olhos voltam para ele. VocĂȘ percebe o quĂŁo fodida estĂĄ, quando o olhar de Na se torna obscuro e ele se arruma na cama, te levando junto.
Na posição atual, vocĂȘ estava deitada com os pulsos presos por Jeno, enquanto Jaemin estava sentado apoiado nas prĂłprias pernas, com a boca agarrada na sua intimidade. O rapaz usava a lĂngua para te sabaroear, enquanto o nariz te proporcionava prazer, estimulando seu clitĂłris. O jeito com que ele te olhava, te excitava ainda mais, te fazendo entrar em um transe de prazer.
"Olha sĂł, finalmente a nossa bonequinha ficou sem retrucar!" Jeno solta uma risada, aproximando o rosto do seu e finalmente pela primeira vez na noite ele te beija, engolindo seus gemidos altos.
Jaemin que não gosta de ter sua atenção roubada pelo amigo, passa a dar atenção exclusive ao seu clitóris, fazendo movimentos circulares e precisos. Surpresa, com a onda mais forte de prazer, não consegue mais beijar Jeno, gemendo muito mais alto, e ficando completamente sem ar, deixando o moreno o confuso, até o momento em que gemeu o nome de Na.
"J-jaemin...porra..." vocĂȘ tenta falar algo, pedir pra ele parar, mas nĂŁo consegue, o escutando apenas murmurar deliciado com seu gosto. Na começa a murmurar "doce...", "gostosa", "perfeita" era o que todos no quarto escutavam.
O prazer que Jaemin estava te proporcionando era tanto, que mal conseguia falar, apenas gemer, e erguer a coluna do colchão. O moreno estava seduzido por suas expressÔes, mostrando o quão fodida estå. O sorriso de Lee poderia te enganar se não fosse a situação, o seu toque? Tão suave como uma pluma passando por suas bochechas e seios, enrijecendo seus mamilos.
"Se eu soubesse que era sĂł isso que precisaria pra te calar, teria feito assim que abriu essa boquinha linda!" Sussurra no seu ouvido, fazendo seus olhos rolarem, e vocĂȘ bem que gostaria de retrucar, mas seu clĂmax estava bem prĂłximo, entĂŁo sua Ășnica reação foi tentar mais uma vez desvencilhar-se do agarro de Jeno, se contorcendo sem sucesso. "Ela tĂĄ perto, faz ela gozar, Jaem" ele manda.
A Ășltima coisa que escuta antes de seu corpo convulcionar, Ă© Na Jaemin grunhir te agarrando muito mais forte contra o prĂłprio rosto. Jeno precisa repreender Jaemin com o olhar para o rapaz finalmente deixar seu corpo cair na cama. Ambos te observam em seu estado pĂłs orgasmo, sua pele brilhando com o suor, o peito subindo e descendo tentando organizar sua respiração, os olhos fechados em puro deleite.
Abrindo os olhos, vocĂȘ os encontra ali, te encarando, e jura que poderia gozar novamente sĂł de ver o rosto de Jaemin: pupilas dilatas, o rosto brilhando com sua lubrificação formando uma barba brilhosa. Usando a pouca força que tinha, vocĂȘ se senta na cama, esticando a mĂŁo para tocar o rosto do mais novo, sorrindo mancinha, "TĂŁo lindo..." Jaem nĂŁo sĂł sorri contra sua palma, como tambĂ©m se deita sobre vocĂȘ, te beijando, de modo doce, te arrepiando da cabeça aos pĂ©s.
"De novo, nĂŁo gosto de ser deixado de lado!" Jeno reclama, te surpreendendo quando ele encaixa a boca entre vocĂȘ e Jaemin, em um beijo triplo. Os dois mal percebem quando vocĂȘ se afasta lentamente do Ăłsculo, fazendo com que as bocas masculinas se explorem por alguns segundos bem na sua frente.
"Assim eu vou ficar com ciumes" sua voz soa em meio ao som do beijo, claramente zombando com a cara dos dois, Jeno e Jaemin se separam em de supetĂŁo, enquanto vocĂȘ ri da cara dos dois que ficam vermelhos, "Ah, nĂŁo façam assim, ainda preciso de vocĂȘs pra me foder..." faz biquinho e segura ambos os rostos, aproximando os trĂȘs "juntos" e finaliza a frase com uma lambidas em ambas as bocas.
"Acho que Jaemin nĂŁo fez um bom trabalho se jĂĄ estĂĄ falando tĂŁo sujo assim "Jeno provoca ao passo que o amigo responde "se vocĂȘ fosse tĂŁo bom fodendo a boca dela, nĂŁo ia nem precisar de mim"
"Chega! Chega!" Separa os dois se ajoelhando na cama, manda Jaemin se deitar na cama novamente, o que ele sĂł faz apĂłs deixar um beijo provocador em vocĂȘ. No momento em que ia se deitar em cima do corpo de Na, Jeno lança um tapa forte em uma das suas nĂĄdegas, estalando alto no quarto, e te fazendo gemer alto, jogando a bunda em direção do moreno automaticamente. "NĂŁo, nĂŁo, ele jĂĄ teve a diversĂŁo dele. Agora vocĂȘ vai me olhar enquanto a gente te fode." VocĂȘ rola os olhos, mas dĂĄ um selinho no rapaz.
Obriga Jeno se sentar, juntando ambos os pĂȘnis, os masturbar juntos, ouvindo os dois gemerem em unĂssono, Jaemin com um jeitinho mais necessitado que Jeno que soa mais rouco, como se estivesse se segurando. Sorrindo vocĂȘ se aproxima do ouvido de Jeno sussurrando "Por que nĂŁo me deixa te ouvir melhor?" Aproveita da brecha para beijar e morder o pescoço dele, mantendo o movimento lĂąnguido das mĂŁos.
"Por que eu nĂŁo sou patĂ©tico" Jeno retruca te puxando pelos cabelos da nuca, e levando seu rosto para um beijo sujo e molhado. Mesmo rolando os olhos, vocĂȘ sorri, e o provoca mais uma vez: "mas eu gosto tanto dos patĂ©ticos...nĂŁo Ă© Jaem?!"
Em resposta o mais novo te responde com um choramingo necessitado. VocĂȘ leva o pau dele a boca, sentindo o gosto do prĂ© gozo que jĂĄ melecava sua mĂŁo. Enquanto mantinha o ritmo lento na masturbacao de Jeno, focou sua atenção no membro de Jaemin que jĂĄ estava vermelho e vazando prĂ©-gozo, seu pau enchendo sua boca. "Porra, sua boca Ă© tĂŁo quente." ele gemeu, sua cabeça balançando para cima e para baixo.
VocĂȘ murmura, as vibraçÔes da sua boca doce fizeram os quadris de Jaemin se erguerem, seu pau batendo no fundo da sua garganta. "Ah, porra!" ele jogou a cabeça para trĂĄs, no prazer da sua boca quente. Jaemin nĂŁo conseguia falar nada, apenas te olhar, e ver que causou isso para si mesmo. Ele agarrou a parte de trĂĄs da sua cabeça, guiando sua cabeça, empurrando vocĂȘ mais para baixo em seu comprimento. "Porra! Ela tem uma boca tĂŁo gostosa, nĂŁo Ă©?" Ele comenta se direcionando a Jeno, quando vocĂȘ começa a deixar beijos na coxa dele, mas Lee apenas murmura algo nada feliz, mesmo que tivesse com seus dedos te penetrando, sentindo o quĂŁo molhada estava, e se aproveitando para tirar uma casquinha de vocĂȘ.
ApĂłs o que pareceu uma eternidade, vocĂȘ se levanta deixando ambos os membros prĂłximos Ă sua entrada. VocĂȘ sabe o que quer, mas tambĂ©m sabe que nĂŁo serĂĄ fĂĄcil ter os dois paus consideravelmente grossos e grandes dentro de si, entĂŁo para tomar coragem, brinca com os dois, fazendo movimentos de vai e vem com eles, e estimulando seu clitĂłris com o pau de Jeno.
Finalmente começa a sentar em ambos os membros, lentamente. Torturosamente lento. Os sons do quarto foram substituĂdos de gemidos altos e clamaçÔes de nomes, agora sĂł escutavam suas prĂłprias respiraçÔes, todas entrecortadas. Para os meninos por que nunca se sentiram ser tĂŁo apertados por alguĂ©m, e vocĂȘ por que nunca foi tĂŁo preenchida antes.
Quando conseguiu colocar os dois de vez, precisou parar por alguns instantes, o que os dois agradeceram internamente ou entĂŁo teriam gozado na hora. Lentamente Jaemin se sentou melhor, arrancando arfadas e gemidos seus, jĂĄ que o sentia dentro de si.
"VocĂȘ Ă© tĂŁo boa, meu amor!" Ele murmura em seu ouvido, tirando seus cabelos molhados do seu ombro e começou a dar beijos carinhosos pelo local, te causando arrepios, e fazendo com que vocĂȘ se derreta cada vez mais por ele. Na estava fazendo um excelente trabalho te distraindo que mal registra suas palavras: "Jeno por que nĂŁo me ajuda a arruinar nossa bonequinha?"
E logo em seguida o moreno estĂĄ a sua frente, deixando beijos do seu outro lado do corpo, em uma diferença quase brutal. Enquanto Na Jaemin te beijava docemente, falava coisas bonitas, e leves mordiscadas na sua pele, Lee Jeno te agarrava, mordia, deixava chupĂ”es e te chamava das piores coisas possĂveis. Sua cabeça girava com tanto estĂmulo, que começou a rebolar lentamente, em busca de alĂvio, e lembrando na hora do motivo ao qual estavam tĂŁo prĂłximos.
"Porra! TĂĄ sentindo Jeno? Nosso brinquedinho estĂĄ ficando ainda mais molhada..." Jaem comenta maravilhado. Ele te segura pela cintura, e se estivesse um pouco mais consciente teria percebido que eles claramente planejavam algo.
Jeno e Jaemin começam a estocar juntos, e vocĂȘ quase cai pra trĂĄs, se ambos nĂŁo tivessem te segurando, e se nĂŁo tivesse o prĂłprio corpo de Jaemin atrĂĄs de vocĂȘ. Seus gemidos sĂŁo mais altos ainda, e finalmente consegue escutar os gemidos de Jeno, no seu ouvido, grutais, mas ainda sim controlado. Jaemin por outro lado, gemia alto, rouco, mas sem vergonha nenhuma.
Os dois estocavam fundo, te fazendo sentir cada um deles, em todo lugar. MĂŁos, lĂĄbios, dedos, pĂȘnis, Jaemin, Jeno, Jaemin, Jeno...
"Go...go...eu vou..." tentou avisar que ia gozar, e os dois pararam. VocĂȘ os olha confusa, e Jeno puxa seu rosto para o dele e murmura: "jĂĄ que inventou da gente fazer isso juntos, vamos gozar juntos, querida" e te beijou, mas surpreendentemente nĂŁo foi como os beijos que te deu a noite toda, foi mais um Ăłsculo calmo, sedutor.
Eles voltaram a se movimentar, dessa vez mais firmes e fundos. Jaemin te puxou pela nuca, te beijando apressado, e chupando sua lĂngua de um jeito erĂłtico. VocĂȘ se tornou apenas uma bonequinha nas mĂŁos dos dois, conforme Jaemin controlava sua boca e brincava com um de seus mamilos, Lee estimulava o outro, e estimulava seu clitĂłris.
Sentiu o nĂł no estĂŽmago mais uma vez, e se contorcia em prazer, mas dessa vez ninguĂ©m parou, apenas seguiu o mesmo ritmo, alternando em diferentes estĂmulos.
Finalmente gozou, sentindo os espamos tomarem conta de seu corpo, e mal captou quando os dois gozaram tambĂ©m, seus lĂquidos te preenchendo violentamente. VocĂȘ deve ter apagado ppr algum tempo, pois quando acordou, piscando, estava deitada, com um lençol sob seu corpo, e Jeno tirando seus cabelos do rosto.
"Olha sĂł, ela tĂĄ viva!" O moreno brinca sorrindo, e Jamein surge de algum lugar da suĂte. "Bem na hora, nosso Jaem preparou um banho pra vocĂȘ, vem!" Lee estende a mĂŁo pra vocĂȘ, e mesmo aceitando, no momento em que pisa no chĂŁo, sua perna vacila, te fazendo sentar na cama. "Tudo bem, acho que vou ter que te carregar"
E ele o faz.
Graças a Jaemin a ĂĄgua estava perfeita, com um cheiro incrĂvel, te relaxando instantaneamente. VocĂȘ olha para os dois rapazes no seu banheiro, e sorri para eles. "NĂŁo me digam que vĂŁo ficar estranhos" comenta atraindo sua atenção, mas ninguĂ©m comenta nada, entĂŁo vocĂȘ muda minimamente de assunto.
"Vem cĂĄ...vocĂȘs acham que alguĂ©m ouviu a gente?" Indaga e Jeno sorri pegando o celular e se aproxima de vocĂȘ na banheira. Quando ele te mostra o grupo de mensagens, vĂȘ os membros do Dream comentando sobre alguĂ©m estar fazendo sexo muito alto, e arregala os olhos.
"Ă princesa, vocĂȘ definitivamente Ă© uma performer" Lee sorri e te beija, como da Ășltima vez que beijou, te fazendo suspirar, e tentar o puxar para si. Aparentemente gosta muito dessa versĂŁo dele.
"NĂŁo se preocupe, nossos managers jĂĄ estĂŁo cuidando disso" Na comenta olhando vocĂȘs dois, ele parecia estar se obrigando a ficar longe, mas nĂŁo resistiu quando o chamou pelo dedo e uma carinha inocente. No momento em que ele se aproximou, vocĂȘ o beijou, do mesmo modo que beijou Jeno.
"Posso perguntar umas coisinhas de nada?" Fez beicinho e eles concordaram, vocĂȘ sorri "foi bom quando se beijaram?" NĂŁo conseguiu segurar a risada quando os viu ruborizar "Aaaah! Vou levar como um sim. Tudo bem, outra pergunta, quando vocĂȘs estavam dentro de mim, vocĂȘs se sentiram um contra o outro?" Jeno e Jaemin te encararam, os dois sĂ©rios, mas vocĂȘ nĂŁo, se divertindo muito com eles, e querendo aliviar a tenção entre eles. "Vou levar como um sim tambĂ©m! Ăltima pergunta, e atenção ela Ă© a mais importante: fariam de novo? Comigo Ă© claro" E foi no momento em que eles se entreolharam que viu: a resposta era sim pra tudo.
"Mas dessa vez, sem fazer a gente se beijar, por favor" Jeno comenta ficando de pé, e passando a mão pelo rosto. Ele soube no momento em que entrou no seu quarto, que ele estava nas suas mãos e faria qualquer coisa que o pedisse.
"E se eu pedir com jeitinho? VocĂȘs se beijam?" Os dois viram seus olhos brilharem, e por algum motivo vocĂȘ ficar mais animada, mas os dois se recusam a te dar alguma resposta, que nĂŁo sejam reclamaçÔes "Ah por favor! Foi tĂŁo quente! TĂŁo insinuante! Me deu atĂ© mais tensĂŁo!..."
Jeno e Jaemin escutavam suas palavras enquanto tentavam nĂŁo ligar para isso, por que no fundo, eles mesmo nĂŁo tinham certeza de mais nada...
Oie! Tudo bem, gente?
Eu sumi? Eu sumi, peço perdĂŁo inclusive! Maas para comemorar que estou de fĂ©rias, e que consegui terminar de escrever uma coisinha, vou postar hoje đ„ł.
EntĂŁo atenção pessoas que ainda me seguem por aqui, e que estĂŁo famintas por um trisal Jeno Jaemin e leitora! Estou sĂł terminando de revisar algumas coisinhas e jĂĄ posto. E desde ja peço desculpas por ser muito grande (đ), mas vamos relevar o fato dessa bagaça jĂĄ estar fazendo aniversĂĄrio nos meus rascunhos, e nĂŁo tava saindo de jeito nenhum.
just straight to the history books, i am speechless i have no words, this is all im going to think about forever (x)
A bandeira bi atrĂĄs dele đ«

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Jake weverse update - My new friend đœ
@.cheol_suu
Eu e o Djabo...
Predebut Mingi was a baddie đđ€Łđ
Mingi pre debut đ€đ» Han Jisung pre debut