Drifting away

“I don’t know what else to do. She says the pain is getting worse. I’ve given her a bunch of remedies, but none of them are working.” Chopper scratched the back of his head, turning the pages of the book, looking for anything that he might’ve missed. 

Robin and Nami were helping him, but couldn’t find anything new in your books or Chopper’s. Only being able to watch as you contort yourself from pain and cry with every cramp. 

“Should we call, Law?” The older woman suggested. 

“Already did, but he hasn’t shown up,” Nami said while stroking your forehead to try to comfort you. 

“I’ll go look...” 

The door opened, and the Surgeon of Death made his way inside the room. A book on one hand and a mortar and pestle on the other, “I found this remedy, don’t know if it works, but she’s not allergic to any of the ingredients and it won’t clash with anything she’s taken already.” He sat on the bed. “Here, drink this.” 

You couldn’t hear him between your groans and the paralyzing pain you felt. Robin and Chopper helped you sit straight, and Nami pushed the mixture into your mouth. It was disgusting, bitter, grainy, it made you nauseous, but not any more than you already felt. 

“Now, we wait.” Law didn’t look away from your trembling body. 

He might seem like he’s uninterested, sadistic, or cold, but he generally didn’t like seeing people in pain. And you were above the general public in his mind; you were... tolerable. More than that, but he won’t say it out loud. Since getting on the Sunny, everything seemed to be chaos, absurdity, and loudness, but then you offered your enchantments’ room as a quiet place, away from the constant fights between the swordsman and the chef, the trials that Usopp and Franky conducted till high hours of the morning, and, most importantly, away from Luffy. He doesn’t hate your captain, but my gods, he can be annoying. Both of you would sit next to each other for hours, reading, taking notes, and sometimes engaging in long conversations about politics, medicine, and life. 

Law found you comforting. 

Chopper's breathing and heartbeat relaxed as soon as he saw your body calm down. The whimpers stopped, your posture loosened up, and your eyes shut down; you promptly began snoring. 

“She fell asleep!” Nami whispered, relieved and beyond happy to see her friend no longer in distress. 

Robin sighed, finally able to sit back. 

“I’ll monitor her. All of you should go rest.” Law suggested, 

“Are you sure?” Now that the anxiety had gone, Chopper could feel how tired he was, heavy eyelids and red eyes, but felt responsible for your health. 

“Go to bed, Tony-ya. I’ll take care of her.” The surgeon insisted. 

After contemplating it for a couple of moments, and the magical touch of Nami on his scalp, Chopper relented. He made sure Law promised to call him if anything happened. 

“Thank you, doctor,” Robin said, giving him a look and smile that left him feeling uneasy.  

Was he that obvious? No, she’s just that observant. 

An hour went by. He checked on your breathing and pulse; both seemed fine. He cleaned up the table, made a couple of annotations so Chopper didn’t have to, and arranged the blankets. Anything to keep himself busy. 

He found a novel lying around and gave it a look, leaning next to you on the bed. He wasn’t particularly invested in it, but it was better than nothing. He did this until he felt the covers shift and noticed how the previous signs of ache sprout back on your body. 

You whined, curling up into a ball. Your hands gripped the skin of your belly, with glassy eyes and red cheeks.  

“Is the pain back?” Unconsciously, his hand went to your back, his hand going up and down, bringing warmth to your skin. 

You could only nod and groan. 

“I’ll make you some tea. I’m sorry, I cannot give any more medicine, at least not for a few more hours.” He hurried, but as he was about to leave, you grabbed his hand. 

“Law,” you moaned, and he turned to look at you, worry in his eyes, “please, stay with me.” 

“It’ll be a second, let me...” 

You shook your head, “You and I know it won’t do shit. Just stay. Please.” 

And he did. He sat down, not letting go of your hand and not looking away. Only your whimpers and the sounds of the sea clashing against the ship could be heard. You tossed and turned, tears ran down your cheeks, and he didn’t hesitate to wipe them away. 

“It hurts, Law.” You cried. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” He cringed at how bad he was at comforting you. 

“Please, make it stop.” You took his hand and pressed it against the naked skin under your belly, the touch immediately sending shivers down your body. 

He sighed. An idea popped into his head, and it made his face burn. No. Gods, what kind of pervert has he become to think of such a thing? Has he been spending too much time around Sanji? Oh gods, is it contagious? 

“Law...” You pleaded. 

His mouth opened and closed, not knowing what to say. Should he even suggest it? Would you hate him? Would you be disgusted? 

“There’s a method we haven’t tried.” He looked away, not daring to look you in the eyes. 

You hummed, heavy-breathed and desperate for any solution. 

“Umm... I, we, I, you...” He wanted the sea to swallow him alive. 

“Law...” 

“I... Look, know that I’m not trying to do anything, but... I, umm, we,” His heart was about to beat out of his chest. 

“Law...” 

“There’s this way we, umm, we can...” 

“Law, just fucking say it.” 

“Orgasms can help ease the pain.” There, finally. 

The silence was deafening. Law couldn’t believe he dared say it, and now he wanted to commit seppuku. Forgive him, Corazón. Forgive him, Bepo. But he shall... 

“Okay, let’s do it.” 

He turned to look at you, wide-eyed, “What?” 

“You suggested we... oh, shit, did I misunderstand you?” Now you were the one drowning in the shame, “Oh gods, you wanted me to masturbate, didn’t you? Shit, I’m sorry I...” 

“No, no, no. You were right, I was suggesting... Umm, I was offering to do it myself.” 

“Oh.” 

You both look pathetic, rouged face and hiding away, acting like measly virgins. 

Eventually, you managed to look past the embarrassment. Law was now sitting behind you; you rested on his chest. His hands stroke your arms up and down to appease your nerves, and his. And you can’t help but observe his tattoos. The ink on his skin had made you clench your legs more than once, but never did you imagine your fantasies would turn reality in such a way. 

“Are you ready?” He said, his fingers going down, now massaging your legs. 

“Doesn’t blood gross you out?” 

He snorted, “I’m a surgeon, love.” 

“Right, sorry. I’m ready.” 

He went slow, rubbing the skin of your thighs, getting you used to his touch, every stroke getting closer to your core until it finally reached it. 

“I’m going to touch, okay?” He whispered in your ear, making you tremble. 

You nodded. 

He moved hesitantly, grazing your inner lips, forming an upside-down V around them with his fingers, massaging you and pressing your clitoris from the outside, “Does that feel good?” 

You gasped and bit lightly on your lip. 

He continued this for a few more moments before daring to open you up, moving up and down. The mixture of your blood and arousal produces wet noises. He circled on your clit, wanting you to relax. He pushed and toyed with it, carefully watching your reactions, what made you moan, gasp, all this permanently embedded in his memory. 

“Law...” You whimpered, grabbing his hand, squeezing it. 

“You like it?” 

“Yes, more, please.” 

This time, his fingers travelled to your entrance, moving around it, teasing a bit, because he just couldn’t help himself, but when he heard you complain, he obliged. Two of them thrusting themselves inside, they met no resistance, so he chose a rougher tempo. 

Your legs would thrash around, shutting and being opened back by his other hand, your back would arch against his chest, and your bottom would grind on his crotch, making him groan. 

One of your hands flew back, pulling on his hair, pushing him closer to your neck, where he sucked on your skin, kissing and bruising it to satisfy you, him, and make a silent statement. 

“Fuck, Law!” You tossed your head back, your other hand going to your breasts, massaging them before pulling on your nipples. 

His thumb made circles on your clit, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. His breathing laboured and heavy on your ear, “You feel so fucking good on my fingers.” 

You whined, tugging harder on his locks. 

He continued his assault, fucking your sensitive core, submitting to his pace and setting every nerve in your body on fire. He’d whisper the most sinful things, making you clench and cling tighter around his hands, swearing to you and every god there is that this wouldn’t be the last time he’d have you crying out his name. 

“I’ll make sure you won't want anyone else after this.” 

“Yes, Law! Please, please, please...” Frantic howls escape you. 

He could feel himself leaking against the fabric of his pants. He ached to be inside you, but he ignored the need. Right now, his number one want and need was to watch you crumble under his touch. 

“Please, what, love? Tell me what you want.” 

“Please, please make me cum.” You begged, grabbing his arms and digging your nails into his skin. 

“Take it, sweetheart, cum on my fingers.” He doubled his efforts, not caring if he could feel his articulations sting and tense, he’d get you there, “take what’s yours, love, come on.” 

Your hips moved against his hand, chasing the pleasure. The knot in your belly got tighter and hotter with every thrust. Your mouth blabbered nonsense and his name again and again, “Oh, fuck, I’m going to cum, I’m going to cum, I’m, I’m...” It snapped. You gasped and pulled him close to your chest, crying in ecstasy. 

“That’s it, baby! That’s it, my love. Such a good job, fuck you did so good.” 

Who would have thought the surgeon would be so good at praising? 

After the euphoria had gone down and the delicious exhaustion had settled on your muscles, you said, “Thank you, Law.” 

“Mm, my pleasure. How are you feeling? Are the cramps still there?” He kneads your hips softly. 

“Actually, they...” 

The door opened. 

“Mon amour, I’ve brought you some tea, Chopper said you’re still...” Sanji appeared behind it, making you both freeze in place. The chef’s eyes almost popped out of his head, the tray shook in his hands, and smoke came out of his nose and ears. 

“Sanji...” You tried.  

“What the fuck do you think you are doing?” He yelled at the top of his lungs. Well, now the entire ship knew.

“How can we even know that actually helps? Maybe he’s trying to take advantage of my poor swan.” Sanji grumbled, lighting up the sixth cigarette of a fresh pack and crossing his arms, pouting. 

“Oh, it helps.” Robin sipped on her coffee, side-eyeing Franky, who blushed and gave her a big smile. 

Nami giggled and pushed the archaeologist with her shoulder. 

“Oh, come on!” Sanji left the room, slamming the door. Everyone could hear him screaming outside, yelling to the gods, threatening to jump off the ship. 

The rest of the crew went silent for a couple of seconds. Nami, Robin, and Franky smiled and giggled amongst themselves. Usopp shushed them and covered Chopper’s ears, who, by the way, knew exactly what was going on —he’s a doctor, he just didn’t know Law and you were married... cause only married people do such things, at least that’s what the Doctor told him. Jinbei simply tried ignoring the drama and squeezed some lemon into his tea. Luffy continued munching on whatever he could find in the kitchen. 

Law entered the room, more than aware of how nosey the entire Straw Hat crew is, and is dreading having to answer any questions. Though seeing the cook contemplating throwing himself into the sea is quite amusing. 

“Torao.” Zoro acknowledges him. Eyes and arms closed. 

“Roronoa-ya.” 

“Law, how is she?” Robin starts. 

“She’s okay, having a nap. I’m just here to brew some more tea and grab her something to eat.” He walks to the stove. 

The door squeaks as it opens. 

“Move out of my way.” The blonde man pushes him away. He opens the cabinets and pulls out a bunch of herbs and a mug, “You aren't taking my fucking job, you’ve already taken enough.” He mumbles loud enough just for the two.  

Law sighs, exhausted, but lets him. 

“Torao.” Now it’s Luffy who calls for him. 

“Yes, Mugiwara-ya?” 

“Did the thing you did help?” 

Law’s face filled with blood from his cheeks to his ears and neck. He pushed his hat down to cover the reaction, “Umm..., yes. Yes, it did.” 

“Good. Please keep doing it till she recovers.” 

“Luffy!” Sanji and Nami jumped at the statement. 

Brook laughed loudly, clapping along. 

Where does this take you? Right back to a game of eye-tag so doused in tension that it feels like a physical strike to your nerves.

Unknowing of how he'd recently fallen victim to your budding attractions, your mystery man sat particularly independent and detached from the room surrounding him. The only thing that seemed to pluck him out of his perpetual state of aloofness was the persistent way in which a gaze landed on him.

The gaze in question being yours, of course.

You simply couldn't help yourself, especially after he’d gone out of his way to buy you a drink.

Though, despite him being the picture perfect image of your type, you weren’t about to let this kindling flame crackle and then die out too quickly. No, you much preferred when mutual interest like this played out nice ‘n slow.

Which is exactly why you let your eyes glide down to the silently offered drink, lift a manicured nail to the glass’s rim, and then create a mild bit of distance by pushing it away.

The glass coolly slides across the bar far enough to be received as you declining the beverage, and your mystery man of interest catches it immediately. You look up again just to make sure he was watching you and you’re left with a little jump in your heart as his tired eyes mull elsewhere.

Fear threatened to take over at the momentary loss of his attention, but your worry was quickly soothed as he looked at you again. Lifting that half-drunken glass of his, he lightly tips it your way with an understanding nod of his head, obliging to your rejection.

Now, most would assume that this is where things end between you both. He offered you a drink and you politely declined it, how can tension possibly still exist there?

Simple—if you’re someone that’s of true interest to him, he won’t exactly stop there.

Which is precisely why it's of no surprise when he moves to stand up.

You'd been sipping on something you'd ordered roughly thirty minutes ago before Shoko left you to network the dance floor, trying your best not to make it obvious that every smidge of your attention was trained onto a man whose name you hadn't even gotten yet. But with the way he carries himself, it was almost impossible to do so.

The moment he stood up seemed to make your centered attention worse off. He was noticeably over six feet, a trait of which you recognize from across the room as you let yourself watch how he absentmindedly lifts a hand to make an unnecessary adjustment to his tie.

The way he walked around the bar had people turning heads and bartenders exchanging glances as if to imply he hadn't moved from his previous spot for a while up until now.

An exit is located not too far off behind you, so part of you figured your singular rejection is exactly the thing that'd drive him into retiring for the night. Was this your intent or goal? No, not at all.

But you liked the thrill of clinging on to the wildly false sense of hope that dwindled about inside you. The same sense of hope that sparked your intuition and made it less of a surprise to see your mystery man round the bar and relocate himself a mere two barstools away from you.

You watched through your peripherals how he fit himself into his seat—the length of his legs angling beneath the bar, and his charcoal-colored suit sleeking darker under the new angle of the establishment's dim lighting.

With him being closer to you, it was hard not to turn your head to get a better look at him and all that he had to offer you visually. Then again everything involving this man and your will to do things threads on a very, very thin line—as you'll come to find out.

Five minutes—not that you're counting or anything—roll by before anything noteworthy occurs.

Unfortunately, it's of your own actions that bring interest back into the slowly rolling interaction-, er, lack thereof...

You look back into the moderately distant clumps of people in search of Shoko, wondering just what has kept her so occupied this long. Eventually you spot her talking to a rather timid man with glasses, his gaze hardly meeting hers due to the intimidation she exuded via maintaining completely undivided attention on him.

The sight makes you smile as you set your drink down and you take this as the perfect opportunity to steal a quick glance at your fairly quiet mystery man. He'd bought you a drink, you declined it, then he came over, and since then... things have been placid. Unwelcomely so.

Has it been your turn to make another silent move all this time? Or were you both waiting for something to just happen out of the blue?

When you move your eyes to him, you feel your heart lurch in your chest.

The man is already looking at you—or, more specifically—at your legs. His eyes traveled slowly along your thighs based on how much you had revealed, making an intentionally steady descent to your calves and around the curve of them, before eventually falling onto your heels. At that final stop, his brows twitch.

He doesn't make a face or anything like that, rendering you unable to figure out what was going through his head, but he does blink ever so slowly before making eye contact with you.

...Almost as if he knew you were watching him check you out.

You start to open your mouth to say something of the quirky variety but he beats you to it.

"You declined my drink," Rumbles off the expanse of his tongue like he'd been holding the words there for longer than he meant to. The throaty base in his voice has you inattentively crossing one leg over the other.

Which, he notices, of course.

There was music playing softly throughout the room but from the moment he opened that dangerously calm mouth of his, every other sound seemed irrelevant to your ears.

Now that a conversation had finally presented itself, you had an excuse to take in every feature he had. His eyes are naturally wide in a way that should feel hollow or empty, yet does the exact opposite somehow. There's a richness lounging around in his irises, the outskirts of them indicating nights and nights lacking sleep, and the dull way in which he drags his gaze everywhere telling you that being tired is a trait he may have been born with.

All of which have you so utterly intrigued.

"I did," finally exits you, and for a split second his face dares to show emotion. An unspoken battle of attentiveness waged between you both, evident his mild reaction to hearing you for the first time. Someone could walk by and see or feel the tension already blooming between the two of you.

The man patiently waits for you to grant him with more of a response than that, eyeing how you move your hand towards the drink he purchased for you.

Your nail lightly taps against the rim and your shoulders rise to shrug, "Buying a woman a drink from across the room without even saying hello feels a bit lazy to me, sorry."

He doesn't smile at that but the corners of his mouth involuntarily move. A faint scoff leaves his nose, "I see." He murmurs, making it clear he wasn't exactly a man of many words. "Is that your type, then? A man who approaches you directly?"

Things had only just begun and the dynamic had you reeling in your seat already. Turning to face him a little more, "Depends," Your head tilts and you send him a grin, "Is that you?"

"Could be.” He offers suavely, “I've approached you, haven't I?"

You hum, tapping at that idle glass of rejection again before returning to your own cup, "Only after I've declined your drink."

He appears unimpressed by your response, eyes leaving your face and moving to your hand, "You didn't answer my question."

"I thought it rhetorical." You bite back.

His lips twitch again, "It wasn't."

Something about the blunt end of his statement has you unable to lessen your attraction for him. You liked how he was carrying himself through this conversation so far.

Sighing, "...Obviously, you've approached me."

He notes the sass in your tone but doesn’t address it in the slightest. Instead meeting you with some of his own, "Then that makes me your type, no?"

Before you can answer that, he slowly leans over with his arm extending out. You thought he was about to offer his hand to shake but it amply moves past you and plucks up the same drink you denied moments earlier. Bringing it to his lips, you’re left to watch him turn his head to the side as he sips.

And that—whether it be intentional or not—has your mind set on how you want this night to go. This stranger had already been your type in terms of perpetually presented exhaustion, a drawling voice, and calculated way of speaking but his most redeemable quality was undoubtedly his nose.

Oh fuck, it was beautiful. The gorgeously arching curve had your eyes stuck in place. You didn’t want to stare at it but shit, you didn’t realize how big it was up until now.

In the casual manner he goes about drinking, you wonder if he even realizes the sex symbolistic quality shaping his face.

Your lashes bat and your words nearly come drooling out of you, "I don't even know your name."

God, you hope it wasn’t obvious that he’d you exactly where he wanted you already.

"I don't recall you asking for it." He hums gravely.

It’s like he’d written out a response for everything hours before even approaching you! Or, perhaps he’d exchanged this set of dialogue before. Maybe you weren’t leaving the stand-outish impression you’d hoped to.

Instead of playing into his game, you take matters back into your hands, "Is that your type, then?” You mock with the slightest smirk on your face, “ A woman who shows interest immediately after you've approached her?"

"No,” Fuck. Of course he had a response prepared for this as well, “I prefer a woman who can't keep her eyes off of me, and then plays coy once confronted about it."

You scoff, "I'm not playing coy."

"It's cute how you didn't deny the first part.” He finally grins, albeit small. Then he makes eye contact with you again and lifts his brows, “Was that intentional?"

"Very." You claim.

...Just who exactly was playing into who's hand now?

There’s a small beat of suspense that splays out between you, but he eventually breaks it before you do.

"Higuruma Hiromi." He finally tells you, splitting his keen attention to return to his drinking.

You offer your name politely in return and then add, "I like how I didn't have to ask for it."

The exchange of names has him loosened up more than the alcohol. You see it in how he becomes a bit more telling in his expressions and body language. 

Higuruma shrugs, "You should never have to."

"Almost seemed like you wanted me to," You fire right back.

He can’t help but smile for the first time, thinking he was quick with his words but noticing you’re becoming quicker. "No? I'm your type, remember?” He teases, turning his head to scan the bar, “I know how you like a direct approach."

You wanted to hate how smooth he was but unfortunately it was only worsening the existing attraction you felt for him. He was supposed to approach you and say something corny like most men do—y’know, struggle to finalize your interest and completely squash whatever fantasized version of them you had in your head.

Yet, Higuruma was the exact opposite. He exceeded your prospects and then fucked a throbbing new reality right into your fantasies. 

That can’t be fair, can it?

"Alright,” You finally breathe out, feeling sick of how things are only getting worse for you. “So did you buy me a drink for the banter or are you interested in something more?" You ask.

Higuruma leans forward toward the bar and moves to rest his cheek against his knuckles as he looks at you, "Are you denying me the option of both already?"

"You didn't answer my question." You mock again.

Something on him twitches but it’s not his mouth this time. He distracts you from it with a kinder expression, "I'm interested in both."

Your brows raise, "So you expected the banter then."

"Not at all," Higuruma chuckles faintly. "My expectations were nonexistent, considering I prefer to be surprised."

You lean toward him a little, your dress shifting against your body and tempting him to dip his gaze elsewhere. Then you’ve the nerve to bat your lashes at him, "And how did I do? Are you surprised by my wit?" You joke.

Luckily it lands with another smile coming your way, "I'm surprised by you, period. Mainly because this is my first time seeing you here."

"I'm on a vacation trip with my friend," You hum, glancing and pointing back at Shoko.

Higuruma’s eyes follow before he nods at your spotted friend, "Ah, I see."

“And I'm assuming you come here often?" You ask, feeling happy to keep the casual conversation going.

He looks at you again, "More than I care to admit, yes."

"Mh." You squint skeptically at that, "Demanding job?"

If his answer turns out to be yes then it would all make sense. He looks tired, he’s still fully dressed in a suit, and he’s on his third drink of the night. 

"Yeah, I’m a lawyer.” Figures. “What gave it away?" Higuruma asks.

You gesture at his face playfully, "A little bit of everything."

He chuckles, "I get that a lot.” Then, he finally sets his glass back down and sits up a little straighter, intent on showing you that you have his undivided attention now.

As it stands, the two of you know so very little about one another. The only thing inherently obvious between you both is that you’re deathly attracted to each other.

A mutual comfort of sorts settles in between you and Higuruma, evident in how things felt moderately different now. The small talk had been nice and all, but it was overtly obvious that you both wanted much more than to pass time with words that’d surely be forgotten come the next morning.

Which is exactly why you run your eyes over the man one last appreciative time and let your head tip to the side as you say, "It's my last night here."

The sound of that has his brows perking up in interest, "You wanna make it worth something?"

"How so?" You shoot back.

Higuruma quips lightly, "Answer my question without another question and you'll find out."

You smile and finally concede, "Yeah, I wanna make it worth something…”

——

Which is roughly how you end up in the backseat of his car—his personal driver ahead pretending not to hear the heavy pants and breathy moans leaving the two of you.

You hardly remember how you got from one place to another. One second the two of you were drunkenly locking lips at the bar, and the next you were unbuckling your seatbelt and climbing on top of him after growing too needy to wait for the ride to be over.

The two of you were on your way to—what you assume to be—his place and while your concern for leaving out with a complete stranger should’ve been present, it wasn’t. Instead, the only thing concerning you was the way your dress slid up your thighs and over the curve of your ass via needy shoves from Higuruma’s big hands.

His grasp had been careful when it first met you in the bar—initially treating you all delicate-like as he cupped your jaw and pulled you in slowly for that first kiss. Then it’d traveled to the back of your neck, tugged you in to deepen the kiss, and ultimately ended up where it is now: tracing the skin of your thighs and bundling the fabric of your dress up, up, up! until your lacy panties were revealed.

One quick peek from his poor driver ahead and he’d surely be flashed by the sight of your underwear. Not that you were sober enough to care.

Higuruma’s fingertip dug into your thighs with a certain fixation for them, hauling your body impossibly closer to his own and prompting a proper grind against his clothed cock so you could feel exactly what you’d done to him thus far. It was enough to have you gasping into his mouth, your sounds swallowed up by his desperate kisses and the searing swats of his tongue that accompanied them.

Your arms were slung around his neck loosely and you couldn’t help how your hips bucked against him—the fabric of your panties clinging to your wet cunt as you ground a particularly soaked spot into his dark slacks.

"You want me now?" Higuruma scoffs into your mouth as if to scold you. Smirking before you can even answer and tonguing his next words into you, "Are you like this often? Throwing yourself on top of strangers and begging for them to touch you? Hm?"

When he pulls away, you’re given but one second to gasp as his head dips down and his nose brushes against your jawline—the sound of him inhaling your very scent giving you a short chill down your spine.

You manage a cheeky smile as you thread a hand into his hair and ruffle the strands in between your fingers, "If I say no, would you even believe me?"

His lips plaster the right side of your neck in hot kisses before he whispers, "Depends on how convincing you make it sound."

You push him back softly and his body rocks along with the movement, hands growing tighter at your hips. There’s a prominent twitch from his cock just under you at your sudden assertiveness, and the way you two meet eyes is downright filthy. Whatever visual chase you’d done earlier couldn’t possibly compare to the way you both just eye-fucked one another.

Breaking the moment, you lean to his ear, "No, Higu, I don't throw myself at people like this.” Your hands shift down and you start plucking a few of his clothes off—starting with his tie and trying to make your way down to his belt, “But, it's like I said earlier, tonight's my last night here and I wanna make it count. Sue me."

He chuckles at that, "Careful, sweetheart.” 

You’ve no idea if he was warning you about your words or the fact that your touch is trekking dangerously close to his erection. 

Your wonder is satisfied a mere second later as he adds, “I just might."

With a roll of your eyes, "Gross, does dirty talk with all lawyers sound like that?" You groan, finally pulling his belt free from the loops and tossing it to the side.

The sound of it clattering against the vacant seat has the driver up ahead—who's name you caught as Shiu Kong—peering into the rear view mirror. 

"It was a joke,” Higuruma responds to you lowly, a couple of his fingers slipping under the lace of your panties at your hip.

You scoff playfully, “A corny one.”

“You smiled.” He bites back.

Shaking your head this time, your gaze slips down to watch yourself unbutton his pants as you snort, “Jokes are meant to be laughed at.”

You barely get to unzip him before he says, “And you’re meant to be moaning by now.” 

Just like that, your attention is stripped from the task at hand (literally), and you’re meeting eyes with him all over again. It was clear he didn’t want to waste what little time he had with you. 

Thus leading you to match his energy as you always do, arching a brow and leaning in a little closer, “So make it happen.”

“Needy girl.”

——

Between the luxury car and penthouse you soon end up in, you hardly remember a pure thought ringing throughout your head. The entire ride had been filled with dry humping hot enough to have the two of you drooling into one another’s mouth, and it was like you’d blinked before you were being tossed onto some bed.

Items of Higuruma’s suit and your dress decorated the hallway leading up to his room, and the few remaining pieces of fabric between your bare skin and his was currently being glared at by a patently prurient pair of eyes. 

During the ride here, Higuruma had muttered something filthy into your ear about how he loooves making women like you feel good. Obviously you were too wrapped up in your own aroused brain to realize this was a warning of sorts.

The thing is, Higuruma was not your average eater. He didn't treat oral sex like foreplay or a thing to be done out of convenience, but he catered to the act as if it were an art to be studied and thoroughly executed.

You, (un)fortunately learn this the hard way.

After being not-so-patiently tossed onto a plush set of sheets, large, grabby hands met the underside of your thighs and were quick to sprawl your legs apart. Then Higuruma was settling himself in between them, uncaring of how hard he was and wanting-, no, needing only one thing from you at present.

You severely underestimated how infatuated a man could be with eating you out until you met Higuruma.

The gentleman was so utterly craving that he didn't even bother pushing your panties to the side. His lips met the fabric with ease, and you were left to watch him with slightly furrowed brows as he tongued through them to gather the first taste of you onto his rather famished tongue.

The first noise you let out was nothing short of embarrassing given that you flinched like a woman who hadn't been touched in months. Higuruma comforts you with a sound of his own though—a throaty groan vibrating directly in between your puffy folds in response to the teasing taste of you greeting the center of his oral muscle.

A long stripe of salivating sin swipes up all crookedly against your panty-clad cunt as he takes his sweet time figuring out how he wants to go about devouring you tonight.

When a proper dribble of your aroused slick enters his throat with one slippery descent, Higuruma's lashes begin to flutter as if heaven itself just met his taste buds in liquified fashion. Then he moans against you, a sneaky whine laced somewhere in between the desperate sound.

His hands grip the skin of your thighs and he pushes your legs out impossibly wider—like you hadn't been spread enough already! The little gasp you let out in reaction to being stretched so widely goes through one ear and out the other with the way Higuruma lets the entirety of his mouth cup your pussy before giving it a firm suck.

You thought having your panties on would be uncomfortable for you but you quickly found that it was the exact opposite with him. He'd suckled your taste hard enough to pull the fabric up into his mouth for a second, lifting his head a little and letting space grow between your now outstretched panties and your glistening cunt.

Then a cold brush of air would slip through said space and you'd shudder just to feel your underwear wetly slap! back down against you.

It was then that your hand shot down to his hair and your hips lightly rolled up for more. You felt the corner of his lips curl up to smirk as he continued with his oral motions.

At some point you get the feel that he's just taunting and your impatience gets the better of you, causing you to use your grip on his hair to push his face a little harder against your cunt.

Higuruma's hips buck against the bed hard enough to rock the entire frame at that as he lets something filthy exit his throat. Then you feel his smirk widening out into a smile before his eyes peek up at you. His tongue glides right and finally shifts under your panties for a moment, languidly licking at the lip he's met with there.

"Higuuu," You try crying out in an honest attempt for him to quit it with the teasing.

As if encouraged by the sound, his tongue simply begins to dip at the outskirts of your pussy. A thumb comes over smoothly to peel the rest of that lacy fabric out the way, and you hear him breath out something of awe at the raw sight of you.

Your poor cunt was sooo swollen from all the sucking and wet kisses he'd given you for the past however many minutes. If the sight didn't have his cock slobbering against his boxers then perhaps he'd feel bad.

With one more adjustment of his positioning, Higuruma moves his hands to your hips and then pulls you a little closer before he dives in nose first. The tip of it peppers a couple kisses around your clit just to feel the way your neglected nub twitches at the first bit of contact, and you feel a fat glob of spit meet your entrance.

The plump pad of his thumb pucks at your weepy hole a couple times before you hear him whisper, "Such a pretty lil' thing, fuuck."

Then he angles his face and you watch the whorish display of him lathering the bumpy ridge of his nose with all your profoundly drooling slick, his mouth returning to taste you directly for the first time.

Once he gets a full taste of you, he doesn't stop until he's satisfied—your gorgeous string of whines 'n moans drowned out into the air and battling for volume against the sloshy shlicks! coming from your cunt as Higuruma does what he'd been dying to do from the moment he first met eyes with you that night.

The feel of you against is tongue is something he just can't get enough of, his mouth is moving haphazardly along your slit to work your drenched folds further apart.

Then comes his thiiiick fingers, which work your insides out steadily in scissors-like motions. You feel him prodding against spots you weren't even aware you had, promoting the prettiest arch in your back as your body uncontrollably squirms against the bed to escape him.

Your breath had run from you many moments ago and you struggled to capture it back into your lungs, much too wrapped up in the pleasure thrumming all throughout your body.

Higuruma's a feral eater but he's neat with it, making sure none of your delectable slick escapes the jail of his mouth, and thoroughly pursuing any slips that dare to trickle elsewhere.

It's not until after your fourth or fifth orgasm—coaxed via his tongue alone—that you feel your legs turning to mush, jittery shakes noticeable as you use that grip on his hair to tug and then push at him all confusedly. You were at a point where you didn't even know what you wanted anymore. On one hand, his mouth was absolutely perfect against you, but on the other hand, you couldn't quite take it anymore.

Your whines were of pleas to convince him to give you a break yet your hips insouciantly bucked up at his face. And fuck if all of it didn't drive Higuruma mad.

Nothing could top watching you lose yourself in the pleasure he was able to give you.

Well, except for you giving him a rather rude shove just as his tongue flicks over your overstimulated clit. The exhale you release is one of near exhaustion but he only takes that as encouragement.

Grabbing at your wrist and lifting his head away from your cunt for the first time in a while, his eyes meet yours with a perfectly ticked-off glare, “As much as I love your hands on me, gorgeous, you’re interrupting my meal.” His tone is low and raspy in a way that shows his vocal cords have been well saturated with your taste.

The moment of grace you're given directly after only comes because Higuruma is busy snatching the loose tie that's been hanging around his neck off, and then lifting over you and taking the both of your hands into his grasp. Crossing your wrists with one another, your lashes are cutely flopping whilst you peer up at him with pleasureful tears coating your waterline.

A few minutes later and you find your wrists tied up over your head 'n anchored to the bed.

Your voice comes out all shaky, "H-Haven’t you had enough?”

His eyes lazy flick up to you and for the first time, he crack a crooked, but genuine smile. Cocking his head to the left, "No one’s ever eaten you out properly, huh?” He asks as if he already knew it to be a fact.

Blinking, “…What gave you that impression?” You huff.

Higuruma scoffs and looks back down at the sopping spread of your pussy, admiring the way your slick oozes out of you in pretty glimmers. Before losing his train of thought, “The dumb question you just asked.” He soon shoots back to you.

Your brows furrow, “Hiro—“ Before the rest of his name can finish its departure from your tongue, he's diving back in and you're left moaning all over again, “F-Fuuck!”

The man was no longer eating you out as if starved, no. He was now feasting upon your sloppy folds with a prideful passion of greed guiding ever nasty swipe of his tongue.

It wasn't long before his fingers joined back into the fun, stuffing you nice 'n full to prepare you for the next way in which greed would express itself into you.

Through the entire time he spent satisfying his oral fixation for you, his poor, fat, neglected cock was left to sob out something creamy down below. His balls ached from the lack of stimulation but fuuuck if he wasn't gonna prioritize his cravings over what his body claimed it needed.

When he finally lets his head fly back—after watching you fall apart on his mouth for the nth time of the night—you see as he pants, as if he was the one who'd just been slut out on a mere finger and tongue combo.

Casually muttering, “I think she’s ready for me now," as he shifts back to sit on his heels and works the weight of his cock out from the damped fabric it's been confined in all this time.

Your head shakes slightly but your cunt is busy twitching with readiness—clearly matching his greed with some of her own. “I don’t think I can…" You tell him while he comes up to untie you. Never quite finishing your sentence, you end it off with a sheepish, "Hiromi...” to gain his attention on you.

As if it had ever left to begin with...

He arches a thick brow your way, “You don’t think you can, what?" Another cocky smile is bearing across his lips, "You talked such a big game earlier. Surely a little foreplay hasn’t worn you out already.”

Foreplay?? He just ate you out for two hours!!

At that, you roll your eyes and playfully scoff, “Oh, fuck you.”

He hums, “You’re about to,” and then slots a wet hand to your hip, tapping slightly with his instructions of, "Flip over.”

You do exactly that with utmost swiftness. No matter how many pouts you sent him or how bratty your words were, your body couldn't deny the incessant desire for him. That feeling has been buzzing through you all night and now was not the time to try 'n ignore it.

“Oh fuck,” Higuruma lightly smacks your ass as you roll over, helping you to get in position as he throws a leg over you and sandwiches your limbs together. Grinning at how ruined you are for him already, “S'this your type too? Having a stranger's big cock stretch you open jus' right after a long day? Hm?"

You're drooling from every hole already—reduced to nothing more than a wet, needy mess of a woman below the man you met only a few hours ago.

If he'd mentioned anything personal to you between the bar and now, you wouldn't be able to remember it by tomorrow. But the way he fucks? Oh, you'd be remembering that for weeks to come.

And how could you not? There's nothing more memorable than the swollen, plump rounds of his cockhead smearing in between your puffed pussylips—sweetly streeetching you open to take the rest of his length.

"Yesss, Higu'." Your voice is immediately moaned into a pillow as the soft material smushes against your face, back arching some. "This is my type t-too.. hahh, I love it."

You're obviously just babbling whatever you can in agreement with him, but he couldn't much care.

With a firm thrust of his hips, his cock slides in deep and you're biting down at the pillow already due to his raunchy tip slathering in a messy greeting. “God, you’re nasty.” He huffs out a breathless little chuckle, already losing his own mind from the warmth that's currently swallowing him, “I think I like that about you.”

“Mnngh-, y-you just like how good I feel.” You say back to him, feeling one hand hold your hip to lift it up a few centimeters as the other presses into the slope of your spine.

The arch he forces you into is just filthy and you're almost annoyed by how snuggly his cock fits because of it. Your salivating walls twitch and throb out to his shape, folds kissing his wide base with him just nesting in place for a moment.

He snorts, “No, I like this—how bratty you pretend to be.” Then his hand kindly flies up to the back of your head so he can shove your face down, and his hips are reeling back.

Shit.

Fingers slot through your hair just to grip at you nicely and his cock pivots left inside you, “All that talk just to get a good fucking as if a simple please wouldn’t have brought you the same results.”

“Hiro,” You moan breathlessly, fingers dug into the sheets for support and toes curling up as mindless pleasure washing over you in hefty waves.

“Ohhh, I know, I knowww, sweet girl.” He coos with a condescension that has you spilling glossy gushes around the thick of his shaft, each spill decorating his thumping veins. “Don’t cry like that, I’m just givin’ you what you wanted. You wanted me to fuck you like this, didn’t you?”

The weight of Higuruma comes over you next, smothering you into the mattress and having your entire body jump involuntarily. You don't know whether or not you cum or cry because of it, but either way your reaction is adding a certain wetness to the situation.

Then you're just nodding in an all too fucked-out manner, “M-Mhmmm.”

“Mhmmm, yeahhh, you did.” He mocks, hips rocking down into you tenderly so he can stir up your insides jus' right, “Now tell me it feels good—tell me it feels good to get what you wanted, c’monnn.”

Higuruma's words of encouragement are enough to make your mind go blank, “I-It feels s’good Hiro,” His thrust gets unintentionally sharper and you're still going, “Ngh! You feel s’good.”

“So do you,” His voice gets louder with base as the heat of his mouth slanders against the crown of your ear, “I’m tempted not to let you go.”

Him being addicted to you was the one thing both of you wanted to avoid, but the heat of the moment got the better of you and he feels how your pussy hugs him in reaction.

Licking at your skin, "You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He whispers.

“Uhuhhh.” You nod again.

“Use your words, hun. I can’t understand you when you mumble.” Fuck, you don't think you'll be lasting the number of rounds he had planned for you if he continues to speak like that. “C’mon, talk to me all pretty like you have been all night.”

“Yes, Hiromi.” You eventually mewl, “I-I’d love it if you-, ah! didn’t let me go.”

“Fuck, you’re so good for me.” He praises huskily, dick achingly hard within the sleek confines of your cunt, "Bet you want me to keep you around after this, just so you can get the cock you deserve whenever you want it, huh?"

Your body tries to inch away from the strong roll of his hips and how soppily his cockhead is lapping against your sweet spot, "Ohmygod," He easily follows your chaste movements by bucking into you. "M'gonna cum Hiromi."

His bottom lip pokes out to pout, "Aww, again? A little bit of talking really gets you there like this?" He asks as if he's not right there with you, his fat balls taut with the need to pump something sinful into you.

You're a complete mess and your mind is going all blank on you, "M-Mhm."

"M-Mhmmm," He mocks again, "My poor baby, when's the last time you were fucked properly?"

Cunt fluttering around him, "I-I don't-"

"Shhh, not you." A bulky arm comes wrapping around your frantically twitching frame and two fingers suddenly slide right into your gaping mouth. Voice still hot against your ear, his other arm snakes down so he can tap at your clit, "M'talking to my pretty girl down here."

And that is all it takes for you to choke on his fingers as you leave a splashing mess on him, eyes rolling back, back, back! until only the whites are showing.

Higuruma fucks you good. Talking right through your every orgasm as if he had no idea how to shut that filthy mouth of his, cooing and mocking you all through each mess.

You'd hadn't been fucked that good in so long, you're pretty sure you were the first one to tap out not too long after leaving a squirting slob of cum on him.

And Higuruma, ever the cunt-connoisseur, made sure to end the night by "lightly" licking you clean.

During that act is when you actually fall asleep and he's pretty sure you're the kinda woman he'll be thinking about for a while after this.

You may not have kept up with him fully—at least not to his standards of doing so—but he does appreciate how you allowed him the opportunity to slut you out exactly as he'd hoped to!

——

The morning after was nothing short of a blur. 

You departed without giving Higuruma much of a goodbye, but you’re hoping the little note you left with your phone number attached to it will be enough. Part of you felt bad knowing that he’d be waking up to a half empty bed—considering that’s definitely not what he fell asleep in—but the other part of you felt as though Higuruma may appreciate the lack of you in his arms, per not wanting to get too attached.

And bearing in mind the way things play out for you going forward, you’re sure the latter of your preferences are closer to validation.

Shoko had a field day upon hearing you recount your details of the night as you two exchanged stories during the flight, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself right back home.

The first day back to reality was a painful reminder of why you’d left in the first place. 

Walking into the lobby of your family’s company building for the first time in weeks was dreadful, to say the least. Employees greet you all politely as you pass, but their heads only dip in automatic acknowledgement of the chairman’s daughter—aka, you. It’s a fake routine you’ve grown both accustomed to and very tired of. 

Nothing real ever comes from these small interactions and the majority of the people in this building view you as some sort of pawn in your parent’s game. Which, unfortunately, is exactly what you come to find out you are.

You made way towards the elevator and mashed the button for the thirtieth floor, shutting your eyes for a moment to collect yourself and get your thoughts back into that working mindset. Your phone buzzed against your palm with a message from your father’s assistant, urging you to make your way to his office a little faster.

A sigh escapes you and with each floor you pass, you feel the weight of impending doom press into your shoulders. You'd hardly been home for more than twenty-four hours and you already wished you were back on vacation.

When the elevator doors finally open to your designated floor, the hallway outside your father's office is quietly expecting you. His assistant shoots up from her desk immediately.

"Miss," She greets ever so politely, a tremor of nerves caught in her voice as she does so. "He asked that you come in right away."

You wave a hand her way and let an unimpressed smile carve itself into your face, "I got your text, thanks."

You watch as she hurries over to the door and knocks once before peaking in to announce your arrival to the room. After which, you step right inside and watch your father's assistant give you nervous eyes just before the door shuts behind you.

As the soft click serves as the only sound in the room, you turn your attention elsewhere and immediately realize something is off.

Your father's seated behind his desk with his hands neatly folded together, a composed expression you only see when he's conducting board meetings plastered across his face.

In your head, you wondered if that was any way to greet one's child after not seeing them for a few weeks, but you suppose your father has never really viewed you as such. You've always been less of a daughter to him and more of a strategic asset liable to be moved at any point in time, for the betterment of the company.

While harsh, you—and everyone else around you—knew it to be true.

Before you or your father could greet one another outside of distasteful looks, the sight of some blonde man sitting in front of his desk makes your brows twinge up some more. You thought it weird that you were called here in such a hurry just for someone else to be there as well.

Your father notices where your eyes have gone and just as you open your mouth to say something, he's cutting you off with a gesture towards the empty chair beside the blonde stranger, "Sit down."

Whatever this was, you hated it already.

Not that your feelings stop you from doing as you're told, considering it was much too early to start an argument. The moment you seat yourself, you turn your head to get a better look at the man next to you.

Safe to say, you've never seen him before.

He seems tall, he's got these broad shoulders that are concealed only by the tailoring of his tan suit, and his facial features are sharper than ever. A fawning pair of brown eyes glance your way and gently meet yours, matching the concern and confusion etched into you.

It was clear that you weren't the only one curious about this sudden meeting.

"I've called you in here because there's an important matter we need to discuss regarding the future of the company," Your father says, snatching both the blonde man's attention and your own all in one go.

His statement is enough to have you feeling nervous but you do your best to steel your emotions until the real bullshit comes flying out of his mouth like you know it will soon.

Continuing on in that tiresome drawl, he looks directly at you, "As you know, our company has been in negotiations for several months with another firm concerning a potential merger."

You can't do much except nod your head slowly, "Right.."

Your father gestures to the man beside you, "This is Nanami Kento."

On queue, Nanami looks your way again and then moves his hand out for you to shake, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Unfortunately for him and the respectfully offered handshake, you decline it rather rudely. Looking down at his open hand and then turning back to your father with a cocked brow. "And?" You ask, ready to get to the point of this meeting.

Nanami's hand remains outstretched for an awkward moment before he retracts it, pursing his lips together at the feel of embarrassment washing over him. Had he made such a bad impression on you already?

"The Nanami Group has agreed to the merger," Your father finally gets out, leading to your brows lifting in surprise.

Well, now you felt bad for declining the handshake...

"Oh." Glancing at Nanami again, you have a softer expression on your face as you go to apologize. "That's wonderful, I'm—"

You're cut off by the slow addition of, "On one condition." soothing into the air.

Your head whips back into your father's direction and whatever expression of excitement you had, drops with utmost quickness. "What condition?" You ask with a pointed look.

His eyes shoot down to his desk as if to avoid yours. "You're to marry him," He responds shortly, gesturing to Nanami as he speaks.

Aaaand there it was! The bandaid had finally been ripped off.

For a moment, you swear you heard the old man wrong. Surely he didn't just say you have to marry the man you just met less than five minutes ago?

"...Pardon?" You breathe out.

Your father maintains that eerie calmness of his, "The union between our families will solidify the partnership between our companies."

Some of his words mull through one ear and out the other because you're too busy trying to figure out whether or not this was really happening to you. 

The man who raised you was actively informing you that he'd basically sold you off for the amelioration of the family company.

You only manage to tune back into what he’s saying when he finds the gall to hum, "The merger between our families will then be finalized after the marriage produces an heir."

Across the desk, Nanami shifts slightly in his chair as he chokes—a clear sign that the conversation had become uncomfortable for someone other than just you.

Meanwhile, you manage yet another scoff, "You're joking."

"Not at all," Your father chirps, "The boards of both companies felt it would ensure a lasting partnership between our two families."

"Oh okay, so not only am I being married off," You begin slowly, "But I'm also expected to start producing corporate successors? I'm to be married and bred, all in one go."

You watch the way he rolls his eyes and gestures a hand out to wave, diminishing both your words and your feelings, "You make it sound so harsh. This agreement merely ensures stability between both families.” He claims before adding, “A-And you've already agreed to it.”

The stammer in his voice told you more than enough. You knew right then that whatever agreement he was referring to was probably born out of some form of manipulation or miscommunication.

Blinking, "I beg your finest pardon?"

A document is slid your way just as your question finishes off.

"Years ago,” Your father nods, “During the board's succession program. You remember.”

No the fuck you don’t.

Well, you do. But you definitely don’t recall signing your consent to this arrangement.

You know what he’s talking about took place when you’d first joined the family business but, at the time, he’d told you that the documents you were signing was "standard procedure for future executives in family companies"

Now you're seeing that this wasn't the case at all.

Silly you for thinking it was all just meaningless paperwork.

As you snatch up the document, you notice your signature sitting clear as day across the bottom. Shaking your head, "Nowhere on this does it say that I'm supposed to be—"

"Clause seventeen." Your father directs.

Your eyes narrow as they flock there immediately.

In the event that the chairman determines a strategic marital alliance beneficial to the company, the undersigned consents to participate in such union for the purpose of securing corporate stability and lineage...

Your gaze stops for a moment, jaw agape and heart clenching up in your chest. Especially as you continue reading to see that it only gets worse.

...The parties involved acknowledge the expectation of producing a direct heir to reinforce the partnership between two family entities.

"Oh you've got to be fucking kidding me." You scoff.

"Language." Your bastard of a father has the nerve to scold, leaning back in his chair with a casual creak. Shrugging, "You signed it willingly."

That sentence alone is enough to start an argument between the two of you that stretches on for at least thirty minutes. All of which Nanami sits there listening rather uncomfortably due to feeling like he’s overhearing things he really shouldn’t be.

You bring up past family issues and the current relationship between your mother and father—scolding the old man for doing the same thing to you as was done to him years ago. Arranged marriages shouldn’t be some type of tradition in your family but with the way things are looking now, that seems to be what was becoming of it.

Despite his discomfort, Nanami sits there in awe of you. When his parents informed him that he’d be marrying a woman he’d never met, he didn’t even think to argue with them the way you are with your father now.

And he hadn’t even seen you yet!

Part of him supposes that’s because he was raised differently than you—having been told from a young age that his role in his family matters little to nothing if the future of their company isn’t his top priority. Whatever childhood dreams he had were crushed a long time ago and replaced with only the thought of doing what’s best for the company, even if that now meant marrying a woman he knew nothing about.

But seeing you now…

Nanami knew then that knowing nothing about you wouldn't matter much longer. The mix of passion and honest frustration you so openly expressed towards your father directly in front of him was nothing short of endearing to the blonde witness.

And by the time you flung that signed document back into your father’s face and went storming out the room, Nanami was certain he’d fall for you even if you swore never to look his way.

Which is why he shoots up to his feet just as the door slams behind you, ignoring the way your father murmurs something to him about not bothering to chase after you, and giving the man a curt nod before doing exactly that.

As Nanami opens the door, he spots you making way for the elevator and does his best to keep up with you without looking like he intended to follow you (even though he did).

Like a lost puppy of sorts, he trails behind you and enters the elevator alone with you just before the doors begin to shut.

His eyes fall to the way you’re mashing at the button to another floor—trying not to chuckle at the way you accidentally press seven other buttons to various floors in the process. His posture stiffens up as you side eye him sharp enough for him to feel it, and he worries that following you in here may not have been in his best interest.

…Even though he wanted to speak to you after witnessing everything.

Lifting a fist to his lips, Nanami clears his throat. The elevator begins its slow, creaky descent and he keeps his gaze fixated straight ahead as he breaks the silence, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t pity me,” You breathe out without thinking, immediately regretting the harshness of your voice. 

His shoulders tense up at how immediate your response was, heart skipping a beat now that your aggravations were being directed towards him. Even his face was getting warm like you’d complimented him or something.

A quiet moment passes before you slowly release a sigh, “While it’s appreciated, I’m afraid your sorry is worth nothing to me.”

Nanami nods, “Understood.” His single word of comprehension soothes your nerves over juuuust a tad. Then, he glances over to you—appreciating the side of your face, “I hope you know I had as much control in this as you did.”

You didn’t have any control in this—obviously—so his words provided a light sense of comfort to you. Meeting his gaze, you lift a brow at him, “Your parents see you as a means for breeding just as mine do, I’m assuming?”

His mouth opens but you watch the way they twitch as your bluntness throws him off. Clearing his throat again, his eyes darted off, “That’s uh… That’s one way to put it.”

“Well,” You huff, turning to face forward, “At least I’m not alone in that regard.”

Nanami doesn’t say it, but he hopes to find more regards to comfort you in as time passes. While the marriage itself isn’t what he wanted in the slightest, he can’t find it in himself to complain after his eyes have taken you in.

He’s never believed in love at first sight and he knew for sure this wasn’t that but… there was something about you that had him thinking all of this would be worth it in the end, somehow.

——

The next few days, weeks, and soon months of preparation feel like you’ve entered an unimaginable level of Hell.

You were trying your best not to be a drama queen, but you can’t exactly help yourself when the announcement of your engagement was merely the tip of the iceberg.

Due to your outburst in your father’s office that day, he thought it best to have you and Nanami constrained into the same home for some time before you two were to be wed. 

The apartment you resided in beforehand had been purchased and provided under the family company, but now that you were forcefully engaged and clearly not fond of it—it was in both company’s best interest to have you and Nanami grow used to each other in one way or another. So, in other words, shoving the two of you into some house together with curfews and security placed all around simply made sense.

Living with Nanami wasn’t the worst thing in the world since he’s nothing short of a gentleman, but you still hated every waking hour of it.

Your father may have been able to drive you into a relationship and a home with some stranger but he couldn’t force you to interact with the man so, you didn’t!

There was one bedroom designated for the two of you but Nanami insisted that you sleep there and he take the guest bedroom down the hall so that you’d be somewhat comfortable. You appreciated that much from him but it didn’t stop you from avoiding him at all costs.

Even if he was the first face you were greeted with every morning, even if you two had silent dinners together, even if you were forced to head to work together, and even if you quite literally could not escape the damn man—you refused to open up to him.

He could put a ring on your finger and a baby inside you directly after, and yet you remained firm with your decision to never pretend to be happy in your impending marriage.

Nanami of course is fine with whatever you decide to do. He would accept your comfort over fake happiness any day. 

So if he had to stomach scolding from both his parents and yours about how the two of you are the most awkward couple ever to be seen—he’d do it a thousand times over knowing that you’re content with the way things are.

The concept of distant lovers proved itself in the most outward way through you and Nanami. While labeling the two of you as “lovers” without the addition of its artificial origins is quite the stretch, neither of you could pretend that nothing existed between you.

Especially on Nanami’s end.

He understood that your distaste toward him came from the lack of control you had in your being together, but no matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t bring himself to care at the same level you did. Not when he was so utterly enamoured by all that you are.

You distracted him from the realities of this compulsory relationship. He knew he was attracted to you from the day you walked in that office, hardly spared him a glance, and proceeded to curse your father out right in front of him.

Then there was how snappy you’d been after, how tense you looked every time you and him occupied the same room, and how distant you keep yourself nowadays.

Nanami knows he should be on the same page as you—protesting against this union through refusing to get close to you and keeping things strictly cordial.

But… he can’t.

There’s a stubborn thump of longing in his heart that’s highlighted for him every time you enter a room, his eyes find you in every crowd, and he feels himself wanting nothing more than to gently wipe the stress right off that pretty face of yours.

He swears he could do it too—if you’d let him.

Unfortunately, you’re far more stubborn than he is when it comes to matters of the heart. In the few personal conversations the two of you have just barely managed to have, he can tell your mind is constantly elsewhere. Constantly distant.

You could be sitting a few feet away from him, looking him directly in the eyes, and actively engaging in conversation with him but he can still see that something-, or someone else is on your mind.

And of course he doesn’t know it but that’s another issue for you.

How can you be expected to get close with Nanami on your own accord when Higuruma is still lingering around in your mind?

Perhaps it was because being with him was the last time you got to do something for yourself. Or maybe it was the simple fact that the night with Higuruma still replays in your head while you’re at your most vulnerable. Or, even worse, possibly it’s the way that man hasn’t reached out to you once and how much that bothers you.

How fair is it that you’re still thinking about him all this time later as your life is falling apart and yet he’s probably not doing the same at all, considering the way he refuses to contact you?

Was that single night with him really not enough to have him wanting more? Had you meant so little to him because you were a mere stranger? Would you ever see him again—and if you did, would he even rejoice in the reconnection?

At some point, you find that the more you let thoughts of Higuruma plague you, the further you distance yourself from your fiancé. While that was your preferred outcome, you felt that it wasn’t fair to Nanami to have someone else on your mind like this.

It was one thing to avoid him out of parental rebellion but it was another thing entirely to do so because of another man who’d clearly forgotten about you some time ago.

——

Hence why you allow yourself one day to try getting to know Nanami about seven months into your engagement to him.

Yes, seven months in. That’s seven months of dry conversation, seven months of stubborn avoidance, seven months of trying to prove to your parents that you’d never be happy in this, and seven months of Nanami suffering from feeling his heart long for you more and more despite the lack of reciprocation.

While the change is certainly unexpected on his end, he doesn’t shoot down the opportunity to get somewhere personal with you for once.

You woke up that day telling yourself that if he started a conversation with you, you wouldn’t be as dismissive as you usually are with him. When you ran into him in the hallway first thing that morning, you greeted him with a smile that made his heart skip several beats.

Not only was it unfair for you to have neglected him for so long—for reasons outside of your parents and the overall dynamic of your relationship—but it was also unfair how much of an effect you seemed to have on the man. 

His cheeks hued a soft shade of pink upon being greeted so kindly and the awkward little murmur of good morning wishes that came your way in response had you feeling rather good about your new little plan.

Perhaps giving Nanami a chance wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe you wouldn’t have to fake being happy for the entirety of your being with him. Though, you know deep down that’s exactly what your parents wanted from the get go.

At least it’ll be on your own terms though, right?

The entire day of giving Nanami a chance goes by at a normal pace. You share a breakfast with him instead of skipping out on it and starving yourself for half the day as you normally do, the two of you not only head to work together but you’re also spotted acting like an actual couple for once, and the day later concludes on quite the sweet note.

Which brings you to the end of said day where you’re just pushing away from the dinner table and helping Nanami to collect the dishes and carry them off to the kitchen. He gentlemanly takes your plate before you could even turn with it and leads the way, to which you slowly follow after.

This is where the real rare part came in. Before today, you’d always bid him goodnight after sitting in uncomfortable silence and forking at food you hardly had a taste for. But now—now that you’d spent the day trying something different—you figured you shouldn’t let things end as they normally do.

Nanami has moved to wash the dishes by the time you enter the kitchen, and you come to lean against the counter to watch him. He caught on to your change in attitude earlier that day, so it doesn't surprise him too much to see you changing other things in your routine like this.

“Thank you for today,” He starts out easily, sponge in hand and skin soaked up to his wrists with soapy water.

Your brows twinge at that almost instantly, “You don’t have to thank me for that, Kento.”

Ah, the sound of his name on your tongue has never been sweeter. 

Nanami’s hands are still against the submerged dishes, and you catch the way his shoulders tighten ever so slightly before relaxing again. Then he shakes himself out of his surprise, “I do though,” He says a moment after, his voice a tinge quieter. “It meant more than you think.”

His delicately spoken words have you seeing things from a new perspective for once. You’d spent all this time so wrapped up in being trapped in a relationship that you nearly forgot he was just as trapped as you were. It’s not like he signed up for this, the only difference between you and him was the fact that his parents spent their whole time raising him into being exactly what he was now: a product of marriage for the company.

Meanwhile you had been blindsided by your parents for years.

When you take everything into consideration, you realize both you and Nanami are living on two different sides of the same coin. During the past few months you spent resenting him as much as you did your situation, you’d been incredibly lonely and now you wonder if he’d felt that way his entire life.

To be raised the way he was is nothing short of cruel, but at least with this engagement he wouldn’t have to live in that cruelness all alone—so long as you take the blame off his shoulders and replace it with a feeling of understanding. To be trapped in a relationship is one thing, but to be trapped in a relationship with Nanami Kento doesn’t have to be as horrid as you’ve spent months convincing yourself it would be.

The kitchen you both occupy is calm now that his thanks has settled into the air. Sounds of dishes clinking softly, the warm water splashing against his skin, and the distant hum of your shared home gave you a domestic feel for a mere moment

Your eyes find Nanami, quietly admiring his acute focus on getting those plates and utensils clean. You knew this from the day you met him but, he was never a bad looking man. Hell, he had a list of redeemable qualities.

Months you’ve spent living alongside him, existing in the same space, eating across from him, and yet this feels like the first time you’ve allowed your eyes the liberty of lingering with no resistance. Between your appreciative glances, something of guilt swells up inside you—as if you weren’t supposed to be looking at him like this after spending so long ignoring him.

But at the same time, he is your husband-to-be.

You push yourself away from the counter and then round it, still taking all of his build in for the first time. His back is the first thing that yanks at your attention as you pace somewhere behind him.

Gaze tracing the line of his back, you notice how structured and broad it is—a feature you noted upon first sight of him in your father’s office before. The tension of the day rests clearly in his posture and the way he holds himself upright. His dress shirt pulls across his shoulders whilst his hands busy against those dishes and you nearly walk into the opposing counter-side when the fabric stretches just enough to tease at something bulky resting beneath.

You swallow thickly and turn your head away sharply to distract yourself.

Because you’re standing behind him, you miss how he grins to himself—having felt your eyes on him, but not daring to comment on it. He’d acknowledged the same thing you did: the two of you are engaged and fully allowed to gawk at one another.

Nanami had indulged in it more times than he’d probably ever admit to you, unable to focus on anything else whenever you’re around.

With the way you’d turned your head away to stop yourself from drooling over a man you willingly ignored for far too long, you notice a small radio tucked neatly into a corner. Curiosity quickly gets the better of you and you snatch the item right up into your hands.

Toying with the buttons rather cluelessly, you wonder why Nanami’s got a radio sitting in the kitchen when you’ve never heard the man play music a day in your life.

Even though you’ve been avoiding him like the plague for as long as you’ve known him…

You’re not sure what exactly you press but something soft begins to leave the radio and you're quick to locate what appears to be the volume knob, turning it and letting the sound of Be Like a Woman replace those domesticated noises that were starting to get to you moments ago. 

It’s a little staticky at first, just barely crackling the song to life with grainy distortion before the device remembers its own function and plays out smoothly.

The moment your ears pick it up, you smile to yourself and fall into a slow sway.

Behind you, the sound of running water comes to a steady stop. You don’t turn right away as the music settles fully, wrapping around you and your idle sways to it.

As if delighted by the tune, Nanami’s eyes locate you from over his shoulder with passive quickness.

It takes you a moment or two before you glance back at him, spotting an outstretched hand, and then biting back a smile at the implication. “You can’t be serious.” You murmur, even though you’d already set the tone for dancing.

“Humor me,” Nanami hums, a kind smile working wonders at turning your heart to mush. “One dance won’t kill you, will it?”

You continue to gape at his hand as if it’d go away without you saying something. Sighing, you’re careful with the way you bring your eyes up to meet his.

This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To try?

“I suppose not.” You respond while moving to take his hand and let him gently bring you closer. 

His palm is moist from the water he’d hastily dried off and it tightly locks against your own. Then as he guides you toward himself, his other hand lifts before stopping just short of your waist. There’s a question and request for consent in his eyes—to which you grant by looking down at his not-yet-connecting hand, and then back up at his face to nod.

Nanami’s touch eases into your side and both of your bodies sway right into one another. Your free hand finds his shoulder to rest on, and just like that the two of you are dancing.

It’s naturally a mix of slow ‘n awkward at first but what makes it an act to relish in is the way you both feel the romance bundling about.

The subtle clumsiness of it all is enough to make you break eye contact first, looking off to the side as you sway together. That is, before Nanami tilts his head toward the direction you’ve focused your attention into and whispers, “You’re good at this.”

God, his voice was much too endearing for you to ignore—especially all close to you like this. You shake your head and let your eyes roll playfully, “We’re just swaying back and forth, it doesn’t take much skill.”

Nanami chuckles at that and you feel your heart thumping a little louder. "Then I suppose I shouldn't be too proud of myself," He murmurs.

You release a soft huff, the sound light and easygoing—much unlike how the two of you have been for months.

Your bodies continued in their dance with one another, everything steady and close as the music continued to envelop you.

Soon your hand shifts slightly on his shoulder, fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt and feeling how firm he is beneath it.

Nanami's reaction is near-immediate.

He inhales sharply to show that the touch had clearly caught him off guard, composure thinning by the second. Then his jaw tightens a bit and you see a faint flush creeping in along the highest points of his cheekbones.

Cute.

Unable to control your grin, "Kento..?" You murmur.

Instead of answering right away as he usually does, Nanami seems to be lost in thought before he responds. His hand tightens at your waist just a faction and his mouth is slow to open and close with words struggling to leave him.

"I've uh..." He starts, only to stop shortly after.

You're patient with him and give no sense of hurry with how you're staring up at him.

Clearing his throat, "I've wanted to do this for a while." Nanami admits quietly, eyes dropping.

Your brows raise, "What, dance with me?"

His gaze flickers and something in between shy and utterly embarrassed flashes over him. The way he shakes his head all slowly makes you want get the sudden desire to bite him or something.

"...No," The honesty in his singly spoken word makes your chest clench.

Swallowing thickly, "Then what?" You ask.

Your dancing gets impossibly slower and you're left to realize just how close you two are. Breaths are shared, gazes are locked onto everything but one another's, and it's almost like the music had stopped playing just to highlight the mirroring beats of your hearts.

Nanami's head tips to the side and he leans in, stopping just short of pressing his lips to yours, and leaving your breath to hitch.

Were you really gonna let him kiss you? That easily?

His lips graze yours and you're unconsciously gripping onto both his hand and his shoulder with something anxious building inside you. You didn't realize how badly you wanted this until it was—quite literally—dangling in front of your face.

“May I?” He utters, oh-so-sure your rejection will be what follows.

To his surprise, you’re already nodding.

And then it happens. Then his lips are meeting yours and you're feeling the way he flinches as if he hadn't initiated the whole thing.

Something vibrates inside his mouth but you're unsure whether or not it's a hum or some sort of whine. Nanami kisses you in a tentative way, testing something delicate with every soft slip of his mouth to yours.

Your hands leave each other and he carefully wraps the both of his arms around you as your arms do the same with his neck.

For a first kiss with the man you've been engaged to for seven months—it's not exactly what you expected.

Nanami is surprisingly shy with it, almost as if he doesn't know what the hell he's doing. Because of this, you're guiding him through most. of it and he's blindly following your lead.

Even so, the kiss is quite sweet, and when you pull away, your eyes widen out at how much he's blushing.

You didn't know a man's face could go so red from a single kiss. Especially a kiss without tongue. You hardly did anything!

When Nanami's eyes open, they meet with yours briefly in hopes you won't comment on how embarrassed he seems to be.

Luckily for him, you find the hues of pinks and reds on his face endearing enough to move your hands up to his face and cup his cheeks into your palms. He's warm against your skin and you hear his breath stutter when you pull him in for another kiss.

It's clear that you never really know how badly you wanted or needed something until you have it.

This time around, the kiss is needy. Your lips part over one another and he lets you slip your tongue into his mouth, groaning at the connection, and pressing forward with you until your lower back meets the nearby counter.

Nanami keeps kissing you like he doesn't know how to, but you find yourself enjoying the liberty of leading him through it.

That is, until he grunts into your mouth and you feel something solid twitching against your front. You try to ignore it at first, telling yourself there's no way he popped a boner from kissing you, but that grows increasingly difficult as his hulking frame melts into you entirely.

You nibble on his lower lip a little, whispering, "Kento.." as if ready to scold him.

Nanami panics. Fuck, why do you choose now of all times to call out his name? He's already trying his best not to cu-

"Are you hard?" You ask.

Fuck. Why would you ask him that? Can you feel it? Has he accidentally rubbed up against you?

"U-Uhm-," Nanami chokes on his own breath. "I-, what?"

You snort.

There's no way you find this funny, right?

"I asked if you were hard," You repeat nonchalantly, caressing his face, "Did kissing me like that turn you on?"

"Well.. uh," He gapes at you like one big himbo, "I-Is it that obvious...?"

Now you're giggling, "I mean, I can feel it."

"Sorry," He looks down to avoid getting even more turned on from the way you're staring at him. "I told you I've been wanting to do this for a while and-, well... I didn't mean to get so excited from it, sorry."

"You don't have to apologize for it, Ken." You comfort sweetly.

The nickname makes his situation worse by a long shot, sticky dribbles of precum promptly oozing out of his blushing tip. God, did you have any idea what you were doing to him?

With the way you remove an arm from around his neck and begin to trail your hand down his body, it's clear that you most certainly did. "I just didn't expect you to be so reactive like that," Your tone is different now.

Something sultry is in your voice and it's making poor Nanami nervous beyond belief.

He'd never gone this far with a woman.

Shrugging, "Well, most virgins are rather sensitive to touch, I'm sure." Nanami says timidly.

Your hands freeze against him and you blink. "You're a virgin?"

He nods.

The way he kept avoiding eye contact with you, the sound he let out when you initially kissed him, and the way he flinched at your touch shifting earlier all make so much sense now.

“Does that... turn you off?" Nanami asks, voice airy. "Me not being experienced?”

“What? No, of course not!” You pull him closer and then push up to peck at his mouth, “If we’re really getting married then, I’ll take care of you, Kento.”

That makes his head spin with dizziness and his cock throb. So much so that he's hardly even thinking straight as he asks, “You want to wait?”

You blink again. “You.. don’t?”

Because of the nature of your relationship, you always just assumed Nanami would prefer to wait 'til marriage, and now that he's admitted to you that he's a virgin, you were sure on that fact more now than ever.

You never had a preference of when sex between you two happened since you spent most of your time failing to think of a way out of this engagement.

“I’m sure our parents would prefer it if we did.” Nanami tells you.

Oh.

It was true, both of your parents would probably prefer the two of you doing things the more "traditional" way, but with that rebellious streak still lingering inside you...

“Perhaps we shouldn’t, then.” Flies out of your mouth without second thought as you're pressing up on him—tits neat against his chest.

“I agree.” Nanami rushes out, thinking only with what's drooling in between his legs right now instead of his head. “Let’s have something for ourselves."

——

And have something for yourselves you did.

While one would think that after a softly whispered claim such as that, the two of you would end up fucking like feral beasts within the next few minutes… that’s not quite how Nanami loses his virginity to you.

Instead, you two agree not to do anything that night.

Nanami mentioned something about not being ready for it by the time you both made it to the bedroom, but in actuality, he was a bit fearful to have sex. He told himself that kissing you would be enough for the time being, and you went right along with it.

…Until the following morning, that is.

Now, after you and Nanami finally seemed to resolve whatever thick walls of tension had been between you both, you took it upon yourself to share a bed with him. Nanami, having been crushing on you from the moment he laid eyes on you, would’ve been a fool to deny you of your wish to do so when you’d asked.

Which is exactly how you two ended up in the position you’re in now—snuggled up together in what used to be his bedroom but would soon be shared between you both.

Nanami remembers vividly how he told you he wanted to wait to take things to the next level but that request seems to have been tossed right out the window as he stirs awake first. He’d always been one to think with what’s in his head instead of what’s in his pants but it seems a simple night of sleeping in the same bed as you is enough to change things for him.

This isn’t the first time he’s woken up with a troublesome throb coming from in between his legs—especially not since he’s been living with you—but it’s downright ironic how he just told you he wanted to wait and now his body was desiring otherwise.

Nanami keeps his eyes shut for a while, hoping his boner would magically go away before you wake up.

Unfortunately for him, you don’t even have to wake up for his situation to get worse.

His eyes end up shooting open as a soft breath of air flutters against his naked chest, making him keenly aware of your resting face smushed up against him. Then other sensations occur; the scent of your shampoo trickles up into his nose, your chest snuggly presses into his side, and your entire leg has been thrown over him somewhere in your sleep.

His gaze lifts up to the ceiling in hopes he can ignore how those combined factors do nothing more for him than lead his cock to weep small dribbles of precum against his sweatpants. 

Nanami had gone to sleep in only his sweats due to the fact that you’d already been in his room by the time he got in the shower last night. He never found an appropriate time to slip in to grab the boxers he’d conveniently forgotten, so now he was dealing with his tip leaving a prominent wet spot against the grey fabric concealing his erection.

Fuck, he’s sure if you were to open your eyes now, you’d be met with the nasty sight. The worst part about it is the fact that you laying on top of him is only making it worse by the second because his brain just won't shut up.

He can’t help but wonder how you’d react seeing him like this—knowing you’re the reason he gets so uncomfortably hard. Would you scold him for it? Tell him off and call him a perv even after the lighthearted events of last night?

Or would you comfort him? Show him another side of you he’s only ever dreamed of seeing?

Either way he knows he’s screwed since his cock twitches at both thoughts. 

And then you shift.

The hand you had laying idle on his chest slides down a little and his dick bobs its thick head up against his sweats. Being so sensitive to your touch was faring much worse for him than he expected it to.

Your head moves a bit as you stir awake and Nanami’s heart is pounding so hard in his chest that he wonders if you can feel it. You turn to groggily look at him, immediately met with his half-lidded eyes meeting yours as the morning sunlight highlights the flush decorating his cheeks.

You blink a few times before mumbling, “Morning Ken.”

The arm Nanami’s had comfortably wrapped around you grips you ever so slightly. Then he whispers back to you, “Good morning, love.”

Warmth settles into your heart at the sound of that.

“Are you okay? Your face is all red,” You point out, lifting your hand away from his chest and up to feel his forehead.

“I’m fine,” He lies, knowing you’re just one glance down from realizing he’s everything but.

You nod though, moving to sit halfway up and extend your arms over your head to stretch. Nanami watches you carefully, having spent night after night dreaming he’d wake up to this very sight.

Seeing you wearing a shirt of his because you were too lazy to go grab one of your own last night, gaze following how the fabric hugs you—Nanami is forced to adjust his hips a bit.

He feels utterly perverted staring at you like this while his mind works up the most sinful imaginations of you so early in the morning.

You’re likely about to depart from his room and yet he’s laying there wondering how your hands would feel exploring every inch of him.

“Kento,” He flinches at the abrupt utterance of his name. Then he focuses his attention back onto your face and notices where your eyes have finally fallen. “Do you uhm,” You point at his crotch, “Do you want help with that?”

Something especially wet slides down the side of his cock—as if he were literally drooling from his tip. Glancing down at himself, then back up at you, “You can ignore it if you want. I just—“

“I don’t wanna ignore it, though.” You admit, leaning closer to him.

Nanami’s breath catches for a moment and he tries to sit up, only to be stopped by your hand meeting his chest and lightly pushing him back down. Eyes softening on you, “What are you doing?”

“I told you I’d take care of you last night, didn’t I?” You remind him.

He gulps, “Yes but… I didn’t think you’d want to do something like this. It’s embarrassing and..."

As he speaks, your hand is traveling down the smooth, yet firm board of his abs—feeling him tense 'n twitch the lower your touch gets.

It's not until you're playing with the drawstrings of his sweats that he lets out a rather submissive noise. "...A-Are you really going to touch that?" Nanami squeaks.

You smile at him innocently, "Touch what?"

The usual base in his voice is all but lost as he gulps, "My cock."

"We agreed to have something for ourselves," Your fingers halt against his drawstrings and then slip under the fabric, skimming over the light tufts of blonde hair just above his base. "So unless you want me to stop, I should like to have this for myself."

Nanami shakes his head slowly, chest rising and falling as his nervousness runs rampant throughout his body, "N-No, don't stop."

Those words are exactly what lead you to jerking your fiancé off on that slow morning, eventually working his cock out of his sweats and kissing at his flushed skin as your hand travels up 'n down his length.

It was more intimate than it was inherently sexual up until Nanami began returning the favor. In the middle of your lips locking against his, you felt a hand creep in between your legs—palming your pussy just to feel how wet you got from jerking him off.

As Nanami's big hand lightly squeezed and then rubbed over you through the cottony shorts you were clad in, you both began to pant heavily into one another's mouth.

The room got hotter and both of you got needier, your thumb teasing his sobbed tip as it traveled through his slit, and his hand wasting no time in locating your core without all the measly fabrics in the way.

He hadn't even seen you and yet he was muttering into your mouth, “God, you’re gorgeous..." Two long fingers gliding up 'n down your leaky entrance, “I’ve thought this from the moment I met you.”

“Mgh-, Kento,” You gasped in return, your hand growing shaky around his dick whilst your wet lips messily detached from his.

Nanami may have been unexperienced and shy but the second half of that seemed to go out the window the moment he felt how aroused you were. "Can I feel how gorgeous you are in here?" He politely asked, fingertips rounding your oozy hole and daring to slip inside.

As you nod, he watched your face intently to see your expression twist up in response to his digits greeting your warmth. Then your hand had tightened around his cock and he hissed out some sort of low curse.

It wasn’t long before the two of you were making a mess around each other’s hand. But that didn’t seem to be enough for either of you—especially not Nanami who’d been waiting for this day for months.

When you soon strip what’s left of your clothes off, tossing them across the room, and then throwing your leg over his body to straddle him, he gapes up at you in pure awe.

There’s nothing sexier than watching the woman he’d silently fallen for get on top of him with such a starved look in her eye.

And the way you move to grab his cock—angling it against your cunt and furrowing your brows with great focus—has his jaw left open. Drool slips out the corner of his mouth and nothing can compare to watching you slooowly sink down on him.

Nanami never thought himself to be big or anything like that, but considering the way you struggle and flinch as he enters you…

He nearly gets nervous all over again before your head tips back and you slip further down, fluttering walls swallowing him in thankfully with a sloshy squelch ringing out upon each quivering inch.

“Kento,” You husk out, moving one hand to his lower abdomen for support just as he grabs at your waist.

“You say my name so sweetly,” Nanami compliments with sweat causing his blond hairs to cling to his forehead. Eyes batting up, “Does… Does it feel good?” He nearly moans, “Do I feel good inside you?”

You’d thought it be obvious based on the whorish way in which your face is twisting up—tears coating your waterline from the long stretch of his cock.

Each time you think you’ve met his deft base, you found yourself still traveling down on him. Nanami’s cock stood up straight with no curve, giving you nonexistent room to run or escape his sheer size.

“Uhuh, yes,” You eventually whimper.

He seems a little unconvinced below you, “You keep squirming, though. Are you sure?”

“Kento,” You lock eyes with him and his cock twitches against the lathering edges of your inner walls, “You feel fuckin’ perfect inside me.”

“O-Oh.” Then his hips snap upwards uncontrollably, and your body jerks along with it as you moan out. “Sorry,” Nanami huffs, repeating the movement despite his apology, “Fuck-, sorry. You feel s-so good-, ngh.. so wet ‘n warm.”

It was almost like he couldn’t help himself. As soon as he heard your praise and saw the way his your cunt lips bulged around the very wide ‘n thumping base of his cock, his hips moved on their own.

He was fucking himself up into you and watching how pretty your tits looked bouncing along with the rest of your body before he knew it.

Hearing you cry out, “Kentoo! Nngh, right there.”

“There? Do I feel good there?” He asked, punctuating his words with a sharp thrust.

Your goopy insides gobble up everyyyy inch of him so perfectly that he feels like he’ll cum in you without realizing it any second now. Especially as you begin to rock your hips along with him, gaining your own momentum and fucking yourself down on him to further paint his cock with filthy traces of your slick.

“Hahh, your hips won’t stop moving,” Nanami grunt, brows taut together, “Do you like my cock that much?”

His only response to that is a wild throb around him.

To which he smirks briefly, “S’that-, hahh.. S’that supposed to be a yes?"

Left to whine helplessly, your hands clasp over his wrists and he maneuvers them to hold them instead as you nod.

“Say it then,” Nanami hums, “I want to hear more of you, instead of her.”

Her..? Your brows furrow, “Wha—“

Oh. As Nanami’s thumb darts across your clit, you understand quickly what he meant.

“F-Fuuck,” You moan, “Yes-, just like that, Ken’.”

Something pitiful ‘n creamy gushes up into you but neither of you really acknowledge it.

“Yeah? Fuck,” Nanami curses lowly, his pupils dilated out, “More, p-praise me more… Please?”

Your fingers clench at the skin of his large hands, hips rolling back ‘n forth with needy vigor as his dick knocks around every nook of your cunt.

“Ken, s’good. Ah! You’re doin’ so good for me,” You praise all prettily, head tilting a little once you realize he’s left most of the movement to you, “J-Just-, mngh! Just go a little harder. You can be rough with me.”

His eyes soften, “Are you sure? I don’t want to-“

“Kento.” You scold, “Fuck me.”

That flips a switch in Nanami’s head and you lose the hand holding with him as he grabs ahold of your body and promptly flips you over. Your back clashes into the fluff of the bed and he slips out of you for a second too long, hurrying to stretch at your wet core once more.

“Is that it? S’that how you want me, sweetheart?” Nanami heaves with a different look in his eyes. Before you can even answer him, he’s got two fingers pulling your pussylips apart to watch that glossy, debauched sight of his cock entering you again. “Yeahhh, this is how you like it. Goddd, I’ve fantasized about this, y’know.”

Your legs are captured into his hands within the next moment and he’s got you in a meann mating press as if to prove a point. It’s almost like your little permission of a harder fucking had challenged him or something.

Nanami’s voice sticks against your ear, “Got off just thinking about how good it’d feel inside you and n-now—“ Both your body and the bed jolt up with his rude thrusting, the mushroomy head of his dick kissing at your sweet spot, “Fuck, now I’m in here.”

“Uhuhhh,” Your jaw slacks and you’re the one drooling as if fucked-out now.

He lifts his head for a moment just to hold eyes with you. Whispering, “Deep in here too, huh?”

You pout, “D-Don’t get cocky.”

“I’m just being honest, look.” His hand moves to splay out against the fat bulge of his cock nestled inside of you.

You moan, nibbling at your bottom lip to conceal a slutty little smile, "Yeah, but you also-, mmh.. you also came inside me."

Nanami smiles back at you for realizing he’d already experienced an orgasm, "Hahh.. accidents happen..”

"No, you meant to do that,” You tease back with your arms wrapping around his neck.

"I have an obligation to breed my girl, do I not?" With that, another load is being french kissed against your womb, globs and globs of an impossibly thicker substance filling you.

You tug him down for a kiss and your lips tangle against one another as you whisper into his groans, "I suppose you do."

——

It would’ve been lovely if that intimate morning was the very thing that solidified your relationship with Nanami. The days after were filled with a more loving relationship, leading both of you to assume things from there on out would work.

And it should’ve! It really, really should’ve.

But you were forgetting one rather important factor.

It was foolish for you to think life was gonna let you fall for another man without throwing a surprise at you.

The following days after you and Nanami finally seemed to break down whatever walls were being held up between you, something changed.

You noticed Nanami on his phone more often, heard him chuckling on calls at inappropriate hours of the night, and caught a newfound light lingering in his eyes as if you and someone else were brightening his every day.

Now, you know Nanami wouldn’t be dumb enough to have an affair going on during his engagement to you—especially when he’s the one who had less of a problem with the arranged marriage to begin with. But, at the same time, he started to act differently.

Not with you, of course. Just… with everything else.

He almost seemed happier in some ways. You wanted to rejoice in the positive energy he radiated now, but there was a shadow of doubt casting over you at every turn.

Something bad was on the uprise.

And that something rears its ugly head on the day Nanami calls you out to help a “friend” of his move into the city.

You almost said no—and maybe you should’ve—but with the way he asked all soft ‘n hopefully like he just wanted to include you in more parts of his life now that you two were somewhat happily together, it was too hard to turn him down.

Besides, you told yourself that this is what you wanted, right?

Hence why you’re pulling up to an address for some luxury apartment complex Nanami had sent you, and aiding him with unloading a truck full of boxes.

Swirling around as the sun casts its warm glow down onto the right side of your face, you glance down at the box that’s found itself in your hand for a moment. It was rather large ‘n heavy when you swiped it up so obviously you grow curious about what’s in it.

The word Gavels is printed out over the top in Shappie, making you snort a bit. “Ken, is your best friend a judge or something?” You ask curiously, looking over his way.

Nanami waves a dismissive hand at you playfully, “Ignore him and his weird assortment of items. I couldn’t tell you why he has that, honestly.”

You chuckle again and open your mouth to say something just as you catch the apartment complex doors swinging open. Unfortunately, your words die out on your tongue along with your smile the moment you see a familiar face strolling towards you and Nanami.

Your heart sinks to your ass and you think you’ve lost all sense of movement as you and the familiar face in question lock eyes.

Higuruma nearly trips—just barely managing to catch his footing before making a fool of himself. Quickly taking his eyes off of you and hoping he’s just imagining things, he makes way towards your fiancé.

You hoped for a second that he wasn’t the best friend who’s been bringing Nanami’s energy up lately. There’s no way, ri—

“Kento,” Fuck. “Is this one giving you some trouble?” Higuruma asks before reaching his hands out to take the box Nanami’s holding, “You’ve been out here for a while, I was starting to get worried.”

Nanami, none the wiser, smiles softly as he keeps the box close to him, “No, no, I was getting distracted by my darling fiancée here.” Then he gestures your way with a tilt of his head and gives Higuruma your name to introduce you. 

And god is it awkward.

The two of you don’t bother meeting eyes, Higuruma introduces himself as if he doesn’t vividly remember the way you were drooling his name out into his bedsheets some months ago, and both of you can feel how things are about to play out from here on out already.

After the thin-lipped, unnecessary exchange of names, Higuruma steps forward to try helpfully taking the weighty box out of your hands.

“Ah, no, it’s fine,” You shake your head and step back a bit, “I’ve got it.”

He ignores your claims, “No, please, I insist. This is one of the heavier boxes left.”

His hands meet the ends of said box, brushing over yours.

Tension shoots throughout your body as if you’d been shot and your voice bursts out of you with more conviction in it than necessary, “Really, I’m fine.”

As if he handn;t heard a thing you just said, Higuruma’s eyes steady onto yours and it’s like his hold on you returns all in one moment. Memories of that night wash over every thought you’ve had since and your breath is nowhere to be found as he finally takes the box from you. Sternly humming, “Allow me.”

Again—awkwaaaaard.

You clear your throat and try to recompose yourself by looking away, “There’s uh, there’s a lot of gavels in there…” Maybe if you pretend not to know him, that’ll help your situation? “Are you a judge?”

Hopefully he doesn’t remember you.

Higuruma stops to think for a moment, then smirks, “Depends…” He trails off for a second much too long. “Is that your type?”

The question—the theme of which had been repeated to you multiple times throughout that night you spent together—has a chill churning down your body and straight to your cunt. You almost wish you’d forgotten about him now because it was clear he damn sure didn’t.

Nanami nudges his arm, turning to him, “Are you flirting with my fiancée, right in front of me? Have you no shame?” He teases.

Higuruma sends him an innocent smile, “You hate it when I flirt with you, so I thought I’d try something a little different.”

The two men carry on with banterful conversation that somehow manages to exclude you, but you’re stuck reeling over the fact that this is truly happening to you.

Your fiancé’s best friend is the same man you slept with on the day before you got engaged.

What the hell are you gonna do now?

——

Simple; you’ll treat Higurma the same way you treated Nanami for the first seven months of your engagment—avoiding him like the fuckin’ plague.

Even being in the same room with him was like torture though. 

Higuruma was shameless with how he sent you these accusatory looks, as if it were somehow your fault that you two spent a night together just for you to end up marrying his best friend.

Who seemed to be a little more than that to Higuruma as the weeks passed by, might you add…

Maybe it was just that shamelessness of his, but Higuruma wasn’t exactly subtle with how he eyes your fiancé. Like, not subtle at all.

You’re not blind and you’re far from stupid—you know what a yearning man looks like.

The only confusing thing about it was the fact that Higurma shared those gazes between you and Nanami as if he were experiencing bi-panic every single time he interacted with you guys.

Nanami seemed clueless to all of this. Which, checks out considering he’d spent so long as a virgin and probably doesn’t have the best sense of picking up on flirtatious or romantic looks. 

None of that takes away from the tension building between the three of you though.

You could keep yourself distanced from Higuruma all you wanted, but if he had any say in the matter—which apparently he did—this wouldn’t last forever.

In fact, it only lasts until the night before your wedding.

Because you kept Nanami in the dark when it came to what had happened between you and Higuruma, he would constantly bring the three of you together. You would all meet up for lunches, go out for drinks, and linger a little too long in conversations that should've felt harmless but never did.

The three of you fit together rather naturally.

So much so that after a long day of being with the both of them, you just barely managed to break off into your Higuruma's kitchen for a moment to breathe. It was hard pretending that he didn't have you uneasy, particularly on nights like this where Nanami instead the two of you spend time at his place.

You were supposed to walk down the aisle tomorrow and yet the marriage had somehow become the least of your worries.

Now you were stress cleaning a spotless counter, panicking in thought of how the your married days would play out if Nanami planned to never break his friendship with that devilishly handsome lawyer.

And what would you even say if Nanami ever found out about—

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Higuruma murmured, voice like a cruel drag of burning smoke to your spine.

You swirl around, already looking for an escape.

He naturally steps in your way before you can even depart from the counter, “Don’t try doing it now, either. I just want to talk.”

Shit.

Letting your shoulders slump, “What is there to talk about?” You ask.

Everything about the conversation you begin to have with him goes by with rapid fire questions and responses.

Higuruma enters the kitchen fully and makes his way towards you. Keeping his voice low, “Aren’t you curious?”

You remain where you are, too fearful to make any sudden movements just yet, “Of?”

“Why I didn’t contact you.” He clarifies.

“No.”

He stops just short of entering your personal space and a stupid smirk appears on his face, “Liar.”

“Asshole.” You shoot back.

He scoffs, “That was cute.” Stepping closer again, “But you don’t mean that.”

You finally manage to shift further back, “It doesn't matter why you didn't contact me, considering I’m engaged now.”

“I’m well aware,” Higuruma chuckles, “To quite the astonishing man, might I add.”

The compliment rolled so easily off his tongue that it almost made you jealous. But, in the recent time you'd come to know Higuruma again, you'd learned that he and Nanami had been "friends" for years.

Friends remaining in quotes due to the questionable way in which Higuruma's voice softens whenever he speaks highly of his best friend, how his eyes showcase something of longing within them, and how he admires your partner in a manner well beyond something friendly.

"Fine, I'll bite." You soon sigh as you fold your arms, “How could you not call, or text? I didn't leave my number for no reason.”

“I knew you were curious." He hums victoriously, "Anyhow, I was busy, and—“

That ticks you off faster than you expect it to and words shoot out of your mouth carrying solid repugnance, “People make time for what and who they care about.”

Higuruma also decides to speak without thinking, staring you down as he says, “How could I care about you? I spent one night with you.”

That hits much harder than you expect it to.

You thought you'd moved on but the feelings you'd been harboring for the man come back all in one moment, “Wow.”

“I'm being honest. I hardly knew you,” He shrugs, “We had a wonderful night, but I was swamped with responsibilities directly after—especially between work and preparing to move.”

“I don't even know why I asked.” You scoff, rolling your eyes elsewhere and attempting to turn away, "Fuck you"

Higuruma bites back a smile. That’s fair—he thinks, hating how your immediate response for him never fails to rial him up. It’s one thing (amongst others) that he couldn’t stop thinking about after that night with you, “You did that already."

"Save me the cliche responses." You nearly push past him, "If you have nothing of substance to talk about with me, then i’m—“

He steps in your way again, flying a hand to your waist that you don't even try to remove. Then both his words and voice comes out softer, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Your jaw tenses, “It’s worth noth-“

“You don’t have to lie to me,” He interrupts as if he knew exactly what you were gonna say. “I know it’s worth something to you, don’t be so stubborn.”

For the first time since he'd entered the kitchen, you manage to meet eyes with him, “Why should it be worth anything to me when the night we spent together wasn’t worth anything to you?!”

“I never said that.” Higuruma claims.

“Well, it was heavily implied.” You scoff, yet to remove his hand from your waist. “Where’s Kento?”

“Asleep.”

Your tongue clicks, “Ah, so you’ve ambushed me. Got it.”

The man laughs, “Not at all. I only want to talk.”

“You don’t have to be this close to talk to me.”

“It’s the only way you’ll listen, as I’ve come to learn.”

You ultimately smack his hand off, “...It’s wrong to touch an engaged woman in this way.” Higuruma scoffs and you send him a glare, “Something funny?”

A smug look takes over his usually tied features, “We both know you don’t really want anything to do with Kento or that arrangement you’re trapped in.”

You're left offended, “You don’t know shit.”

“Oh yeah?” Higuruma challenges, “Then why—“

“—and I don’t owe you any sort of explanations. I don’t need you to save me from this, or to sweet talk your way back into my life.” You explain, despite yourself, “I don’t need you, period.”

He takes a moment to let your words settle, then the corner of his lips quirk further up, “Does lying to yourself like this help you cope?”

“Cope with what.” You breathe.

“Cope with the fact that you don’t feel the slightest thing for Kento—and you may never be able to—because you’re still stuck on that night we had together.”

“I… I-I’m not-,” Your words tangle up, “I’m not stuck on anything.”

“So answer me then,” That hand returns to your waist and he takes up the space directly in front of you, his other hand coming to your chin to tip your head up, “Why have you been avoiding me?”

His touches should've felt disrespectful to what you had built with Nanami thus far, but in the moment you found yourself forgetting that.

The contact leaves you blurting your truth out, “…It’s awkward to face you.”

And he's annoyingly quick to ask, “Why?”

“Because..."

Higuruma gets closer, “Because, what? Because you can’t stop thinking about it? About that night? About me?” He leans to your ear, “About us?”

Your resolve crumbles, “…Fuck you.”

He lightly grabs a full hold of your jaw and lifts your face further up, “You want to so badly, huh? Haven’t even let poor Kento kiss you because of it, I bet.”

It was ironic how wrong he was with that statement.

But you don't get to argue about it because the man in question walks in with a loud clearing of his throat, "What’s going on here?”

You instantly shuffle away and nearly trip over yourself, muttering, “Shit.”

Higuruma remains casual and swivels around, “We were just talking, Ken’.”

The nickname on his tongue makes your stomach twist up weirdly but you refuse to label it as jealousy for sure.

“You two seemed rather close for a conversation,” Nanami says, nearing you already and bringing a warm hand to where you'd bumped into the counter, “And you hit your hip, are you alright?”

The fact that he noticed that makes your heart churn with guilt, “I-I’m fine.”

“Your voice is unsteady,” He points out, glancing at Higuruma. “What kind of conversation were you two having, exactly?”

“One of the past.” Higuruma replies for you.

“Hiromi.” You warn.

His dark brows furrow, “What? Surely you don’t mean to hide it from the man you’ll be married to by tomorrow.”

“Hide what from me?” Nanami presses.

Putting it all out there, "We slept together. The night before you two met, actually.”

Those words open an entirely new can of words that span out for the next few minutes, ultimately resulting in a series of confessions. Many truths come out all at once.

Nanami asks you if that's why the two of you spent seven months like strangers, to which you naturally deny. Then he asks if you have feelings for Higuruma and you begrudgingly admit that you do, only to get rejected again by the man—since he had a confession of his own to get out.

The night was a lot, all because Higuruma decided to ambush you in the kitchen.

Hell, with the way things play out, you nearly wonder if the two men had planned this sorta thing. Especially when all feelings have been expressed and you realize it's a three-way mess of romance with only one not-so-obvious solution.

Of which Higuruma is the one to explain by making his way in between you and Nanami.

His hand intimately glided hand along Nanami's shoulder, then his neck, and soon grabs his jaw at the same time he grabs your hand and pulls you closer.

Higuruma leans over as if to kiss Nanami before whispering, “Let me be yours.” He starts, turning to you to kiss your hand fully, “And yours—if you’ll both have me.”

Obviously, the two of you let out a choke.

“What?” You snort.

Meanwhile Nanami’s face has gone beat red, “You’re suggesting a throuple? Hours before I'm to be married??”

Higuruma meets his eyes, “Yes. Think about it, how could your family deny another powerful union?” Then he looks to you, “Same with yours. Two brilliant men at your beck and call—twice the chances of you getting pregnant, as you've mentioned they so desperately want for you.”

With all that's transpired, you hardly even remembered doing that. But, you knew he had a point.

A damn good one too.

——

And to solidify the threeway agreement you all come to after a rather hasty conversation... the three of you rightfully make your way upstairs together.

Nothing else mattered when you had two genres of your type catering to both you, and one another, within the confines of Higuruma's bedroom.

By now, your body was trembling between them as you found yourself caught right in between the raw heat of pent up arousal. Nanami's hands were gripping your hips firmly, his fingers grounding into your flesh as he thrusted deep into you. His familiarly thick shaft kept your sloshing pussy stretched with each deliberate push of his hips.

The slick sounds of skin clashing against skin crowded the room, and your muffled moans vibrated against the cock Higuruma had curving all nastily into your mouth. There was a steady rhythm between the two men that swiftly guided your body back 'n forth between their much bulkier ones.

Nanami’s stiff cock easily broke you open from the back, while Higuruma’s leftly curving length slathered against the center of your drooling tongue.

A low groan rumbled right out from Higuruma's chest, his hazed eyes locked onto your teary ones—loving the way your swollen lips stretched around him, “Ohhhh fuck, I bet you’ve been wanting this, huh?” He puffed hotly, mixing his questions with praises of, "That's it, sweet girl." and, "Take me juuust like that, mhm."

Even if you could answer him, Nanami wasn't letting up with how his pace was building. His hand slides up the delicate arch in your spine, forcing you to feel every twitching vein 'n inch of his like he'd done before—the sensation sending rapturous sparks through your core.

"Our greedy girl," He grunted, not even noticing the way Higuruma began to lean closer to him. "S'tight in here-, fuck. You were never gonna be satisfied with one or the other..."

The dual stimulation was enough to have your eyes cloudy as pretty streaks of tears ran down your face. Higuruma would do his best to wipe them from you, but when he saw how Nanami wasn't doing much better—even with how filthy he managed to speak to you—he couldn't help but get distracted.

Higuruma's cock throbbed against the roof of your mouth, your cheek hollowing out so you can swirl your tongue along his veiny underside and draw a crisp hiss from him. Then his hips buck forward and push you further back onto Nanami—making the blond gasp while you gag.

You're too busy doing exactly that to see how the Higuruma takes his hands off of you for a moment to grab at Nanami's face, tugging him over and kissing him. Nanami's thoroughly fucked out and can hardly think with the combination of your cunt quivering around him as his best friend devours the inside of his mouth.

Then Nanami's pouring his words out against Higuruma's lips, "A greedy pussy like this needs two cocks to fill her right."

Higuruma whines at that as if his dream were actively coming true. "That means we hafta' take turns ruining her, right?" He mumbles.

You barely realize what that means before Nanami's withdrawing from you, leaving your pussy all aching 'n empty—slick arousal dripping down your thighs.

A gasp hitches out of you as Higuruma then moves to take his place behind you, grabby hands pawing at your ass to spread you out for him to see. His plump tp presses against your entrance to tease you just once before he sinks in with a smooth thrust. The angle instantly hits differently—deeper, brushing against your candied walls in a way that causes your fingernails to curl into the sheets.

Meanwhile Nanami kneels in front of you now, his erection overtly rigid and shimmering with your juices. He cups your face a moment, wiping drool from your chin. "Messy girl," He whispers lovingly, tapping at your bottom lip. "Open up nice and wide for me, yeah?" He instructs.

It was clear he gained a little more confidence with the presence of his best friend.

The taste of him soon mixes with the prior taste of Higuruma on your tongue as you bob your head, feeling your tongue sore from all the weight that's rut against it for the past however many minutes.

Higuruma's hips slap harder against your skin, his palm calming down on your ass with a slight smack. You push back against him and he scoffs, "You should see the mess you're making. Should be ashamed of it, really."

Then Nanami's distracting you all over again with his hand tangling into your hair and his words landing down on you, "Swallow around me-, mhm."

You cry out around his cock, the thrum making him thrust a little more erratically. Higuruma's following soon after by burring himself impossibly deeper before choking on his own breath and spilling hot 'n sappy cum inside you.

A few seconds pass, and while he's pulling out of you to watch his seed chase after his tip with stringy shlicks, Nanami's impolitely releasing his own few thick ropes of cum down your throat.

Panting, you're slowly eased down onto the bed by the two men—who waste no time in cleaning you of their mess—and you all flop into some semblance of relaxation.

You're barely lucid but you feel Higuruma pressing kisses into your temple as Nanami keeps wiping at the lower half of your face. Then, the lawyer whispers, "I'll make it all official by morning—documents and all."

As if you cared about any of that now...

Nanami nods along though, pulling you closer and leaving you to wonder—if both men really were to become your husbands, and nights like this would occur more often...

Which one would get you pregnant first?

tags:

@hiromihigurumaswife @clownerylynn @mnicfz @soupydumplings @themossiestchick @iiakithegoat @nanamimylife @izukuuu @mspineapplelover @thecrazyfangirlthings

@rzaau @wondrous-me @pearlydays @bobis-notmylover @letter123goanony @jaehyunsleftnut @chuuyan4kahara @lishenluv @chlefnikkl @maxxthefan

@eeveemainfr @ashsummer @brieflyinfiniteglitch @reinleelife @hxteurgutz @a-court-of-smut-and-sluts @almamelancolica @babblybebe @crispytreats047 @smoki-reigns

@minastoe @wonderfullymickey @re-tired-succubus @bitt3rk0i @longhairedfeline @luna5607 @yeagerbombxxx @fd3h @amigojuice @kebablove

@toffeebrat @hxteurgutz @pearlsalmi @datsbel

additional tags of interest: @blkkizzat @cupidstrace @uhnosav @madamechrissy @yenayaps

The party’s already out of control.

Some kid launches himself off the beer pong table and completely eats shit. Enjin watches him crash; and August’s the only one cheering and hyping him up for making a fool of himself.

He looks over at Gris, sprawled next to him on the couch, still working on the same drink he’s had since the party started. They watch the house unravel in real time.

“Swear they’re gonna get the cops called,” Gris says.

Enjin shakes his head. “We’ve got an hour till we get busted.”

Someone’s yelling from the bathroom about a person passed out—possibly dead? Possibly needing narcan?

Gris gives him a look.

Enjin exhales. “Okay. Forty-five minutes.”

The bass rattles the walls like the house might give up, and someone stumbles past the couch sloshing beer onto the floor. Enjin shifts his feet to avoid it—then freezes.

“Hold up.”

You’re by the kitchen, caught in the spill of cheap LED lights. You tilt your head, hair slipping over one shoulder as you laugh at table flip boy curled up and crying on the ground. Glitter clings to your hair and skin, the rhinestones on your top catch every flicker of color the lights give. Low-rise jeans, bare collarbones, glossy lips. 

Enjins sold.

He nudges Gris with his knee. “Who is that?”

Gris follows his line of sight and squints. “Her? Oh—yeah… She’s in my eight a.m.”

He watches you move and sparkle, letting out a low whistle under his breath. “Jesus.”

“Don’t.”

“She’s hot.”

Your head tips back as you drink, throat working, gloss shining with liquor on your lips. He doesn’t even try to hide the way he’s staring. “I’m gonna go talk to her.”

Gris laughs, patting his back. “You have fun with that.” Enjin stands, sitting his drink down and rolling his shoulders like this is just another Friday night—because it is. “C’mon. I’ve pulled harder.”

“Yeah, man. I’m sure.”

He doesn’t hear him. He’s already weaving through the crowd, confidence locked in, 100% convinced this is about to be another easy as hell win.

He stops in front of you with a smooth smile.

“Hey, mama.”

You snap your head around. Oh great, of course—it’s that guy. Campus womanizer. Certified asshole. Enjin.

It’s hard not to know who he is. His name floats through the ladies on campus like a bright red and flashing warning label—passed around in group chats, whispered in bathrooms, dropped mid-story with a don’t do it! More girls than you can count have slept with him, and none of them came out unscathed. Even fewer have anything nice to say after.

He’s basically the face of his—unfortunately this frat—even without an exec title. They know exactly who they’re selling to: hot chicks and underclassmen guys desperate to rush whatever looks coolest. 

Either you wanna fuck him, or you wanna be him. Doesn’t matter the gender, he has sex appeal that applies to all. How inclusive of him!

And yeah. As much as you hate it, you can see why. Blonde hair always pushed back and messy like he just ran a hand through it, piercings, tattoos wrapping his arms and disappearing under his shirt like there’s plenty more you’re not seeing (there is, you’ve seen more than enough of his shirtless gym photos). Sharp but pretty eyes, and a face that hits before you can stop yourself.

But you’ve heard enough. The stories about the mixed signals, no text backs, the way he treats attention like a game and women like placeholders. That alone is enough to have you back away and run for the hills.

You’re not stupid.

Your response to his unwelcome presence is immediate. “What.”

He squares his shoulders like he’s warming up for a mating dance, and his grin turns lazy. “Damn that’s cold. I was just saying hey.”

“Yeah, I heard you.” You roll your eyes. “Fuck off.”

“Feisty—thats my bad. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Still isn’t leaving. How nice! You have the ever so unfortunate pleasure of being tonight’s diamond.

You down whatever’s left in your drink and drop it to the floor, where it joins the sticky corral of crushed cans. You look back at him, eyebrow raised—you done yet? Apparently not, since he takes this as encouragement. Enjin leans against the wall, crossing his arms and trying to flex his biceps. Ugh.

He leans in, “You always this mean, or am I just lucky?”

“Lucky.” 

“See, I like a girl with attitude.”

“That’s nice dude,” You glance past him, scanning for your friends. “But I don’t think I remember asking.” Something shifts in his expression—interest firing up, big ego kicking in. He steps a little closer, lowering his voice like that’s supposed to work. “Lemme get you another drink.”

“And let you spike it? That’s gonna be a hard pass.”

He laughs at that one. “Aw, c’mon, pretty girl. You really think I’m like that?”

You just tap a finger to your chin, fake it for a second like you’re weighing the evidence—then shrug. You spin on your heel to leave.

He goes to call out after you. “Yo, wait a sec—“

You glance back over your shoulder, flash him a quick smile—

Then flip him off and keep walking.

Enjin turns to look at the couch where Gris is posted up, who’s mid-laugh and already coughing into his fist like he knew exactly how that was gonna go. Enjin laughs with him, dropping back down next to him and sprawling out like he didn’t just eat shit with you five seconds ago. Arms tuck behind his head, looking way too pleased with himself.

“You look real proud for a guy who just got curved,” Gris passes him his drink back. He takes it and chugs like it’s water. “Nah. She’ll crack.”

“You hear yourself?”

Enjin just grins, tipping his head back against the couch and settling in again. 

Most girls laugh at his corny jokes, or soften when he smiles and leans in with low lidded eyes. He is the king of seduction after all. Or at least pause long enough to let him work. You, however, didn't hesitate. Didn’t even give him a single second to adjust, and zero to work with. Just flipped him off and disappeared back into the crowd like he was nothing.

But he has the determination of a soldier and the ego of a dirtbag. Which suddenly makes him want you so bad it’s almost funny.

He reaches up, pulls the cig from behind his ear, and sparks it like the night’s still going exactly according to plan. Takes a slow drag, eyes drifting back across the room to where you’re now dancing with your friends.

You’re not checking to see if he’s watching, and you certainly don’t care if he is.

Enjin hums. He’s already thinking ahead—running into you on campus, catching you between classes, seeing if you’re just as feisty sober. He doesn’t need it to happen tonight. He’s patient when he wants to be.

And now? He really wants to be.

Gris shakes his head. “You’re gonna get punched one of these days.”

He exhales the smoke, smiling. “Worth it.”

~

The universe is bored and decided to mess with you.

Because somehow, some way, you didn’t just end up in a class with one of his friends—you landed two. Which means divine intervention is clearly not on your side. If anything, whatever higher power is running this place has favorites, and Enjin is one of them. Man, how come he’s the blessed one?

You walk out of class with Semiu—your lab partner—to a sight that immediately spikes your blood pressure. 

Enjin, leaning against the wall outside.

Of course.

He straightens when he sees you, grin kicking up a notch, eyes dragging over you like he chooses not to be subtle. 

There she is!

Luck really does love him!

“You didn’t tell me you had the hottest girl on campus as your lab partner,” he says, pushing off the wall and walking toward you. “What’s that about? Holding out on me?” 

Semiu deadpans, “Try focusing on why you’re here.”

“You owe me lunch. Last time I checked, I saved your ass—”

She cuts him off with a raised hand. “Unfortunately. But I know damn well your phone works, so use it to text me next time.”

Enjin's attention slides right back to you, though to be fair it never really left. He walks backward for a step just to keep you in his line of sight. “So,” he looks you up and down again, “is flipping people off for fun something you always do, or is that activity special and reserved for little ol’ me?”

You don’t answer, and that only makes him smile wider.

“Oh, come on,” he teases. “You can’t act like we weren’t having a moment.”

“I think you’re schizo.” Your voice is flat. God, does he know how to shut up?

“I call it like I feel it, sweet girl. Eye contact, hand gestures—you can’t deny we have some mad energy.”

Semiu cuts him off again. “You done? We’ve got plans.” Enjin’s eyes flick between the two of you, and something clicks into place. He has to stop himself from smiling too hard. No way. This is easier than anything he’d planned to find you again.

“Oh,” he says, slow and amused. “I see.” You don’t like that tone. At all.

“So this is girl time?” You don’t even get to blink before he’s beside you, completely uninvited. “I can crash. I’m free.”

“No,” you snap immediately.

“Relax, mama.” His hands slide into the pocket of his hoodie. “I’m not gonna bite. Unless you ask.” 

“Where we headed?” he asks, already strolling lazily at your side.

What Enjin doesn’t expect is the library.

You and Semiu slide straight into work mode, laptops out and talking over each other about a lab report about biology or something.

Yeah, alright. Fine. He can do a library, he’s not above it. And if sitting around for an hour while you drone on about science means getting into your pants, then whatever. He’s done worse for less.

A man's gotta do what he’s gotta do.

Not to mention you’re a nice view. You look different now—even better, somehow. At the party everything on you was glitter and sparkles (which is hot, don’t get him wrong), but this is quieter. Your hair’s tucked behind your ear while you focus on your laptop, the glow from the screen and the library lights catching your face in a way the frat’s dim lighting never did. Sweater, sweatpants, bare minimum effort—and still, it’s working on him.

Shit, he thinks. She’s actually really pretty.

Though he prides himself on his conditional patience, he can’t help but get bored—shifting in his chair and asking you questions every ten minutes.

“So what’s your major?”

One word.

“Got a boyfriend?”

A look that could kill.

“What do you do for fun?”

A shrug.

He even throws out the good ol’ fashioned, “Come here often?” like it might land this time. It doesn’t.

He sighs, taps his fingers on the table, and continues to watch you—and it’s really starting to piss you off.

“You don’t have to be here,” you point towards the door. “Exits that way.”

Enjin just grins, leaning back like he’s perfectly comfortable right where he is now that you’ve properly acknowledged him. “Nah,” he says. “I’m good.”

“I’m done anyway,” Semiu snaps her laptop shut. “We can finish this after lecture on Thursday.” She points at Enjin. “Where you will not be.”

He leans toward you, grin already loading. “Wherever she is, I am.” You physically recoil. “Ew. Gross. Back up.”

Semiu slings her bag over her shoulder. “Be careful,” she says. “It’s cold out tonight.”

“Thanks. I will.” You smile at her.

Enjin watches you stand, eyes narrowing just a bit. “You walking?” Your smile falls, turning into a scoff. “No. I’m teleporting.”

Semiu doesn’t even wait for a response—just gives you a look that says good luck and disappears toward the elevator. Internally, you’re begging her to come back. How did she pack up that fast? Is teleporting actually real? Can she teach you, so you can avoid him?

“I can drive you.” His voice is like nails on a chalkboard. Your head snaps over to him. “Hell no.”

“C’mon,” Enjin is already grabbing his keys off the table. “It’s late. I don’t want you walking.”

“That’s not your problem.”

“It is now, it’s dark.”

“Still no.”

“And it’s late—and getting colder.”

“You don’t even know where I live.”

“I’ll learn.”

You stop walking just to glare at him. “Why are you like this?”

He shrugs, almost sheepish, but not really. “Because I don’t want anything bad happening to you.”

“Try again.”

“Okay, because I like you?”

“Wrong answer.”

“I’m serious—I’ll take you home, I can behave.”

“I said no—” You push the door open and the cold hits immediately, straight through your clothes. You stop short, breath catching, instantly regretting everything.

Enjin steps out behind you, hoodie already half-off, holding it out like he planned the weather himself. You stare ahead for a long second, jaw tight. Then you exhale.

“You can drive me.”

He nods. “Called it.”

“Enjin, say one more word and I’m walking.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He mimes zipping his lips, then opens the passenger door and makes a whole production of ushering you in like he’s a chauffeur. “So,” He’s behind the wheel, hands planted like he’s about to take off, “where to?”

You stare out the windshield. “Pull out and turn left. I’ll tell you.”

“Can I get your address?”

You laugh once. “Fuck no.”

He takes that in stride. Lets you pick the music—because he knows girls like that, likes watching them scroll and decide. You cue something up.

It makes him pause.

“…I haven’t met anyone else who listens to this guy.”

You look at him, actually surprised. Not what you pegged him for. Against your will, a smile slips out. The first one directed towards him. “Really? He’s one of my favorites.”

“That so?” he says, keeping his eyes on the road like he promised, but failing to hide the way he lights up just a little at your pretty smile. A few minutes later, “Stop here.”

He hits the brakes. “What?”

“I’ll get out here.”

He looks around, whistles. “Damn. Big house.” You’re already opening the door. “No. I live down the street.” Something flashes across his face—pure panic. Did he mess up? Say something wrong? He tried so hard to be on his best behavior. It’s so obvious it makes you laugh.

“Dude,” you're laughing now (but only at his expense), “your face. I just said I’m walking, not calling you a slur.”

He blinks. “But—why?”

“I told you I wasn’t giving you my address.”

“Babe, it’s cold.”

“It’s less than a block.”

He rubs a hand over his jaw, contemplating. “Can I get repayment for driving you?”

You narrow your eyes. “I didn’t realize this was transactional.”

“Either I drop you in your driveway and walk you to your door like a gentleman—”

“Absolutely not.”

“—or,” he continues smoothly, “you repay me.”

“God, you men. Fine. What do you want?”

His grin is all teeth and confidence. “A date.”

You scoff. “Absolutely the hell not.”

“Then get back in,” he says, nodding toward the street. “Which one’s your place?”

You stare at him, exhausted. Four hours. That’s all it took for him to completely derail your night. And still—there is no universe where he learns where you sleep.

You drag your hands down your face. “When and where?”

He hands you his phone, contacts app already open. “Don’t worry your pretty head. That’s for me to figure out, and you to show up for.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

You slam the door shut before he can say anything else.

~

First of all: giving him your number was a terrible idea. A catastrophic one. You should’ve gotten a burner phone. Or a fake number. Anything.

For someone with an aggressively busy social life, Enjin somehow has an insane amount of time to blow up your phone. You don’t even know how one man has this much to say, but apparently texting you about every thought that crosses his mind is now a daily ritual. Nonstop.

No matter how many times you leave him on read, he just keeps on going.

A picture of food he swears you’d like—sent.

Updates about his class—sent. 

Something dumb one of his frat brothers said—sent. 

A sunset photo with almost as pretty as you ;)—unfortunately, sent.

You don’t respond. You don’t encourage it. And you are not asking for updates.

Doesn’t matter.

Because if there’s one thing Enjin has, it’s determination.

Second: Okay, listen, you really didn’t have high hopes for this date.

Like—come on. He’s a slutty frat boy. How inspired could this possibly be? You were fully braced for the worst: an invite over for “a movie” (sure), you showing up to him shirtless in gray sweats, maybe a blunt passed over before he scrolls Netflix for thirty seconds and picks the first thing that pops up.

Twenty minutes in—if you’re being generous—the movie’s forgotten. So are the sweats.

You tell yourself all of this while getting ready, mostly as preparation. He didn’t even give you a dress code. Didn’t give you anything, actually. No hints. No context. Just a time. Meeting him at eight o’clock on the sidewalk down the block from your place.

That’s it.

So when he shows up fully clothed—properly clothed—and borderline dressed nice while holding actual flowers?

You just stand there for a second, genuinely appalled. You certainly didn’t expect a well-thought-out plan.

But Enjin didn’t plan on half-assing this.

If he was gonna win you over, he was gonna do it right. You’re stubborn. You might even hate his guts a little. But you’re also a woman—and women love effort, whether they want to or not.

So he actually cleans up. Red sweater—the expensive one by his standards. Black slacks. Boots. His nice pair, not the ones that’ve seen too many party floors. He checks his reflection twice before leaving, grabs flowers on the way because yeah, duh.

He takes you to this hole-in-the-wall place first—one you’ve never heard of, which already earns him a point (good start!). You end up in the back corner, tucked into a booth against a wall that’s been completely claimed by past customers—layers of Sharpie notes, doodles, dates, half-legible confessions. The two of you try to decode the inside jokes scattered about. The food’s good and the live band’s low and warm.

You really enjoy it.

You even kind of enjoy him.

When he’s not being a flirtatious menace, he’s… Fine? Funny, even. He gets a few real laughs out of you, and you don’t immediately try to take them back. If even Semiu can stand being friends with him, then maybe—in some distant, alternate reality—you could see yourself tolerating him too.

Maybe.

He asks about you. Starts with the surface stuff—where you’re from, why you picked this school—and the follow-ups too. He listens when you answer, and doesn’t interrupt. When you talk about your friends, your family, the things you really care about, he stays with it.

You’re animated now—hands moving as you talk, eyes lighting up as you don’t think for once to guard every word against him. He sits back and lets you keep going—he really wants you to keep going.

Enjin’s still doing everything he can not to spook you, you’re still a feral cat and he’s trying not to get bit (not like he’d mind it though, he’s a freak like that).

He ends the night by taking you to a park with benches lined up along the edge, overlooking the city. You step up to the railing and stop short.

“Oh my god,” you gasp. “I’ve never seen it like this before. It’s so big!”

The city stretches out in front of you, lights blinking and glowing, your hair whipping around in the wind. You start pointing things out without even thinking—random buildings, little landmarks you recognize. The night you and your friends got so drunk you tried convincing strangers at Taco Bell that the earth was flat. The building with the mural where you knew the artists, so they let you paint a couple flowers along the edge.

“Those flowers were yours?” he asks.

You nod, grinning wide. “Yup. All me.”

“That explains why they looked a little messed up.”

You smack his shoulder, laughing. He doesn’t mind your sass and annoyance, but he likes this version of you a lot—the bright one, the storyteller, the you when you’re letting your guard down.

You quiet down after a while, eyes fixed on the skyline. The wind hums, the city moves, and for once the silence isn’t pointed. It’s not you ignoring him or him pushing for more.

“I’m guessing you like the view?”

He’s still looking out at the city, not at you—and you take the chance to look at him instead. His face is softer like this. Calm and stripped of the usual arrogance. It suits him much better.

“Yeah,” you breathe.

You wonder just how many girls he’s taken on dates like this, or even brought them here. How many of them ever made it past a night like this—past the charm, the effort, and the gestures. How many even got a date in the first place?

A shiver runs down your spine at the thought.

“Cold?” Enjin can already see the goosebumps on your skin, the way you clench your jaw just enough to keep your teeth from chattering. You shrug. “Eh. A bit.”

He doesn’t have anything extra to give you this time, so instead he slips an arm around your shoulders. It’s a move he’s pulled countless times, but you perfectly fit against him. You’re all nice and soft.

Normally, this is where he’d start drawing lazy circles on your shoulder, then letting his hand trail down your back, settling at your waist. He’d brush your hair away from your neck, lean in close, murmur something low and suggestive—Wanna get out of here?—and that would be that.

But he doesn’t do any of it. Part of him knows it wouldn’t work on you anyway—he’d just earn a fist to the jaw. But more than that, he doesn’t really want to. He likes this. The quiet. The city humming below. The way you’re warm under his arm.

You don’t push him away either, which surprises him. You stiffen for a second, just barely, then relax—leaning into him the smallest amount. His body heat cuts through the cold, and you take it without comment. You’ll take what you can get. And he smells good—spicy cologne, clean laundry, the faint lingering trace of cigarettes.

He drives you home and you stop him at the same spot as before—though not without some whining on his end.

“Thanks for tonight,” he says.

You raise an eyebrow and laugh. “Shouldn’t I be the one saying that?”

“I’m just glad you actually showed up instead of ghosting my ass.”

“I tried to.”

Enjin leans forward across the console, pushing his luck now that you’re already halfway out the door, hand on the handle. “So,” his voice is hopeful and obnoxious, “do I get a goodnight kiss?”

There it is. The arrogance, right on cue.

You scoff. “C’mon, Enjin. You were so well-behaved tonight, too.”

“Hey,” he says, grinning, “I can be a good dog. So where’s my treat?”

“You’re so gross.”

“Please, ma?” A dramatic pout. “Just one kiss. Short n’ sweet.”

“No.”

He sighs, finally leaning back in his seat. “I’ll get you next time.”

“There will be no next time,” you’re already shutting the door. “I don’t owe you anymore.”

“Next time!” he calls through the glass, voice muffled.

You walk away shaking your head—and you hate that you’re smiling.

~

A giant, obnoxiously loud, extravagant bouquet is waiting on your desk at 7:50 a.m.

It is far too early for this shit. Be so for real.

Tied to it with a ribbon is a note:

Could next time be today after your classes? —Enjin ♡

You feel someone looking at you. Well, a lot of people are. Gris is fully side-eyeing you from his seat, and you immediately glare at him. He winces, flashing you an apologetic smile.

You and Gris have followed each other since freshman year. You’ve seen the party photos—Enjin throwing up fours, Gris holding up beers. Both of their pages are basically a highlight reel of the two of them. Same energy, same circles—except Gris lacks the aggressive arrogance and proud douchebag streak that Enjin wears like a badge of honor.

You know who put the bouquet there.

Pulling out your phone, you snap a photo.

You:wtf is this

He responds immediately.

asshole :/you like them?

You:no! everyone in my class is staring at me now

pretty sure they think my mom died or something

You:oh great i think my professor is about to give me her condolences

i’m going to need them after dealing with your bitchass

You:also how am i supposed to carry these to the rest of my classes today

asshole :/i’ll come get them after your class then

i’ll give them back when i see you later

You:do not come to my class. i will carry them.

also i’m not hanging out with you later

You:enjin DO NOT COME TO MY CLASS

asshole :/<3

Much to your dismay, he’s waiting outside at 9:45 on the dot.

He’s leaning against the wall with Gris, mid-conversation. You take this as an opportunity to try and speed-walk past them, ducking your head like that might help.

It does not. Not when you’re holding a bouquet roughly three times the size of your head. You’re impossible to miss—and Enjin is downright delighted watching you try.

Just as you almost slip by, he reaches out and grabs your sleeve, tugging you back. You stumble straight into his side, and he’s quick to loop an arm around your shoulders.

You reflexively hunch in on yourself, attempting to hide behind the flowers. Because really—what’s worse? Being seen as Enjin’s girl of the month (which was already far longer than what any other girl got), or getting stared at like you’re auditioning for a botanical garden exhibit? 100% both at once.

Enjin can feel the heat coming off you, pure irritation bundled under his arm. A sane person might back off—

But he’s not sane. What was it he thought again? Oh yeah—he’s a freak like that.

“Gris,” he says, gesturing to you like he’s presenting a prize, “have I introduced you to this sexy lady?”

“I think you’re forgetting we just walked out of the same class.” Gris nods at you, polite smile in place. “But hey.”

“Lucky motherfucker, wish I got to see this pretty face first thing every morning—”

You shove the bouquet straight up into his face. He chokes, coughing and sputtering as petals go everywhere. He snatches the flowers from you before you can do it again, then smoothly pivots the two of you away from Gris, already steering you down the hall.

You’re groaning and whining trapped in Enjins grasp. “I’ve got class in like fifteen minutes. Can you please let go?”

He doesn’t. Instead, the two of you fall into another one of many quick back-and-forths—him trying to angle for when he can see you again, you shutting it down every time. Tonight? No. Tomorrow? No. He’s annoyingly amused by all of it.

“What about Friday?” he asks, finally. “You gonna be at the party?”

“In your dreams, lover boy.”

Enjin smirks like he’s heard something else entirely. “Oh,” he adds, holding the bouquet out toward you. “When should I give you these?”

You glance at the flowers—crushed, bent, a little worse for wear thanks to being shoved into his face. “Never. They’re mangled.”

He sighs dramatically, plucking a single flower from the bunch and holding it out. “Fine. Just one.”

“You’re impossible.”

But you snatch it from his hand anyways and finally shake his arm off, shooting him a warning look as you break away toward your building.

~

For the first time in his life, Enjin is bored at a party.

He’s standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter while August yells next to him about some cheap starter clothing line he’s been working on. Whoever he’s talking to looks trapped, nodding along like they’re waiting for an exit that isn’t coming.

Follo—nice kid, Gris’s little—stands on his other side gripping his beer so hard his knuckles are going white. Still learning how these things work. Gris isn’t even here. Off being responsible, staying in to work on a project. Lame.

Normally, this wouldn’t bother him. He’s a social butterfly—could talk up a wall if he felt like it. Parties usually entertain him.

So why is he so bored out of his goddamn mind?

He downs another drink, chases it with a cigarette.

“I thought you couldn’t smoke inside the house—” Follo starts. Enjin claps a hand on his shoulder. “Right. You can’t smoke inside the house. But this is my house.”

Follo opens his mouth, then thinks better of it.

Then—finally—a blonde wedges herself between him and August like she’s been waiting for the opening. If he looks down he’s seeing straight down her shirt—her lashes bat up at him like she knows the script. He knows it just as well. 

Enjin smirks as she presses in close. He doesn’t say a word—just slides an arm around her hip, pulls her in and turns them so she’s backed against the counter and there's no room left for Christ. She laughs, breathy, tilting her head and leaning into him. Mid-motion—his eyes drift.

Past her shoulder, out the kitchen window and to the back patio.

You.

The blonde keeps smiling up at him, oblivious and waiting. Clearly expecting him to either fuck her there or at least take her upstairs. He does neither.

Instead, he pulls away just as quickly as he pulled her in, leaving her standing there high n’ dry. 

You’re standing by yourself on the patio, blunt balanced between two fingers in one hand, drink in the other. Your friends have fully abandoned you. Girl code was apparently optional tonight—how dare they leave you alone at a frat where you’re very aware you’re being actively hunted by your biggest problem.

You hear him before you see him.

“Am I dreaming, or is that really you?”

Dammit.

He strolls up and you’re caught off guard by the look on his face. He looks genuinely happy. Like seeing you here just fixed something that’d been off all night.

It surprises him too. The fact that he’s excited just to see you—no alternative motives with an endgame in mind. That’s new.

You look insane. Hair done, eyes smoked out, shirt doing very little to help his focus, bangles clinking every time you lift your wrist for a hit or a sip. He’s pretty sure you’re the most attractive person here. Maybe the most attractive person he’s ever seen (which is saying something, he’s seen a lot of girls).

“You’re dreaming,” your voice is better music than the DJ could ever play. “And you’re gonna be late for class. Wakey wakey!”

Enjin laughs, leans in, presses a quick kiss to your temple. “You look really good, babe.”

You freeze—just for a literal milisecond—and he takes advantage of the moment to laugh and swipe the blunt from your fingers. He takes a drag while you smack his arm and snap something at him, already annoyed.

When he pulls it away, he notices the lipstick mark on the paper.

That’s hot.

“Y’know,” he teases, “that was kind of an indirect kiss.” You scoff and laugh at the same time. “What are you, twelve?”

“Close enough.”

You wince, playful. “I don’t know if this’ll work then. I don’t really fuck with younger guys.”

Now, he’s talked to you enough—against your will, unfortunately—to know exactly how much he can push. He lifts an arm, resting it against the railing behind you, close enough that his side brushes yours. “Really? And what’s this?”

You pause, mouth opening, closing—coming up empty.

That hesitation only makes him bolder. Your smartass mouth has finally run out of ammo.

He leans in, close enough that you can smell the weed and alcohol on his breath, the cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes, his cologne you’ve come to enjoy underneath it all.

“I’m grown,” he murmurs. “So you gonna fuck with me?”

He’s so close now it’s dizzying.

The seltzers you slammed earlier thrum in your head, tangled with the high and how close he is—how hot he suddenly feels. Was he always like this? Your gaze drops to the soft skin where his neck meets his shoulder, the ink that decorates it. 

Enjin is insufferable. The campus fuckboy. But dear god in the heavens above did he so look good. He thinks you look better.

You swallow. “Do you wanna dance?”

The smile that spreads across his face is slow and satisfied.

He’s won.

Grabbing his hand and dragging him inside, you bring him straight into the heat of it—bodies packed tight, bass rattling ribs, air thick with sweat and smoke. You pass the blonde who was all over him earlier—she’s already moved on, grinding on someone else in the corner.

You let go of his hand without looking back and slip into the center of the crowd, hips rolling naturally with the beat. The open back of your top calls his name, and his gaze drags down the length of you without shame.

Fuck.

You don’t look back—just lift one hand and curl a finger, commanding.

He’s on you immediately.

You keep your back to him as he closes the distance, chest to spine, hips fitting into yours. One of his hands settles at your waist—the other slides lower, rougher, fingers digging in.

Reaching back, you scrape your nails down the buzzed undercut at his nape. You feel him shiver behind you, sucking in a sharp breath like you punched it out of him.

Slowly, you guide him down until his mouth is near your neck. Breathing you in, his lips barely brush your skin—a ghost of a touch that sends heat straight through you. You move together and it’s downright filthy, bodies slick with sweat and hips grinding to a song neither of you are really paying attention to. His grip tightens, then loosens, like he’s trying to keep some sort of control not to fuck you right there on the middle of the floor.

He’s a known vice, but with the way you’ve got him hypnotized with the scent of your perfume alone combined with your body against his—he’s almost convinced the tables have turned.

Maybe you’d won.

You’re fully aware this is a decision you’re going to regret in the morning—when the hangxiety hits like a truck and your head feels like it’s splitting in two. But right now you’re not exactly thinking straight, and honestly? If sleeping with him means he’ll finally leave you alone—maybe even walk away satisfied with getting some of the best dick on campus—then you’ll deal with the consequences later.

Neither of you is sure how long you’ve been dancing—minutes, hours, something in between—but eventually whatever restraint you had left in you finally snaps. You turn to face him, giving him that look. The one he’s seen plenty of times before. But seeing it on your face hits different. Way different. It looks unreal on you.

Sliding one hand up his chest, you feel the heat there alongside his racing heart—while the other wraps around his bicep, solid muscle flexing under your grip. The sensation sends something hot straight through you, pooling low in between your thighs and making your mouth water.

You hook a finger into the chain at his neck and tug him down just enough to meet your eyes.

“Do you want your kiss?”

You don’t even get a chance to blink before you’re in a dark hallway, away from everything else. The only things around are the dim lights and a few unlucky stragglers slumped over on the floor—people who didn’t quite make it to the bathroom before the night caught up to them.

Enjin gives you no time to think before he slams you into the wall, his mouth crashing into yours with a low groan. The kiss is messy and hungry—all teeth and tongue, no patience at all. He’s vocal and grabby—hands everywhere, panting into your mouth as he grabs at whatever he can reach.

He never stops moving against you, grinding in desperation for more friction, and you whine into the kiss, instinctively chasing his hips to match him.

One of his hands slips under your shirt, groping your tit, while the other tangles in your hair—yanking your head to the side so he can drag his mouth down your neck with hot, wet, open mouth kisses.

You gasp at the contact, breath stuttering, and before you can stop yourself you whine his name out loud.

The sound of it makes his heart kick up hard. He wants to hear you say his name again—wants it repeated, pulled out of you like a mantra. It’s one of the best sounds he’s ever heard.

The way you’re pressed beneath him, fingers fisted in his shirt. The feel of your lips, the taste of you—it’s nothing like anything he’s known or felt before. He’s solely thinking about the nearest room he can get you into to fuck you dumb—when a thought cuts through everything else.

Not like this.

It stops him short. Makes the devil on his shoulder—the one that’s always winning—start shouting obscenities in protest.

Not like this. He doesn’t want it to happen this way.

And he doesn’t know why. This is what he’s wanted from the start, isn’t it? So why does it suddenly feel wrong to take it like this?

He pulls back and really looks at you—lips swollen, eyes glassy, breath still uneven. You already look fucked out and so beautiful it hurts his heart and his dick

“The bathroom’s over there,” you pant, barely getting the words out.

He averts his eyes. “No.”

“Okay… isn’t there a bedroom upstairs—”

“Not gonna happen.”

Your brow furrows. “Aren’t you gonna fuck me?”

His answer is already written all over his face, and it makes your heart sink. Panic creeps in fast and unwarranted. What did you do to make the campus hooker of all people stop short? He’d sleep with anyone with a pussy—so what about you made him hesitate?

He finally looks back over, and the sight of your face hits him square in the chest. You look crushed. Like a kicked puppy. When you mumble, “Did I do something wrong?” it’s quiet enough to almost break him.

“Oh my god, no.” He shakes his head hard. “No—the opposite, actually. Fuck, ma, please don’t look at me like that.” He drags a hand through his hair, exhales sharply through his teeth, like he’s trying to get control of something that’s already spiraling.

“This isn’t a you thing, you didn’t mess anything up.”

You’re still watching him, trying to decode what changed.

He exhales. “I’m just not doing it here. That’s all.”

Enjin’s eyes flick over your face like he’s checking something—making sure you’re okay, or at least not hurt.

“I’m not backing out,” he adds quickly, like he doesn’t want you filling in the silence yourself. “I just—” He stops, jaw tightening, then shrugs. “This isn’t how I wanna do it.”

He kisses you again—slower this time, and gentle. Your mouths fit together stupidly well, the same way you felt tucked under his arm.

You pull away first.

He licks his lips, like he’s trying to hang onto the taste of you. “You good?” he asks.

You nod, hands dropping from his shirt as you give him space. He steps back fully, then smooths your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. “Want me to walk you home?”

You shake your head, say you’ll call a friend. The answer shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t smack him the way it does. Where did that come from? You’re just some chick.

You turn to leave. Make it a few steps before he speaks again.

“Hey.”

You pause, look back at him. “I’ll text you,” he promises. “Okay?”

You nod once and disappear back into the crowd.

And suddenly—even with bodies everywhere, music shaking the floor and the house still alive as ever —everything feels empty without you standing there.

He doesn’t text right away. Tries not to think about it. He doesn’t usually do stuff like that, texts back and everything.

Later that night, once he’s home and the adrenaline’s finally worn off, he gives in.

asshole :/you get home alright?

Read 3:47 a.m.

~

Enjin’s a chronic ghoster. It’s one of his specialities, a defining trait that comes with his package (in every way that matters). He’s never really seen the point in keeping up conversation once he gets what he wants. Everyone knows how it works. If a girl expects more, that’s on her.

What he’s not used to is being ghosted.

Text after text goes out to you, all of them met with nothing. At some point you either turned your read receipts off or stopped opening his messages altogether. At first, he’s offended. Like… What? This is his move. He’s the one who disappears. Not the other way around.

But it doesn’t sit right with him. Because before—even when you were displeased with his existence—you’d still send something back. A snarky remark, a dry response. Now it’s radio silence. That’s when it starts to get uncomfortable.

He tells himself you’re probably pissed he didn’t sleep with you. People don’t love getting turned down, especially when they didn’t see it coming. And yeah, it probably doesn’t help that a guy with his background suddenly decided to stop things.

Still… it feels like more than that.

If he’s being honest—just a little—it didn’t look great. And if he wants you talking to him again (which, begrudgingly, he does), he should maybe clear the air. Say something that isn’t a joke or a half-assed text.

Problem is, that would mean admitting he hesitated—and even if he’s not fully sure why, he knows that’s not something he’s good at explaining.

But to his own surprise, he misses you bad.

So instead of overthinking it—or owning up to anything—he goes with what he knows.

The second lecture ends, Gris is already at your seat while you’re packing up.

“Listen,” he grimaces like this is physically painful for him, “can you just text him back?”

You snort. “What’s he got on you?”

He exhales through his nose and pauses, clearly choosing his battles.

“I don’t wanna do this any more than you wanna talk to him,” he admits. “But I’d really like him off my ass sooner rather than later.”

“Oh good,” you stand abruptly, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “At least he’s on someone’s ass.”

You start to put your earbuds in. Gris gently catches your wrist before you can. “When it comes to women, Enjin’s a piece of shit. And yeah—I know you’re embarrassed. Anyone would be.”

You click your tongue.

“But,” he continues, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this. Not with a girl.” He shrugs. “I’m not saying it means anything, and I’m definitely not trying to hype him up—but he’s been real worked up. And I’m tired of listening to him bitch every time you leave him on delivered.”

You stare at him for a second.

“…You’re really selling this,” you deadpan.

“Just—think about it?”

Later that night, you’re home, staring at your phone and your thumb hovers over his contact. The last thing he sent was from last night—a photo of him at some chapter meeting, looking exhausted and another message complaining about them still trying to rope him onto exec next semester.

It’s not one of his usual selfies. He’s just got droopy eyes and messy hair, tie loosened with the top buttons undone. You can see the dip between his throat and collarbones.

Which is unfortunate.

Because now you’re thinking about the party. About having your mouth right there. About the way his lips felt against your own neck, his hands hot and insistent on your skin.

You groan, toss your phone onto the couch, grab the nearest throw pillow and scream into it. 

Earlier, you’d screenshotted the text and sent it to Semiu—because if you’re gonna spiral, you might as well involve Enjin’s own people. She replies almost immediately.

coolest lab partner

weird he sent that and not a dick pic

You ask what she means.

She sends back a shrug emoji. Great!

So he bailed on sleeping with you and—according to both of his best friends—is now acting differently with you than he does with other girls. Which means what, exactly?

This whole thing is just straight offensive. He crawled six feet up your ass trying to charm his way into your bed, only to bail the second things got close. After you let him get close, no less. Dropped the bitch act, let your guard down—and apparently that was the dealbreaker. Maybe the rumors are true and he really can’t stand needy women.

Except—he did say another time. He rainchecked your hookup.

Who does that? Certainly not men like him.

And yet here you are, staring at your phone, wondering when the hell that became your problem.

You’re still annoyed, still stewing—but at this point you’re out of pride to lose. You open his messages again and, after a long pause, react to the photo with a thumbs down.

You don’t even get a full minute before your phone starts ringing.

Asshole :/

The audacity! You answer anyway.

“She speaks!” Enjin’s joyful voice comes through the phone.

“Say shit like that and I’m hanging up.”

He draws out a dramatic, wounded, “Nooo—I didn’t mean it like that! Don’t go, I missed hearing your pretty voice.” You scoff. “Why did you call?”

“Because you texted me and confirmed you don’t hate me.”

“I sent you a thumbs down.”

“Hey,” he says, voices echoing faintly in the background, “after days of nothing? I’ll take it.” You turn the volume up and sink back into the couch. “You sound busy.”

“Nah. Never too busy for you, mama.” A pause, some shuffling. “Just got a few guys over.” Someone shouts something unintelligible. Then Gris, unmistakable even through the muffling—

“He’s got his girl on the phone.”

Enjin doesn’t correct him. “I’ll be right back,” he tells them. More movement, then a door closes, and it’s quieter now.

“Hey,” his voice is softer this time. You tilt your head to stare at the ceiling. “Hi.”

“Am I allowed to say I’m sorry?”

“Why wouldn’t you be?”

He exhales a small laugh. “I dunno.”

Silence stretches. Then, “I’m sorry.”

You sort through the million things you could say. You land on one. “For what?”

“The other night.”

“What about it?” you say. “Nothing happened.”

“C’mon,” he replies gently. “Let me make it up to you.”

You hum, noncommittal. Actually fucking me this time would be a good place to start.

“Let me see you again, baby. Please?” His voice is hopeful. “I’ll be good, promise. I’ll take you anywhere—your pick.”

You sigh. “Do you do this with all the girls you fuck up with,” you ask, turning his own words back on him, “or am I just special?”

Silence. Special isn’t a word he uses.

“…Special.”

~

You let him see you again.

A lot, actually. More than you meant to.

You can’t deny you started enjoying his presence, mostly because it became clear his advances weren’t leading anywhere any time soon. It stopped feeling like he was hovering around just to get something out of you. Sometimes it actually felt like he just liked just being around you.

He took you out constantly—places you already loved, places you’d never heard of. He even let you plan things sometimes: random craft afternoons at the park, wandering the mall for no reason. Before long, it became routine for him to grab you after class and drag you off to lunch, or sit with you while you studied (even if you bitched about it the first few times).

What started as him trying to win your attention back slowly turned into the two of you just finding excuses to spend time together. Sometimes that meant going out, sometimes it meant doing absolutely nothing—just sitting in his car at night, passing a joint back and forth while music played low through the speakers as you talked about anything and everything.

"Do you think dihydrogen monoxide should be allowed into the water supply?"

“What the hell are you saying to me right now—”

Enjin, surprisingly, was capable of being decent. His presence started to feel like it was somewhere between homeboy and something far too similar to boyfriend.

You knew better than to ask questions, though. Honestly, you weren’t even sure you wanted the answer. You were hanging out all the time, hovering somewhere between friendship and something more, and the space in between felt way too uncertain to risk asking the worst question.

What are we?

The first time he kissed you again after the party happened late one night at his place (you still never let him come to yours).

He’d somehow convinced you to bake with him, which felt far too domestic for whatever the two of you were doing. You’d rolled your eyes, complained about it the entire drive over, but still showed up. By then, he’d officially worked his way onto your good side, and it was getting harder to say no—especially when he asked the way he did, all soft smiles and pleases.

Your shared playlist hummed quietly through the speaker in his kitchen while you stood side by side mixing cookie dough, arguing over measurements you weren’t really following anyway. At some point, without warning, he grabbed your hands and pulled you into the middle of the floor.

“Hey!” you laughed, nearly losing your balance as he started swaying you to the music. “I don’t really think this kind of dancing goes with a Journey song.”

He spun you around. “Trust me, you can dance to anything if you try hard enough.” 

You giggled harder, flour dusting both of your clothes, and when he dipped you—overdramatic, barely coordinated—you reached up and wiped the streak of flour off his cheek with your thumb. It was painfully cliché.

You looked up at him while smiling wide with bright eyes, and something in his chest tightened in a way he didn’t quite know how to deal with. He found himself thinking, almost absently, that he wanted so many more nights like this—more of the simple, stupid, warm moments that had nothing to do with anything else.

But he was just as afraid of that question as you were.

He lifted you up onto the counter, stepping between your knees, laughing as you tried to shove him away. He kissed you—soft at first, then again, and again, scattered across your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth—just to hear you laugh louder.

It slowly turned into kissing you hello and kissing you goodbye, picking you up and spinning you around every time he saw you. He was always showing up exactly when you needed him, always ready before you even had to ask. He was at your beck and call.

Favorite soda when he picked you up? Already waiting in the cupholder, along with whatever candy you’d mentioned liking once weeks ago. Sitting through hours of your favorite show just so you could ramble about theories and plotlines—even though it bored him half to death. He’d still sit there, nodding along, way more focused on watching your lips move and the way your face lit up when you got excited than anything happening on the screen. He loved listening to the way your mind worked.

Enjin was almost the polar opposite of the guy he used to be, and the strangest part was that he didn’t even notice it happening. He was so caught up in you that everything else started to feel like background noise. In the few months you’d been hanging out, he had become wrapped around your finger.

You’d been introduced to all his friends—something he never would’ve even considered doing before. Girls usually came and went in a single night, never sticking around long enough for introductions to matter. There was never a reason to blur those lines.

But you were different. You were around all the time now, folded into his circle until it felt like you’d always been there. His friends liked you, you liked them, and before long it didn’t even feel like you were “Enjin’s guest” anymore—you were just part of the group.

Hell, August even put you on the Instagram page for his clothing brand, insisting you were the best model he’d had so far. Enjin had pretended not to care, but he definitely saved the post.

He was constantly on your own mind now, showing up in the smallest moments. When you passed a place the two of you had eaten at, when a song from your shared playlist came on, when you caught yourself reaching for your phone to text him something dumb before you even thought about it. 

One night in particular, you were completely, horrifically shitfaced after going out with your friends. Like—sitting on the curb outside the bar, blinking slow because the world wouldn’t stop spinning, kind of drunk. Your legs were bare, freezing in the night air, feet aching from shoes you’d long since kicked off somewhere, head floating three seconds behind your body.

All you could think about was Enjin. He was always so warm.

You didn’t even remember calling him.

He picked up almost instantly. “To what do I owe the honor of hearing from you, beautiful? Thought you were out tonight.”

“Enjiinn—” you slurred, dragging his name out, swaying slightly where you sat. Hearing his voice somehow made your head feel even fuzzier. “Miss you s’much.”

He paused. “Baby, how drunk are you?”

“Nooo… m’ not drunk.” you said, then immediately giggled. “Well. Maybe a lil’. Tiny bit. Like… microscopic. That’s a big word…”

“Are your friends with you?”

“Yesss… they were… they’re waiting for the Uber…” You turned your head slowly, squinting into the street lights. “Wait. Where did my friends go…?”

“Where are you?”

“Mmm… I dunno…” you hummed, words running together. “Have I ever told you how handsome you are? Like… soo handsome. I’m gonna eat you up.”

He laughed softly. “You can eat me up when I get you. Where are you, ma?”

You blinked hard, trying to focus on the street sign above you. “Think it’s the bar on South Street. Maybe.” A pause. “Maybe not. I dunno. I can’t really… see right now.” You started giggling again, shoulders shaking. “Everything’s blurry.”

He muttered something under his breath, then came back louder. “Stay exactly where you are, okay? Don’t move. I’m coming to get you.”

Not that moving was really an option anyway—you were already half-curled on the curb, phone clutched to your ear. 

Somehow, some way, he found you.

When his car pulled up, you gasped like he just performed a miracle.

“My handsome boy!” you squeal the second he steps out, delight all over your face while worry was written all over his. The compliment makes his cheeks warm despite himself. You were always extra affectionate when you were drunk—clingy and sweet in a way he certainly didn’t think he deserved.

You try to stand so you can run to him, but your knees wobble immediately. You barely make it two steps before you start tipping forward—only for him to catch you, hands landing firmly around your waist.

“You’re so strong,” you murmur, leaning into him without hesitation. “That’s so hot.”

He laughs under his breath, steadying you as he guides you toward the car while you keep rambling nonsense into his shoulder. “You’re like… my knight n’ shining armor. Always saving me.”

“Yeah?” he says, opening the passenger door.

He helps you slide into the seat, making sure your legs are tucked in before stepping back. “Anything for you, princess.”

“I like that. Say it again.”

He leans down, presses a quick kiss to the crown of your head. “My princess.”

You grin, already melting into the seat. “Yeah… that’s gonna do it.”

Unfortunately, Enjin still doesn’t know where you live, so the next best option is bringing you back to his place.

“Why does my apartment look different?” you mumble. “I really gotta fix the feng shui in here…”

He laughs quietly, guiding you down the hall and into his room before handing you one of his shirts and a pair of pajama pants. “Can I trust you to dress yourself?”

“You’re not gonna help me?” Leaning forward, you dip just enough that your dress shifts lower than it should. “I think you’d kill me in the morning if you found out,” he says, unimpressed but definitely not unaffected.

“Mm… but me right now wants you to help me.”

He shakes his head, gently steering you toward the bathroom. “Go get changed. I’ll stand outside the door in case you fall and bust your ass.”

Normally, Enjin would’ve jumped at the opportunity. You did look way too good—would’ve unzipped the back of your dress slow, let his mouth trail down your spine, dropped to his knees before you even realized what was happening—

He runs a hand through his hair and exhales hard, forcing the thought away while he waits outside the door, doing his best to keep it together.

But it takes every ounce of restraint in his body not to lose it at the sight of you in his clothes. Especially with how his shirt hangs off you—way too big, collar slipping just enough to expose your shoulder the tiniest bit.

You flop face-first onto his bed, already half-asleep, and he tries to gently roll you over and tuck you in the right way. He turns to leave—planning to grab a blanket and crash on the couch—when your hand suddenly shoots out and grabs his arm, yanking him down with you.

Damn, he thinks. She’s strong.

“Woah—” is all he manages before you’re climbing over him, straddling his lap. Your lips find his neck, messy and unfocused kisses trailing along his jaw—a guttural groan slips out before he can stop it when your hips grind down against his. His hands instinctively land on your thighs, gripping like he’s trying to hold onto what little self-control he has left.

You whine his name all needy, and he shuts his eyes for a second—because fuck, that sound does something to him.

“Ngh—hey, c’mon now,” he gently tried to guide your face away, hands cupping your cheeks.

You pout. “Please, Enjin… wan’ you so bad…”

Yeah, the feeling’s mutual. But even he’s not enough of an asshole to take advantage of you like this.

“Shh. I know,” he says, pressing his thumb lightly to your lips to quiet you—only for you to lazily suck it into your mouth. His breath catches, hips thrusting up before he can stop himself, and he curses under his breath when you smirk, clearly proud of yourself.

He shakes his head, grabbing your waist instead. “Don’t do this to me. We’re not doing this right now.”

“You don’t like me…”

“You’re dramatic. And drunk.”

You give a sleepy little hmph before collapsing forward, laying across his chest—still very much straddling him. He tries to move you, tries to tuck you back under the covers, but you groan and cling tighter, arms locking around him like a koala.

“You gotta go to bed, ma.”

“I am,” you whisper. “Right here. Womp womp.”

He sighs, giving up, arms settling around you instead. His hand drifts to the back of your head, gently smoothing your hair, and it doesn’t take long before your breathing slows and evens out.

He’s stuck now.

Which means he’s sleeping here too—something he’s never done. Sleeping in the same bed as a girl always felt way too intimate, too personal. Either they left, or he did.

But right now, there’s nowhere else he wants to be anyway.

~

You’d started showing up to almost all of their parties, only skipping when you had academic responsibilities (as Enjin called them) to deal with.

“You gotta stop being so smart,” He would complain, flopping back dramatically whenever you told him you couldn’t come. “I’m gonna be bored without you.”

Things got weirdly dull when you weren’t around. He could hang with the guys, drink, laugh, do the same stuff they always did—but sooner or later he’d catch himself wondering where you were, what you were doing, whether you were already home or still out somewhere.

The guys gave him endless shit for it too—the campus fuckboy suddenly acting whipped over a girl. Most of the time he just laughed and ignored them. But every once in a while it stuck in his head, and Enjin thinking too hard about things was never a good sign.

He’s sat up on the couch playing makeshift poker with a deck of half-bent cards and a pile of spare change in the middle of the table. It kept him busy enough—mostly because the guys around him were getting increasingly pissed every time he won another round.

Follo tossed his cards down. “Nah, that’s insane. Again?” Enjin didn’t even look up, just dragged the winnings toward his pile. “You guys are just predictable.”

“You don’t even know the rules.”

“Neither do you,” He shot back. “So relax.”

Gris leans back in his chair, squinting at the table. “I’m pretty sure we’re playing this wrong.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Enjin shrugs. “Money’s still mine.”

“I swear you count cards or something.”

“If I was counting cards, you’d already be broke.”

Follo groans, digging more coins out of his pocket. “I’m done playing after this hand. You’re hustling us.”

“You volunteered. Don’t blame me cause you keep funding my night.”

Corvus clears his throat beside him. “Pretty sure your lady just walked in.” Enjin’s head snapped up instantly, attention gone from the cards in his hands. “Follo, your wallet just got blessed. I’m done playing.”

Follo let out a dramatic sigh of relief. “I owe her my life.”

You felt Enjin before you even spotted him—the way his presence pulled your attention across the crowded room like a compass. You waved as you walked over. “Hi, guys!”

“The woman of the night has finally arrived,” Gris says, grinning.

“You’re too sweet,” you coo, sliding into the open spot next to Enjin and curling against his side. His arm wrapped around you without hesitation, like it had become second nature. It didn’t go unnoticed—some of the girls lingering nearby shot you nasty looks. They came from knowing they’d never gotten that kind of loving from him. You couldn’t deny the major ego boost it gave you.

There wasn’t a label on whatever this was, but you had something they didn’t: his full, undivided attention. Had him locked down like a dog on a leash, and no title was needed for people to see that.

You nod toward the pile of coins and bills on the table. “So where are you taking me with all these winnings? At least make your gambling addiction useful.”

Corvus laughs from the other side. “You should feel honored. You just got prioritized over beer and cigarettes.”

Enjin smirks, squeezing your shoulder lightly. “I was gonna spend it on you anyway.”

You reach up and pinch Enjin’s cheek.

“Careful,” you tease, “your ego’s getting kinda insane tonight.” He grabs your wrist with a grin, but Gris leans forward first. “Wait—where have you been? We thought you dipped.”

“I had to pregame with my friends, y’all start parties way too early.”

“You missed Follo trying to manipulate the DJ. Whole house rioted.”

“Oh my god, not this again.” He groans. “Dude, it was one suggestion.” You perk up immediately. “Wait—what did you play?”

He hesitates like he knows he’s about to get jumped. “…The 1975.”

“Oh my god, yes.”

They all groan in unison. “It was Somebody Else!” He tries to desperately defend himself. “It’s a good song!”

You point at him, nodding. “He’s so right.” Gris shakes his head. “Next thing we know the whole party’s gonna be crying in the kitchen.”

“C’mon, Follo, we’re going back up to the DJ booth,” you say, already starting to sit up. “If I flash him, he’ll play it. Trust.”

August nearly chokes laughing. “Damn straight!”

Before you can get too far, Enjin takes his arm around your waist and pulls you back down against him. “Yeah, no. The entire house does not need to see your tits tonight.”

“You’re so lame—now everyone’s gonna miss out on a banger cause of you.” He just squeezes your waist, sticking a tongue out at you. Across the room, you spot a girl from one of your classes waving you over, already holding up a drink like an invitation.

“Who’s that?” Enjin asks.

“Friend of mine, I’m gonna go say hi and grab a drink—”

As soon as you’re upright, his hands land on your hips, stopping you for a second. He looks up with an exaggerated pout. “Let me come with you.”

“I’m a big girl, I can make it,” you laugh, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be right back, kay’?”

He lets you go, but his eyes stay on you as you cross the room, watching you laugh at something your friend says.

“Didn’t know Enjin was capable of settling down,” a voice says from the wall nearby.

He glances over—one of the regulars who hung around.

“Settling down?” Enjin takes a drag of his cigarette. “We’re not together.”

The guy whistles low. “Damn. That pussy must be crazy then to have you acting like this.” He smirks. “If you’re not together, you mind if I take a shot?”

Something in him goes cold fast.

“Shut the fuck up.”

The guy raises his hands in mock defense, but the smug look stays. “Relax, man. I’m just saying—she’s bad as hell. And if you don’t have a claim—” He continues, staring off at you. “Not to mention, girls who mess with you are always easy.”

Enjin doesn’t even remember standing. One second he’s sitting, the next he’s in the guy’s face.

“Say another fucking word about her.”

Corvus is behind him not even a second later, hand clamping down on his shoulder. “Enjin, you gotta back up, bro.”

He’s seething.

It’s stupid. It shouldn’t bother him this much. Guys say dumb shit at parties all the time. Normally he’d laugh it off, maybe throw something back twice as disrespectful and move on. But the thought of that guy even looking at you like that makes something ugly crawl up his spine. The idea of anyone talking about you like you’re just another name on a list—like the same girls he used to treat that way—makes his stomach churn.

He kind of hates how fast his mind jumps to it. Hates that his first instinct wasn’t to laugh, but to step in front of you like he needed to protect you.

We’re not together.

He shakes Corvus’s hand off, “I’m out.”

Enjin shoves through the crowd, shoulders knocking into people without a single apology as he forces his way outside. The night air hits his face, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to cool him off. His head is still racing, thoughts coming in far too fast and far too loud.

What the hell was he doing?

This isn’t who he is. Getting defensive. Getting territorial. Getting pissed over some guy talking about a girl he hasn’t even properly fucked yet. He’s had girls he has slept with treated worse than that and never cared enough to blink.

It pisses him off even more to realize how obvious what the real answer here is.

You’d somehow gotten into his head without him noticing, rewired something that had always been simple and straightforward. For months now he’s been telling himself the same thing—you’re just some girl. Some girl he wanted his dick in, nothing more. That was the plan. That was always the plan. He wasn’t supposed to care about how you felt, or what people said about you, or whether someone else tried to make a move. You were supposed to be another name, another night, another body on his list.

He’s had more than enough chances by now. Plenty. If this were anyone else, it would’ve been over weeks ago. Done. Finished. Forgotten. Point blank. Instead, every time things got close, he’s the one pulling back. Slowing down. Taking his time like he’s got somewhere to be with this.

Enjin’s not even really sure who he’s mad at. It’s not you—you didn’t do anything wrong. But the thought of himself being burned down to—what did that guy call it? Pussy whipped?—makes his blood boil.

The idea of people looking at him like that, like he’s lost something, sets something off in him. 

All of it makes him angry in general—but it makes him angrier on your behalf. Like you’re just some girl who finally did well enough to keep him around. Like you’re some trophy, some body that got lucky.

Like you’re just another name.

Just like you used to be to him.

But you’re not.

“Hey, Enjin.”

He turns from where he’s leaning over the patio railing. The voice belongs—ironically enough—to one of the many girls he’s slept with. What was her name again? Something with an M… maybe.

“Not very nice of you to leave your girl all alone in there.”

He stares at her, jaw tightening. He knows exactly what she’s doing. Fishing. Looking for something she can take back inside and whisper about. Proof that Enjin’s finally locked down—that someone finally got him.

The angel on his shoulder tells him to ignore her. To go back inside, sit on the couch, cool off, maybe go back to playing cards.

The devil—loud and wounded—wins like he always does.

“Not my girl.”

The words feel foreign the second they leave his mouth, same way they did earlier. If you really meant nothing, he wouldn’t be standing out here this pissed off—it feels like his entire mind is split down the middle. One side of him knows better, the other does not.

Her lips curl into a knowing smile. “She’s not?” She steps closer, pressing herself against his arm, confident now. This is all the confirmation she needed. Whatever he says next doesn’t even matter.

She feels wrong against him—too familiar in the worst way. Nothing like you.

From the kitchen window, all you catch is the exchange—too quick—and then her body right up against his. A sight you recognize all too well.

What did he say to her?

The feeling hits you hard, it knocks the air straight out of your lungs. It shouldn’t hurt—this isn’t new. Girls on Enjin’s arm used to be a given. But it’s been so long, and he’s been so yours.

You told yourself not to get your hopes up.

You weren’t stupid.

But what were you supposed to think? For months the campus playboy went practically celibate, going months without touching anyone else. Followed you around like a lost dog, acted like your attention was the only thing he wanted.

That meant something, right? It had to. Except now it feels stupid. Stupid, naive, and straight up embarrassing.

You should’ve known better all along—knowing that someone like him doesn’t change. That no matter how close it felt, you were always going to be nothing more than another girl to a man like Enjin.

You grab the drink you came into the kitchen for and slam it back. Then another. Then one more for good measure.

You push your way onto the dance floor and just move. Move to the rhythm. Focus on the music. Don’t think about what you saw outside. Don’t think about the past few months, about how you let your guard down because he tried—because he kept showing up. Don’t think about how small you suddenly feel, how you trusted him and he took it like a thief.

Take, take, take. That’s all he ever does, isn’t it?

So why did he give you so much in return just to strip it all away?

The bodies around you start to feel too packed in. The walls feel like they’re closing in, the music too loud, the voices louder. You’re dizzy now, unsteady, and everything starts blending together until you can’t tell where one room ends and the next begins.

You stumble back until you hit a wall, the cold of it pressing into your spine as the bass vibrates through the speakers behind it. You try to take deep breaths, force your head to level out.

Blacking out is a mindset. Lock in.

“You good?”

The voice isn’t familiar. Neither is the face attached to it—though you can’t really make him out anyway.

“What?”

“I asked if you were good,” he says, louder this time.

Blinking, you try to focus. Something about him feels off. You can’t place it, but you feel it all the same. “Yeah. I’m fine.” You try to move away, aim for the bathroom or literally anywhere else.

“Woah, where you goin’?” He’s suddenly there, blocking you before your brain can catch up.

“I’m gonna find my friends.”

You move. He moves too.

You glance around for help, for someone—anyone—but you’re met with nothing. You realize you’re alone in that exact same hallway as before.

Fuck.

“Hey, just talk to me for a bit,” he’s leaning in and crowding your space, making it harder to breathe.

“Listen, you gotta leave me alone—” you snap, pushing at him, disgust flashing across your face as you try to get away.

His arm wraps around you from behind, fingers digging into your thighs—and before you can even process it, before you can kick or scream, he’s gone.

Ripped off you.

Enjin’s fist connects with the guy’s nose, blood spraying instantly. The guy barely gets a hit in—just enough to bruise later—before Enjin swings again, clean and brutal, knocking him out cold.

His chest is heaving. He’s seeing red. The same guy from earlier. Talking about you like that. Touching you like that.

Enjin looks down at the body, laughs under his breath and spits. “Damn,” he mutters. “He’s gonna be out for a bit.” Then he turns to you, face wild. “Don’t tell Corvus, okay?”

But the second he really looks at you—your face pale, eyes wide—he stops.

“Hey,” he says, softer now. “You alright?” He steps toward you, ready to pull you in, to ground you somehow.

You step back.

His brow furrows. Shit. Did he scare you?

“What the fuck is your problem?” you scream.

Confusion flashes across his face. You used to like it when he played knight in shining armor. Being his princess. “Aw, ma’—if I freaked you out, I’m sorry.”

You snort.

“You could’ve just pulled him off. Told him to leave. Not try to kill him.”

He’s used to your jabs, your snark, the looks—but this? The real anger in your eyes? It’s new and he doesn’t like it one bit.

“You didn’t find it hot?” he tries, desperate to crack the tension. A bad joke. A last resort.

“Are you on some shit?” you spit.

Yeah. Didn’t land.

You sigh, rubbing your face. “So did you come find me after you got bored outside?”

He freezes.

Oh. You saw her.

You must’ve left before you saw him push her off. Before he went looking for you. If he’d just stayed by your side, none of this would’ve happened.

He opens his mouth, but you cut him off.

“What is it you wanted, Enjin?”

His face was pure confusion, “What I wanted…?”

“You never slept with me,” you say. “isn’t that your thing? Being the campus hooker?”

“I’m sorry?” he says carefully, biting back everything else.

“No,” you stop him, hand raised. “I’m sorry.”

You swallow hard. You’re not crying. Not here. Not in front of him.

“I’m sorry I thought you could change. Sorry I believed the effort meant something. You’re a really good actor, you know that?”

Your shoulders sag. “That’s on me, Enjin.”

Then, quieter—“But you didn’t deny I was your girl. You let me crash at your place. Hell, you slept in bed with me. We both know you don’t do that.” A broken laugh slips out. “You just beat the shit out of that guy for me.”

You slide down the wall, burying your face in your hands.

“Enjin,” you whisper. “What did you really want?”

“You,” he says.

“What part of me?”

Silence.

“Right.” You stand. “Ice your eye. And your fist.”

“Hey—wait—”

You walk away.

He doesn’t chase you.

What did he want?

You. He wanted you.

At first, he wanted to fuck. That was it. So when did that stop being the point? When did he start caring more about making you smile than getting you into his bed? About listening instead of talking? About spoiling you—about being the first person you talked to in the morning and the last one at night?

Because you’re you. Smart. Kind. Funny. Curious. A mind that never stops moving. Beautiful, sure—devastatingly so—but it was never just that. It was everything underneath that pulled him in, made him want to crawl inside your head and heart and stay there.

It stopped being about wanting you—and became about wanting to be yours.

~

You give him zero openings this time.

Blocked his number. Blocked him on every social media platform you can think of—hell, even Roblox caught a stray. You start leaving classes early or showing up late just to avoid him lingering outside like he used to. You stop going to the places you know he learned by heart, because the last thing you need is running into him somewhere that used to feel safe.

But he sure does try!

At first it’s the usual stuff—having his friends reach out like middlemen because, as far as anyone can tell, you’ve straight-up vanished. They pass along gifts on his behalf. You toss every single one. (Okay—fine. You read the notes first. But they make you cry, so sometimes you set one or two on fire for dramatic closure.)

He even tries to figure out your new schedule, the one you very intentionally built just to dodge him. That doesn’t work either. You’d completely outplayed him, and for once, Enjin doesn’t know what move to make next.

Well… almost!

“August,” Enjin’s dead serious, halfway to begging. “You dropped the clothes off for her to model at her place. I need the address.”

August doesn’t even look up from his cricut. “Nah, man! But hella appreciate the enthusiasm!”

“I’m not joking,” He presses. “This is the love of my life on the line here. Future mother of my children.”

“Thought you hated kids,” Semiu mutters from the corner.

“Mind your damn business.”

August finally swivels around in his chair, eyebrows raised. “The love of your life? That’s insane coming from you!”

“Exactly!” Enjin says, desperate now. “Which is why I need you to drop the address. So I can be a better man and fix things.”

At this point, nothing feels off-limits to him. Morals? Flexible! Boundaries? Super negotiable. If seeing you again means showing up at the one place you never wanted him to know—yeah, he’d do it. He wasn’t above breaking and entering.

You, on the other hand, want nothing to do with him.

The farther away you are, the easier it is to convince yourself this whole situationship was just a waste of time. That sitting around hurting over it would only steal more days off the clock of your life.

Besides—thinking about him still pulls too much out of you. Hurt. Anger. Bitterness. And, annoyingly, yearning.

You miss him like hell. Like a bitch.

And every time you catch yourself spiraling over it, you turn the water cold in the shower and give yourself a look in the mirror like, Get it together girl!

So when he shows up at your door out of nowhere, it takes everything in you not to either strangle him or kiss him stupid.

“You’re actually batshit,” you say flatly, arms crossed, foot tapping. “How did you even get my address?”

“I have my ways.” He tries to smirk, but it barely lasts a second. He looks miserable—exhausted, hollowed out. You glare at him, and he caves almost immediately. “August,” he admits.

You mutter something about having to move now, about getting on Zillow, and start to shut the door in his face. His foot catches it.

“Baby, listen to me.”

“No thanks.” You shove harder, very intentionally trying to crush his toes.

“Hey—ow—can you at least let me apologize?”

“You can take your apology and shove it up your ass.”

You kick his foot out and finally slam the door.

“Will you please be my girlfriend?”

It’s muffled through the wood, but it lands anyway. Clear as day. You freeze as he leans his forehead against the door, letting out a shaky breath.

“Yeah, at first I was just trying to fuck you. I’ll be deadass about that.”

You snort despite yourself.

“But,” he continues, fingers fidgeting with the handle, “I loved you the first night I took you out. When you were staring at the city like it was brand new. You looked so free. And you kept telling me stories about yourself, I just remember thinking I wanted to hear a lot more of that—and that I wanted to be in them”

He lets out a short, embarrassed laugh. “It’s cheesy, I know. But I kept saying no because I didn’t want to sleep with you yet. I didn’t want you to think that was all you ever were to me—didn’t want you thinking that was the only thing I cared about.”

You open the door, and seeing your face almost knocks the wind out of him.

“So I’m sorry,” he says, softer now. “For making you think I hadn’t changed. I’ve wanted to change for you this whole time—it just took me too long to realize. And I didn’t know how to do it without fucking it up.”

“Whatever,” you shrug, eyes averted. “It’s fine. I guess.”

But the smile creeping onto your face gives you away.

“Can I come in?”

“Since you already probably have the longitude and latitude memorized, yeah.”

Enjin’s face breaks out into a wide smile the second you step aside, all teeth and crinkled eyes like he just won the lottery. You barely get the door halfway shut before he’s pulling you into him, arms wrapping tight around your shoulders and waist in a hug.

“Agh—dude, let go, I can’t breathe—”

He only squeezes you tighter, rocking you side to side like you’re something he almost lost (he definitely did). He presses kisses all over the top of your head, your hair, your temple. You shove at his chest half-heartedly, but you’re not really trying that hard.

You missed this. Him.

“Do you accept my apology?” he mumbles into your hair.

“I already said whatever.”

“That’s not forgiveness,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at you. “You’re supposed to say, ‘Of course I accept your apology, Enjin. I love you too!’”

“Don’t get greedy.”

He retaliates by kissing all over your face—cheek, jaw, nose—each quick peck followed by a dramatic, “Please?”

You can’t help it. You start laughing, the kind that makes your shoulders shake. “Okay, okay—fine! I accept your apology!”

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Yes, Enjin. I pretty much already was.”

“And an, I love you too?”

“Give me a bit.”

Enjin pauses for half a second like he’s considering arguing—then just shrugs instead.

He leans in again—not rushed, not greedy—just soft and slow, but still like his life depends on it. One hand slides to your waist, the other resting warm at your jaw as he kisses you like he’s trying to memorize it instead of steal it. 

“I’ve got all the time in the world,” he murmurs against your lips.

You fist your fingers into his shirt, suddenly very interested in the fabric instead of his face. “So… are you ever gonna have sex with me?”

A grin spreads against your skin.

“Yeah. Eventually.” His mouth drifts from your cheek down to your neck, unhurried. “Think I’m gonna wait till marriage though. Show you I’m really committed.”

You gasp dramatically. “I have to wait till marriage?”

“I can’t believe you’re more upset about waiting to fuck me than me saying I’m gonna marry you.”

It’s the most picture perfect Saturday morning in August—the sun coming in all warm and golden through the kitchen windows, the air still cool before it turns gross and sticky later, and birds singing like they’re only there to romanticize the start of the semester. The first week of classes is over, no assignments due and no responsibilities pulling at you yet. Everything is so quiet and calm. So peaceful.

You should be in bed. Still asleep. Rotting peacefully all warm n’ cozy under your comforter.

But no.

You’re in Enjin’s kitchen at the ass crack of dawn making this dumbass hangover remedies.

The blender kicks on and he groans from the table behind you like he’s on life support. “Does that thing know how to be quiet?”

“Enjin.” Could he be any more dramatic? “It's a blender.”

“Okay? They need to invent quieter ones.”

He went too hard at his frat’s opening party last night. Gris had to physically drag his barely functioning body home earlier this morning, and not even twenty minutes later he was calling you whining and all pathetic, “Please come help me, ma'…”

Were you shocked by the condition he was in? Not even a little. If anything, this is tame for an early-semester hangover. You’ve seen him way worse, like, foaming at the mouth and nonverbal. You’re surprised he hadn’t died from alcohol poisoning along the way.

Did you start bitching at him the second you walked through the door? Obviously. And did he have the nerve to squint at you and go, “Baby, can you not? My head is literally splitting,” like you’re the villain here? Yes. Which only made you double down, because the audacity of catching an attitude while you’re voluntarily providing emergency services before your internal alarm clock went off is, quite frankly, insane.

But you still got to work anyway.

You set the smoothie down in front of him, then slide over the plate of eggs and toast you made. It looks wholesome sitting next to the half-drunk Gatorade he’s been nursing since he woke up.

He stares at the plate, poking at the eggs and breaking the yolk. “I kinda thought you’d bring McDonald’s or something…”

You smack him upside the head and point at the food. Enjin glares at you, yet takes a bite anyway. He can whine all he wants, but he’s the one who begged you to come over—not to mention your breakfast clears a McGriddle by a mile.

Sitting across from him with your arms crossed, you yawn. You were up late too—just not stumbling around his frat house. You stayed in, binge-watching shows to reset your brain after getting handed all your new classes this week.

Enjin had something to say about that too, complaining about how your attendance at his frat was so important to him. But that’s when all the crazies come out, and there was no way you were dealing with blackout freshmen puking on your shoes.

It was bad enough you’re stuck taking care of an almost-puking Enjin as it is.

He's talking, nearly spitting pieces of egg at you.

“Ew, gross—don’t talk with your mouth full. I know your mom taught you better than that.”

He ignores the jab and picks up a piece of toast, holding it out toward you. “You’re going to make a good wife someday, you’ve already had plenty of practice with me.”

You snort. “I don’t play wife with you, I’m basically your maid.”

“Maid, wife. Same difference.”

“You’re such a dick, you know that?”

Your eyes drift past him to the wall behind the kitchen table. The photos are still taped up unevenly with peeling corners—pictures of his frat brothers, old high school friends, random blurry party shots. Then there are the ones of you two.

Prom. Graduation. One from the first time you ever hung out outside of school—both of you younger, awkward, not quite this version of yourselves yet.

You’ve been best friends since high school. He was new, and you were assigned to show him around. He wasn’t all that different back then—still sassy and observant—but he was quieter, less sure of himself, and you were the first person who made the place feel less foreign for him.

Sometimes you think it was fate that shoved you into each other’s lives that day, because without it, you probably would’ve stayed in completely separate circles. You don’t think you would’ve chosen each other on purpose.

As much as you can’t stand him some days, you’re inseparable. He’s—corny as it sounds—your person. And if anyone asked him, he’d say you’re his too. Zero hesitation.

And if things weren’t already stereotypical enough as is, you’d definitely had feelings for him at one point—because who wouldn’t have? Enjin’s always been a hot shot. Even as a teenager he's had that thing about him. It wasn’t exactly earth shattering and shocking that you developed a crush.

You had a boyfriend when the two of you first met (sadly your first and only one, actually), which ended a bit after you and Enjin became inseparable. He said it was because of how close you were. At the time it felt crazy dramatic, but looking back, you get it. When you’re young, any attractive guy with that kind of presence feels like competition. 

Especially one who seems to understand you better than your own boyfriend does.

And once that fell apart, you fell. Head over your damn heels. He’s cute and funny, makes you feel important and treats you like you're his girl—just not officially. Princess treatment before it was even a joke between you two—to this day you’re spoiled absolutely rotten. It wasn’t exactly hard to grow heart eyes.

But first and foremost, you were his best friend. That was the foundation, and always had been. And over time, that really did become enough.

It took a little while to settle into that reality, sure. But as you both grew up and matured, you realized something important—you didn’t want to risk losing your person over feelings that might complicate everything. Being his homegirl, his ride or die, the one he calls first—that meant more than anything ever could.

~

One month later…

“Excuse me.”

You turn at the voice behind you.

It’s some guy you’re pretty sure you haven’t noticed in this lecture before—and you feel like you would’ve remembered him. He’s got this blank, almost drained expression—like he hasn’t slept in weeks, which is pretty impressive considering it’s only the second week of the semester. There are faint streaks of grey in his hair too. Damn, how old is this guy?

Okay, he doesn’t look old. Just like he’s lived three lives already and none of them went smoothly. Here’s to a fourth?

“Do you have this week’s notes?” he asks. His voice is nice, low and deep. Pretty, even. It just sounds like he’s running on a dead battery.

“Yeah,” you tap your laptop. “They’re all on here though.” He nods once. “That’s fine.”

There’s a pause. He’s still looking at you.

“So… Do you want me to email them to you, or…?”

He nods again and gestures toward your laptop.

You hesitate for half a second—because, hello, stranger—but hand it over anyway.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in class before,” you say, attempting small talk while he types in his email. He doesn’t look up. “I’m always in the back. I moved up a few seats because someone kept taking mine.”

“This late in?” You let out a small laugh. “Swear some people don’t understand seating rules.”

“There are seating rules?”

“Um… yeah. Like, once you pick your seat the first week, everyone just collectively agrees that’s your spot.”

He finishes typing and hands the laptop back to you. You’re still not sure what to make of him. You glance at the email he sent it to. “Zodyl… cool name.”

“Thank you.”

You try to introduce yourself in return, but he cuts you off, “I know.”

You’re spent thinking about that interaction for the rest of the day. You’ve met some interesting people before, but he’s definitely up there.

Later that evening, sprawled out on your floor and staring at the ceiling while Enjin lounges on your bed—you’re rambling, replaying every second of it while he half listens, tossing in comments whenever he feels like it.

“He kind of looks like a bug,” you say, sitting up suddenly. “Wait. What if he is a bug and just hasn’t figured out human interaction yet?”

Enjin hums. “Sounds like you’re bug-phobic.”

“I am not! I can be accepting of bug people. He seems nice enough. Just… super weird.”

“Maybe he thought you were pretty. Made him nervous.”

“He did not seem into me—”

“Nah, he wanted a piece of that and short-circuited.”

You smack his leg. “Shut up. Quit being an ass.”

“I’m serious!” He kicks that same hand, “Guys get weird when they’re into someone.”

He’s not overly concerned about this Zodyl guy, but you forming connections with random men has always made him cautious.

Enjin knows how guys are. He is one—and you’re his girl to look out for.

“Zodyl…” He finally looks up from his phone to glance at you on the floor. “Isn’t he the one who hangs out with that super wacked-out group?”

You scoff. “Aren’t you one to talk.”

“I think he’s a narc. Actually—no. Maybe not. Pretty sure one of his friends is on drugs.”

“Can you be nice for, like, two seconds?”

“Says the girl who just called him a bug. Guess we’re both hypocrites.”

~

When you walk into class again, Zodyl is sitting in the seat next to yours. He doesn’t acknowledge you when you drop your bag down and pull your chair out, just sits there facing forward like a creepy NPC in a horror game. 

You've started unpacking your things when he speaks. “Thank you for your help.”

“With…?”

“Lending me your notes.”

“Oh.” You remember. “Yeah, no worries. I’m glad I’m not taking them for nothing.”

“I didn’t steal anyone’s seat.” Zodyl looks at your confused expression for a brief second before facing forward again. “The seating rules.” He adds, a strand of hair falling near his nose in a way that feels cinematic. “No one had been sitting here. I didn’t take a seat.”

You can’t help but laugh. “I mean, I wasn’t filing a complaint.”

“I didn’t want you to think I was inconsiderate.”

The professor starts shuffling papers at the front, and students are settling in. “Do you care if I stay here?” he asks.

You look at him properly this time. Okay, maybe he doesn’t seem as strange up close. “Not at all,” you say, smiling. “Mi casa es su casa.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” You wave it off. “You’re welcome to sit there, Zodyl.”

After class, he hands you a piece of paper. You take it, looking confused as you glance down at it and back up at him.

He gestures toward sheet in your hand. “Your number.”

You blink. “My phone number?”

Passing you a pen as confirmation, you think he could’ve passed you his phone instead—but sure. This works too.

“If I need more help. You do well with this subject.”

“Yeah, of course!” You beam at the compliment. “Always happy to be of assistance.” You think, just for the faintest moment, there may be the slight chance of the smallest smile on his face. Or you’re crazy.

As he’s going to leave, “I like your sweater. Purple is a nice color on you.”

Later that afternoon, you burst into Enjin’s apartment without knocking. “Zodyl asked for my phone number. Well, sort of. He didn’t really ask—”

Enjin barely reacts to the intrusion—you do this all the time—mid-sip of his beer.

“Bug-man?” He asks, eyeing you as you pace around his kitchen.

“Yes, bug-man,” you’re practically doing laps around the room. “But he’s not actually that scary up close.”

“He was up close?”

“He moved to the seat next to mine. And then asked if it was okay that he stayed there.” Pause. “It was kind of cute.”

“So now bugs are cute?”

You grab an apple off his counter and throw it at him. “Shut up, Jin’. I’m trying to tell you what happened.”

Enjin holds his free hand up in mock surrender. “My bad, mama. Continue.”

Your pacing begins again, along with the rambling. “He kept staring at me. Like, a lot. At first it was uncomfortable. Full eye contact, no blinking. I thought he was glitching.”

“Some people pay extra for that kind of attention.”

“What did I tell you about shutting up? Anyway, he asked for my number. Said it was for ‘help with class,’ but then he complimented my sweater.”

Putting your hands on your hips, you grin at Enjin, all teeth and bright eyes. “So now I’m kind of flattered by the staring. Maybe you were right. Maybe he does think I’m cute.”

Enjin tilts his head, “Of course he thinks you’re cute,” a beer is tossed to you. “I’ve been saying that. Took someone long enough to catch up.”

He gestures his can towards you. “Just don’t let him steal my spotlight.”

Which, unfortunately, after a few weeks, kind of started happening.

You were talking to Zodyl more. In class, obviously—but outside of it too. Sure, sometimes it was about lecture stuff—he did need help here and there. But he’d also start talking about projects he was working on, random ideas, or things he was building.

You still made time for Enjin, it would’ve been crazy not to. The routine included being at his place constantly, or he was at yours, or you were out somewhere with the group, or at one of his parties. You saw him pretty much every day.

But now, sometimes your phone would buzz and you’d glance down mid-conversation. Or you’d cut yourself off to respond to a text. Or you’d casually bring up bug-man (the nickname stuck).

It wasn’t that you had a new guy friend. You’ve always had them. You and Enjin share a huge friend group—you’re close with Gris, with Follo, with August and Corvus—even the dweeb kids Zanka and Rudo that Enjin somehow adopted during his fraternity service hours at the high school. You being friends with other guys has never been new, never been weird, and never been a problem.

What was new was that this guy was clearly into you.

And, again, Enjin knows how guys are. Enjin is guys. Mr. Easy. Mr. I-know-exactly-what-they’re-thinking-because-I’m-thinking-it-too. So yeah, it made him stressed. Not because he thought you couldn’t handle yourself—but because he knew how quickly things could flip. He didn’t like the idea of you getting played, used, or fed some bullshit.

You were his to look out for.

At first he didn’t pay much attention to Zodyl. But now? His guard was fully up, because if anyone was going to rescue you from a bad situation, it was him.

He crashed out a little when you skipped your weekly fast-food movie night to study with that… thing. You hadn’t missed one since you started them as teenagers. Sick? He’d just show up at yours. Busy? You’d make it work.

But no. Here comes the cockroach, interrupting tradition.

It didn’t help that Zodyl knew who he was, too. Which, okay—fair. Enjin was known campus-wide for more than a few reasons. That wasn’t the shocking part. What was shocking was how much he knew.

“Okay, so he’s a narc who hangs out with a druggie and now he’s a stalker,” Enjin said at one point, throwing his hands up after you casually mention something Zodyl knew about him that felt way too specific. “How the hell does he know about my lucky umbrella?”

You sigh, rubbing your forehead. “First of all, he’s not a druggie and his name is Jabber—”

“The fuck kind of name is Jabber? That’s not helping his case.”

“—Second of all,” you continue over him, “you carry that umbrella everywhere. Even when it’s sunny. Zodyl is just observant.”

“Why am I being observed?” Enjin demands. “And how does he know it’s lucky!”

He didn’t like Zodyl. Not at all. And technically, he didn’t even know him. Even if Zodyl somehow knew too much about him.

One time, Enjin spotted him in passing on the way to class. Decided to be mature about it for you. If this guy was going to be in your life, the least he could do was be polite.

He waved. Gave him his best smile, pearly white canines flashing in greeting. “Hey, man!”

Zodyl didn’t even look at him.

But Enjin had always been your number one complication when it came to men. Either he scared them off—because being best friends with a hot, confident guy is intimidating (see: your last boyfriend)—or he attracted the wrong ones. The kind who only got close to you because they wanted proximity to him.

Zodyl was neither. He didn’t seem repelled by Enjin, and he didn’t seem particularly interested in knowing him personally either. No weird fan behavior. Outside of, okay, maybe some mildly stalker-ish observational habits.

It was a nice change of pace—having someone who seems interested in you and not because of who you’re friends with. Even if Zodyl was kind of weird, and you could never fully get a read on what was going on in his head.

Enjin stayed cordial. For the most part. He’d toss in a comment here and there when you brought Zodyl up—nothing too serious, just enough to let you know he had opinions—but he never outright fought you on it. Unless it was something justified, like ditching movie night. That was so different.

Even with all his side-eyes and sarcastic remarks, he knows you’re an adult. He knows you’re not naïve. If anything, he knows you too well to think you’d let yourself get played without noticing.

That doesn’t mean he stops thinking about it.

Or worrying about it.

~

Follo squints at you, Semiu, and Tomme as you push your way into the kitchen. “What are you three supposed to be?”

It’s Halloween, aka the biggest party of the semester. The house is so packed you can barely see the floor, just a blur of shoes and spilled drinks and strobe lights.

“We’re kiss, marry, kill,” Semiu says, lifting the plastic knife she’s been carrying around all night.

“That’s basic.”

Her eyes narrow at him. “And what are you?”

Follo taps the crooked paper plumbob taped to a headband on his head. “I’m a Sim.”

You laugh. “Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

Semiu turns to Gris, who’s leaning against the counter with fake blood smeared across his shirt. “And you’re… bloody Adam Sandler?”

“I didn’t have time to get a costume, and the blood is from Corvus fighting for his life with Party City vampire gel. At least I’m not dressed as a prisoner.” Gris nods toward Enjin, who’s standing there in an orange jumpsuit. He just smirks. “It was either Ghostface or this, and I wanted to get handcuffed.”

Semiu clicks her tongue. “Of course you do.”

Tomme glances over her shoulder. “Tamsy’s somewhere in the living room as an angel.” You’re still laughing at everyone, all the shots in your system from the pre-game making things way funnier than they are. “So we’re all just Pinterest stereotypes tonight, let’s call it even.”

You make your way over to Enjin’s side—like you always do—and hold your hand out for his drink. He passes it without question. Your first instinct is to chug, then just as quickly you gag. “Ew, what the hell is in this?”

“A lot,” he takes the cup back. “We all brought different alcohol and just mixed it together. August added grenadine though, so it’s pretty much a cocktail.”

“That’s not a cocktail. I feel like I just drank water straight from Chernobyl.”

He laughs and throws his arm around you, pulling you into his side. In a house this packed, being next to him is the best place. He’s your designated safe spot.

“Are you supposed to be ‘kiss’?” he asks, poking one of the lipstick marks Semiu left on your cheek.

“Well I’m not wearing a veil or holding a knife, am I?” 

“Do I get one?” Enjin puckers his lips dramatically, and you slap your hand over his mouth. “Go find someone to put you in handcuffs so I don’t have to deal with you.”

“I tried, there are no cop girls here. Very disappointing.”

“Should’ve gone with Ghostface. You would’ve gotten laid faster.”

Gris leans over Enjin’s shoulder, eyeing you. “So. Where’s your boyfriend?” Heat flushes your face. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Enjin feels something hot twist in his chest. He couldn’t even get thirty minutes of standing next to you without that thing getting brought up. “He doesn’t seem like the party type anyway,” Enjin’s jaw clenches, voice tight.

“Yeah, but I asked if he wanted to come anyway. He wasn’t interested.”

Thank fucking God, he thinks.

And then, like clockwork, your phone lights up.

Every ounce of relief he had evaporates the second he sees the name on your screen.

“He can’t get enough of you, huh?” Follo throws in.

Enjin is actually going to punch someone.

You look down at your phone, and your lips curve softly. Your face lights up in a way that makes something in him snap. Before he even thinks about it, he snatches the phone out of your hand and lifts it above your head.

“Enjin!” you shout, jumping for it. “Give it back!”

“Get off your phone,” he holds it higher as you try to climb him. “Live in the moment.” The messages are still open. He sees the photos you sent earlier—your costume and a selfie of your trio.

zodyl !!

You look pretty.

Have fun tonight.

His grip tightens around your phone. For a split second he considers smashing it. Instead, he locks the screen and shoves it into his pocket. “No more phone tonight.”

“Whatever,” you shrug him off, visibly annoyed. “What is your problem?”

He doesn’t answer.

“C’mon,” you grab Semiu and Tomme’s hands. “I wanna dance.”

You drag them away to the group of people that are dancing in the living room, but never leaving Enjin’s line of sight. He never let you at parties.

Listen, you haven’t had a boyfriend since high school. You’ve never really shown much interest in dating either. So the idea of you actually having something with this guy?

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Leaning back and watching you dance, Enjin decides to actually look at you. Like, really look at you. Figure out what it is that’s suddenly pulling Zodyl’s attention your way.

He starts with your face. Glitter highlight catching the lights, eyeshadow sparkling every time you turn your head. That loose, drunk smile painted in lipstick that matches the kiss prints on your cheeks and collarbones. Your hair falling in messy pieces around your face, swaying as you move.

Then lower.

The lace bra strap peeking out from under your little red dress, the fabric hugging you just right to leave very little to the imagination. His eyes trace the dip of your back. Your eyes. Your hair. Your neck. Your lips.

Your tits and ass.

You.

Oh.

Oh shit.

When did you get this hot?

He suddenly becomes hyper-aware of how you stand out from everyone else in the room.

You’re the most attractive girl at this party. And not in a “she’s my best friend so I’m obligated to think that” kind of way. 

It’s a “I’ve suddenly opened my eyes and realized my best friend would be more than capable of getting my dick hard” kind of way.

He’s never thought you were ugly, of course he’s always known you’re pretty.

It’s just—back in high school, you were so dorky. In his head, that’s kind of where you stayed. His silly best bud. 

When you’ve known someone that long, they sort of freeze in your mind. You stop updating the image. So he’s always seen you as that teenage girl he met freshman year.

He realizes you’re not that girl anymore. You’re grown. You’ve been grown.

Fuck, when did that happen?

Had you always gotten this kind of attention looking like this, and he just never clocked it? How did he, of all slutty men, miss your glaring sex appeal?

Is that why all of his past lovers got so angered by you? Because you—who’s objectively funny, smart, and clearly very attractive—were his girl best friend?

He always brushed it off as jealousy over the attention. And yeah, sure, he gave you a lot of it. Now he’s starting to think that wasn’t it. They weren’t just annoyed, they were threatened. Just as bad as the guys who saw him with you.

You were competition.

And if he were in their shoes? He’d feel insecure standing next to you too.

Now, knowing there are guys looking at you like that, something fires up under his skin. It doesn’t feel protective anymore, not like it usually does.

It feels territorial.

You’re his girl. You’ve always been his girl—and now there are other men looking at you?

Absolutely not.

That doesn’t work for him. That’s never been how this goes.

~

It becomes Enjin’s number one mission to steer Zodyl away from you. Or better yet, steal you back. Not that you’d actually been taken from him, but his ego took a hit that night, and something in him shifted. There’s this new awareness when he looks at you—and he doesn’t know what to do with it except act.

Operation: Kill The Roach.

After the party, he’s insufferable. Groaning every time your phone lights up. Rolling his eyes when you answer a call. Going dead silent the second Zodyl’s name gets mentioned. Any hint of him in your sentence and Enjin’s already bitching.

“I dunno babe, I just get bad vibes. Like, he ate birds as a kid or somethin’…”

“Birds?!”

You’re over it. Completely.

What used to be light teasing turns into actual arguments. Every time you say you’re going to hang out with Zodyl, it’s a fight. Every. Single. Time. He argues like it’s his job. You can see the jealousy plain as day—it’s written all over him—but what you don’t understand is why it showed up out of nowhere. He was fine before!

You try reassuring him. Tell him he’ll always be your best friend. Which, apparently, is the worst possible thing you could say. Nothing lands right anymore. You don’t even know what he wants from you at this point.

You and Enjin argue sometimes. That’s normal. But it’s never been like this between the two of you. 

After one particularly nasty fight, you’re sitting on his bed, laptop open, trying to focus on a paper. He’s right beside you, silent. You can practically feel the heat radiating off him—the tension is suffocating.

You’re too tired to deal with it anymore.

“Hey.”

You don’t even look at him. “Don’t start again.”

“Do you think I’m hot?”

That makes you turn. “Come again?”

He’s staring at you like he’s dead serious. “I asked if you think I’m hot. Sexy. Attractive. Whatever.”

“I mean, yeah. Who doesn’t?” You squint at him. “Isn’t that what gets you pussy?” Snorting a little. “Definitely not your personality.”

“Okay…” His jaw tightens. “Do you think I’m hotter than Zodyl?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Pretty straightforward question, ma.”

“It’s not though?” He was being insane.

“Who’s more attractive? Me or him?”

“Dude, where is all of this coming from?”

“I’m not dude.”

“Okay, Enjin. Get your panties out of a twist.” You roll your eyes and scoff at his attitude, turning back to your laptop.

He shuts it mid-citation.

You barely have time to react before he moves in, bracing his arms on either side of you and popping your personal space bubble. You fall back slightly onto the pillow behind you, catching yourself on your elbows.

“Stop avoiding the question.” His eyes are locked on yours, and this doesn’t feel like your usual play-fighting.

“I—”

“Swear to God, if you dodge it again.”

“I don’t know!” You’re flustered now, fully. He’s not backing off. You swallow. “I guess I haven’t really thought about it?”

“Then think about it.”

You hesitate.

Sure, Zodyl is attractive. In his weird, bug-adjacent way. Handsome. Broody. That whole mysterious thing that works on people if you ignore the super off-putting energy.

But Enjin is… Enjin.

He has a reputation for a reason—anyone with functioning eyesight would say he’s sexy. You’ve also seen the parts no one else gets to. The real personality under the persona. You watched him grow into the man he is today.

And he’s one hell of a man.

“Um… you?” It comes out sounding like a question.

He’s way too close. “Why’d you say it like that? You lyin’ to me?”

“No.” You push at his forehead with one finger, trying to create space. “I just had to think about it.”

“Do you need to be convinced?”

A squeak slips out, “Convinced…?”

Your face is burning. He doesn’t even fully know what he meant by that, but you’re flushed and breathing shallow and looking at him like that, and his mouth is running ahead of his brain.

One of his hands lands on the headboard behind you—leaning in to where you can feel his breath on your cheek. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I can convince you.”

You don’t know what to do with your hands, folding your arms awkwardly across your chest. “Jin’… be honest, are you jealous?”

He jerks back like you slapped him. “Jealous?” The idea is preposterous. What he’s feeling is far deeper than that. “No. I’m not jealous.”

You give a small, unimpressed laugh. “It’s been kind of sounding like it.”

He sits back with a huff, and you’re still half-reclined, heart racing, trying to process whatever the fuck just happened.

“Awh, c’mon.  You’ll always be number one in my heart.” There you go, trying to reassure him again. You’re teasing, but the way you phrase it makes something twist in his chest.

Number one. Like there’s a ranking. Like there could be a number two. A number three. Like you could still choose someone else, and he’d just—

No. It doesn’t matter if he’s first or hundredth. There’s no room in your heart for any other man. 

He doesn’t even know what he wants out of that. A relationship with you?

A relationship?

With you?

The two of you already have one. Just not the romantic kind—and the ideas never really crossed his mind before.

But now that it has, it won’t leave.

And the more he sits there, the more one thing becomes very clear to him. He wants—no, needs you to be his.

Enjin only ramps it up from there.

He’s working overtime with you now. Picking you up from every single class, whether you ask him to or not. And when you walk out of the one you share with Zodyl, he makes a whole production out of it—grabbing your arm, tugging you into his chest, telling you how much he missed you. Even if he literally saw you twelve hours ago.

Zodyl doesn’t react. No expression. Just a quiet “goodbye,” and he walks off.

Then texts you anyway.

So Enjin starts getting more physical. Not that physical affection was ever weird between you two—it’s always been a thing—but this is different. It’s doubled and bolder. A hand sliding onto your thigh with a squeeze while he drives. Pulling you tighter against him during movie night and pressing kisses to the top of your head. Fingers threading through your hair while you’re trying to focus on homework.

At parties, where he used to just rest a steady hand on your lower back to keep you grounded and near him, is now both hands planted on your hips. Your back flush against his chest, chin resting on your shoulder.

He even starts stripping down when he knows you’re coming over. Shirt gone. Sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Hair loose instead of slicked back—the way he knows you like it. He corners you in the kitchen once while you’re cooking, pressing in close under the excuse of “just grabbing a cup.” Tattooed biceps right by your head as he reaches above you. 

Once, knowing you were coming over, he walked out into the living room straight from the shower—still dripping. Water tracked down his chest, droplets falling from the ends of his hair. 

He stretched slowly, arms lifting over his head so his muscles flexed and shifted on purpose, towel falling enough to make you nervous he was about to flash you. Then he looked at you like he’d just noticed you were there. “Hey, pretty girl,” cue a very fake yawn, “when’d you get here?”

It’s way more intimate than it’s ever been. Friendly affection got left behind a mile ago.

He’s pulling out every trick he has. And Enjin has magic. He knows exactly how to use his charm, his presence. He’s slutting himself out more than ever before, and he’s laying it on thick.

Maybe too thick. More than he needed to.

Because there’s one thing he doesn’t know.

You used to have feelings for him.

You were still frustrated with him. Still violently annoyed. He was overbearing, dramatic, and utterly impossible lately.

But after that night—after he had you pinned between pillows and freedom, barely any space between you—you couldn’t ignore the feelings that slowly started to resurface.

The energy between you felt different. The way he looked at you wasn’t the same anymore. The way he touched you for sure wasn’t.

You started feeling like that same teenage girl who had the fattest crush on her best friend. The one who read too much into every lingering touch and every half-smile. He was getting you all hot n’ bothered—it was embarrassing. You thought you’d grown out of that.

You’re adults now. You don’t get to have dramatic, delusional fantasies about your best friend suddenly realizing he wants you. That’s middle school shit.

Even if, lately, he’s been acting like he’s fighting for his own damn life every time you’re around.

~

“I wanna go bowling,” Follo announces, taking a drag from the blunt as he lays practically horizontal across the back of the couch. Enjin and Gris have shoved him off at least three times already just to mess with him, but he keeps climbing back up like it’s his assigned seat.

Everyone’s at Enjin’s place for the night. There’s a movie playing in the background that no one’s actually watching, drinks scattered across the coffee table, his favorite cracked ashtray sitting in the middle as a decorative piece.

Follo pushes himself upright—immediately losing balance and sliding off the couch again. “Ow,” he grunts. “Who wants to go bowling?”

“Right now?” Gris looks at him like he’s insane.

“Yeah. Right now.”

“We are not going bowling right now,” Enjin snatches the blunt from his hand. “Maybe this weekend.”

“Can’t this weekend!” August calls out from the floor. “I have a project due!” You sink back further into the armchair. “I can’t either.”

Follo groans dramatically. “You of all people should be able to go. Please?”

“I already have plans. I’m sorry though.” You give him a sympathetic look and he whines at it. Tomme shifts on the floor, propping her chin on your leg as she looks up at you. “What’s got you busy?”

You hesitate for half a second. “Uh… I have a date.”

That gets everyone’s attention.

Gris lets out a low whistle, and Semiu nods approvingly. “You go girl. Your years of celibacy are finally over.” You flip her off playfully. “Shut the fuck up, it’s not like that.”

“Fine,” Follo sighs, still pouting. “You’re excused from bowling, I guess. Congrats that he finally grew a pair.”

“Thank you for approving my time off, Follo.”

Enjin goes completely still where he’s standing. Lips pressed into a thin line. Teeth grinding so hard it looks painful.

“You look mad,” Follo’s still beneath him on the floor. “Be happy for her!”

Enjin shoots him a look that could kill. “You’re too high,” he mutters, planting his foot against Follo’s chest and nudging him back. “Green out. Right now.”

Follo starts dramatically thrashing like Enjin’s actually crushing him, even though he’s barely applying pressure.

He can’t even look at you. He knows if he does, he’s going to say or do something he can’t take back. And he has no idea what that something would even be.

But you’re looking at him.

And Follo’s right. Why can’t he just be happy for you? He’s your best friend. He’s always been your loudest supporter, and your biggest cheerleader. Every win, every milestone, every dumb little achievement—you’ve never had to question whether he’d show up for you.

So why is this so different?

You can’t deny that when Zodyl first asked you out, your instinct was to hesitate. With the way Enjin’s been acting lately, and old feelings creeping back in at the worst possible time—not to mention the possibility that actually dating someone could put space between you and him—you were torn.

Enjin doesn’t look at you for the rest of the night.

He stays mostly silent, tossing in a response here and there so he doesn’t completely kill the vibe. But he won’t meet your eyes. Won’t laugh at your jokes. Won’t even brush past you the way he usually does.

Even after everyone leaves and you stay behind to help him clean up—like you do—he acts like you’re not there.

When you’re done, you grab your things and head toward the door. “I’m leaving!” you call out. Your hand is already on the handle when you hear footsteps, quick and uneven.

“Wait.”

He can’t let you walk out like this. You turn. “Yeah?”

Enjin closes the distance in two strides and pins you against the door. One hand on either side of your face, holding you there. 

“Are you…” he starts, then stops, thoughts racing faster than he can control. “Are you going to go on that date?”

He’s so close that you can feel his breath. It pulls you straight back to every moment lately where he’s been inches away, touching you like he does. Your heart is pounding so hard you think he can hear it.

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Because I don’t want you to.”

You should be furious. You should call him controlling. Tell him to get over himself. But instead, you’re just hurt. “Why can’t you be happy for me?”

The question hits him harder than anything else tonight. It loops in his head until only one answer presents itself.

“There’s only room for me.”

“I’ve already told you—”

“No.” His voice is stern. “There’s only room for me.”

“Listen to me,” you plead. “You'll always be my best friend, and that’s never going to change. It’s okay for me to try out a relationship. I won’t leave you behind. I promise.” Your hand lifts to give him a pinky promise, and he pushes it away. “Then try it out with me.”

You freeze. “What?”

“A relationship. Have one with me.”

“Jin’, hey. Like I said, you’re my best friend—”

Those words land wrong just like the others.

Enjin steps back, retreating. “Yeah. You’re right. Sorry, ma’. I overstepped.” As much as he hates to do it, he’ll throw in the towel if you weren’t willing. “Be safe getting home, okay? Have fun this weekend.”

“Stop.”

“It’s late, and I know you like your Saturdays quiet and—”

“Enjin.” Your voice snaps, sharp. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“What are you saying to me? What have you been saying to me?” You step toward him. Every step feels loud. “Do you like me?” You’re right in front of him now, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him down so he has to look at you again. He lets out a half-laugh, half-breath. “Understatement.”

“Since when?”

“I’ve always liked you, baby.”

“When?”

He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Think it started when you came in talking about that bug—” You tighten your grip. “Sorry. Zodyl. When you told me he was texting you n’ shit.”

“And then it was thing after thing, and I realized you’re my girl. Nobody else’s. You’re my girl in every way, whether you feel the same or not.”

“I don’t—” Your voice wavers. “I don’t understand.”

He sighs, disgruntled. “Well I’ve been trying to show you—”

“Then show me now.” The words make Enjin's heart stop. “I’ll be receptive. Help me understand.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I do,” you push. “Help me understand what you’re feeling.” The way he hesitates makes you frustrated. “Please?”

He surges forward and bites down on your neck—hard. Aggressive enough that you know it’s going to leave a mark. He pulls back just enough to drag his tongue over the indents of his teeth, like he’s making sure it sets.

Your hands fly from his collar to his shoulders with a sharp gasp. It hurts—really fucking bad—but the way he’s kissing over it now makes your stomach twist and heat pool. 

“My girl,” he mutters against your skin, words rough between messy kisses and lingering nips. “All mine.” His hand slides up your waist to your collar, tugging it aside so he can press another bite into your shoulder.

“Ngh—Jin’, wait—” you whimper as he does it again.

“Showing you,” he’s completely lost in it. In you. In the act of marking you up. “Showing them.” His hands are gripping you like he thinks you’re about to disappear. Like if he loosens his hold for even a second, you’ll slip through his fingers.

When he finally pulls back, his pupils are blown wide, chest rising and falling too fast. He looks utterly wrecked. “I’ll do anything for you, ma’,” he breathes, voice rough, almost breaking. “So quit lookin’ at other guys and just belong to me. Shit—do I gotta get on my knees and beg?”

This is Enjin. The cocky, arrogant, campus-famous flirt whose ego usually fills the room before he does. And right now he’s undone.

For you.

You rub his shoulders, trying to soothe him, thumb brushing over his cheek, under his eye. “You’re so stupid, you know that?”

He frowns slightly.

“Stupid and blind.” A laugh escapes you as you recall how obvious you were about your feelings when you were younger. “I had the biggest crush on you in high school, I was so down bad.”

“Was?” he hones in on the word.

“Well, yeah,” you tap his cheek. “I had to get over myself if I wanted to stay your friend. And I did. I learned to be okay with that because I knew the chances of you feeling the same were slim to none. I figured I wasn’t your type.”

“My… my type?”

Thinking back now—late nights next to someone else, wondering if you got home safe, if you’d eaten, if you were laughing somewhere without him—he realizes you’ve always been the woman that mattered the most to him. Checking all of his boxes.

“You always teased me. Called me a dork or weird like I was just your annoying little sidekick—” His fingers hook into your belt loops and he yanks you forward before you can finish, lips crashing against yours.

It’s desperate, rough and messy. Nothing like the soft, perfect first kiss with him you imagined when you were sixteen. 

Your hands paw at his chest as he kisses you like it’s life or death, like this is the only way he knows how to prove himself worthy for you. With those fresh bite marks burning against your skin, a declaration of his claim on you, you’re living out your childish wet dream of your best friend.

With Enjin.

He pushes you backward and you stumble, falling onto the couch with a breathless laugh that dies the second he follows.

Enjin doesn’t hesitate. He’s on you immediately, bracketing you in, one hand planted by your head while the other grips your waist. He wedges his leg between yours to keep you right where he wants you. “Should’ve realized sooner,” frustration and want tangled together in him. “Could’ve saved us so much time.”

He rolls his hips down just enough to make you gasp, a soft sound slipping out before you can stop it.

“Fuck,” he growls into your mouth. “You’re so hot.”

The compliment goes straight between your legs. The idea of Enjin looking at you like this—wanting you like this—used to feel delusional, so far fetched. And now you’re pinned beneath him while he kisses you stupid.

This is different from anything you’ve ever had. Your kisses with your ex-boyfriend don’t even compare. Those were childish polite pecks. 

The way he makes out with you is art. He nips at your bottom lip, drags his tongue along the seam of your mouth until you part for him. His hands slide under your shirt, palms warm against bare skin, fingers splaying like he’s mapping you out because he never got to before.

He’s going to make up for lost time.

Enjin knows you’ve never done anything like this before. Semiu wasn’t joking about your years of celibacy, and the fact that he’s the one you’re here with right now does something reckless to his ego. 

He wants to be the one you remember, the one your body responds to without thinking. The one who teaches you what this is supposed to feel like. He wants it burned into you so deep that no one else even registers—in a way where when you close your eyes, it’s him. When you think about being touched, it’s him. When you imagine wanting someone, it’s him.

He’s not just trying to win—he’s trying to make sure there’s no competition ever again.

A hand slides up your stomach to the underwire of your bra, teasing the edge and making you shiver. His thumb brushes over your nipple, leaving you gasping for air—a silent plea for more. All while his other hand finds the waistband of your pants, tugging impatiently as he kneads your breast. Every touch of his ignites your skin.

Enjin pulls back just enough to look at you, hand still hooked at your waistband, thumb brushing the skin there while his lips trail back down to your neck—slower this time, less frantic.

“Is this okay?” He’s bracing himself for rejection. “If you don’t want this, I’ll stop. We can pretend it never happened.”

“You can go on your date,” he adds, voice rough but steadier than before. “And I’ll stay in my place.”

As much as Enjin doesn’t want you to deny him, he meant it when he said he’ll do anything you ask of him—even though the erection in his pants hurts so bad right now.

“No,” fingers fisting into his hair as you try to pull his lips back onto yours, you thrust your hips up to meet his—desperate for any friction to satiate the pooling between your thighs. “I don’t wanna stop, don’t wanna go—”

In one smooth motion, he’s lifting you up and carrying you straight toward his bedroom. The door barely makes it open before he’s tossing you onto the bed—hands everywhere, guiding you, pressing you down.

He goes for your shirt first, tugging it up and over your head with impatient hands, barely giving you time to catch your breath before he’s working at your pants too.

Enjin sits back to look at you, nearly bare in nothing but your undergarments. Your chest is rising and falling, cheeks pink with swollen, glossy lips—his eyes trace your form, staring at the marks on your neck and shoulder. The expanse of your skin to leave more.

He feels his dick twitch and drool. 

Shrugging his shirt off and tossing it aside, the tattoo along his stomach makes his abs stand out every time he moves. That mixed with the view of an imprint of his ever so hard cock beneath his sweats? You’re salivating.

Enjin catches you looking and grins. “Like what you see?”

“I could say the same for you.”

“Is that even a question?” He laughs under his breath. “Fuck yeah I do.”

He leans down, mouth trailing lower, lower, lower—kissing along your stomach, over your hip, until he’s hovering right where you need him the most. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, pressing a slow kiss to the inside of your thigh.

It’s soft, almost sweet. And then he bites again.

You jolt, and he looks up at you with that dangerous half-smirk as a faint red mark begins to bloom. “And this,” he traces his finger in a circle around the mark, “is for only me to see.”

His breath ghosts over your soaked panties, hot and teasing. Your hand presses against his forehead to stop him, and he groans at your touch. “Wait,” your hips twitching up despite yourself. “You don’t have to… I know some guys don’t like—”  

Enjin makes a show of pulling the lace down with his teeth. He flicks his tongue along your slit just once, slow enough for you to feel every damn nerve ending scream for more before pulling back with a shit eating grin. “Nah, that ain’t me, mama.”

The second those words leave his mouth has you clenching around nothing.

His tongue drags a filthy stripe from your entrance to your clit, and the second he tastes how wet and sweet you are has him grinding into the bed. “Fuck," he rasps, “look at that. All for me?” His thumb replaces his mouth just long enough to circle slow, maddening patterns while his other hand pins your hips down. 

You choke on air when he finally sucks hard on that swollen bud—the vibration of his groan shooting straight through you as one finger sinks inside without warning. “Mine,” Enjin repeats like a prayer between licks, teeth grazing where it makes stars explode behind your closed eyelids.

Your fingers fly to weave through his golden strands of hair—letting out a louder moan than you intended to—before slapping a hand over your mouth to muffle your sounds. 

No, he can’t have that.

With his free hand, he pulls yours away to lace your fingers together. “Awh, don’t do that. Let me hear you.”

Rough tongue sending sparks coursing through you, he slips in another finger—curving them just right to hit that spot inside of you and drive you mad. His fingers tighten around yours, holding your hand like a lifeline—and you can see him shaking, straining as he fights the need to just get closer to you. 

You’re practically crying from just his mouth and fingers alone—you can’t imagine what it’ll feel like to have him inside of you. “Agh—fuck! Oh, Enjin—”

“That's it,” he’s purring against your clit, “keep sayin’ my name just like that.”

It’s too much—too good. When you unconsciously try to wiggle away from his hold, Enjin tsk’s—grabbing your thigh by his head and pulling you back, pushing your hips down again to keep you in place. “Where are you runnin’ off to?” His eyes are locked on you. “You're stayin’ right here, princess.”

“Please, please—Jin’, please—” You haven’t got the slightest clue what you’re begging for, but you just know you need more. 

The obscene sound of you soaking his fingers punches an embarrassing moan from Enjin’s throat. Your back arches off the bed because of it—lips parted around his name—while he watches with pupils blown black.

Enjin’s hips continue to jerk mindlessly, and he swears he’s going to bust his load in his pants from just the taste and sight of you. 

“Ngh—Enjin, I think I’m—” Attempting to warn him of your increasing climax, you’re cut off by him pulling away, coming up to kiss you. It’s softer this time—at least compared to his rough, desperate lips earlier. “Not yet.”

Taking off his pants, he finally releases his cock from its hold. You can’t help but gape at it—tip red and angry, drops of precum leaking down. It’s unfairly pretty.

And it’s big.

He reads the slightly fearful look on your face, rubbing soft circles into your hips. “Hey, we’ll take it slow, okay?” Every touch is a silent promise to you—this is Enjin, you’re safe. He’ll always take care of you.

Lining himself up at your entrance, he looks at you for confirmation. This okay?

You swallow, nodding. He smiles, leaning down to press a kiss against your cheek as he pushes just the tip in.

“Shit—” You wince in pain with a sharp inhale. Enjin’s lips brush over your temple as he pushes in inch by inch. “Relax, baby. Just breathe, I’ve got you.”

Bottoming out has him moaning, head dropping to the crook of your neck. “You feel so good.”

Every muscle in his body contracts, trying not to move—this is your call, and he’ll wait however long he needs to. Eventually, the pain subsides into a dull ache—but underneath it is something better. When you feel his dick twitch inside of you, it makes your breath hitch.

You tap his shoulder.

“You can move.”

Enjin pulls back ever so slightly, before rocking back into you. “You're shaking,” He nuzzles the curve of your shoulder, inhaling the scent of sweat and your perfume. “You okay?”

The feeling of that first thrust catches you off guard, and you gasp—running your hands down the ink on his chest. “Perfect.” You nod profusely. “Please don’t stop.”

Slowly but surely, his hips start rolling in more shallow movements as he watches your face twist with newfound pleasure. You’re clenching around him so hard it’s taking everything in him to last, which was no easy feat right now. “You’re so tight—”

“You sound like that’s a bad thing…”

That makes him laugh, even though half-way through it he chokes on a groan when you tighten up on him again. “No, baby. Far from a bad thing.”

“You’re so wet,” a kiss, “and grippin’ me like this,” a thrust. “Fuck, ma’—it’s makin’ me lose my damn mind.” He picks up speed, and it feels so good that you are crying now. Big, fat tears beading at your lashes and running down your face. 

“Shh, don’t cry baby,” Enjin cooes, catching the drops of salty tears with his tongue—lapping them up as they fall. Your nails claw down his back—so hard he thinks he may be bleeding—but that only turns him on more. 

It’s kind of wild—seeing you laying beneath him, eyes glazed over and glossy with tears, moaning his name and crying, all fucked out on his dick. Never in a million years would he have thought he’d be balls deep inside of you—but now he’s cursing himself for not doing this so much sooner.

His cock is hitting nerves that your fingers or toys could never reach, and your back arches into him every time it kisses your cervix. You also couldn’t believe you were having sex with Enjin—silently thanking whatever higher power is up there for finally granting your wish.

“You’re so beautiful.” His hips roll in mind blowing circles. “And you’re so smart, funny, and kind.” Every praise is accompanied with a thrust that knocks sounds you didn’t even know you were capable of from your lips. 

“You’re all mine, right?” You babble, nod, whatever. But that’s not what he wants. He takes one hand and grabs your jaw, the other reaching down to circle your clit. The added stimulation along with him hitting all of the right spots in your gummy walls makes your vision blur. “Ngh—yes! Right there—feels so good…” 

“Wrong answer, try again.” His thrusts are brutal now, all softness out the window. “Let me hear you say it.” He grips your jaw harder, forcing you to look him in the eye, “I know you can. C’monnn—just use your words, princess.”

“Yours!” You cry out, “M’ yours—all yours, oh!” One particular snap of his hips has you practically screaming—you make a mental note to write an apology letter to his neighbors. “Only wanna be yours, Enjin—”

“Always have been—” You take his face in your hands, “Never loved anyone else—” 

Your nails raking down the sweat-slick nape of his neck has him moaning and moving like a damn dog in heat, hips jerking like a live wire’s been shoved up his spine. “I never ever will!” 

Your voice is like cupid’s arrow right in his heart. No pussy’s ever had him this drunk on it before—losing all of his self control—but that was just the spell you had on him. Constantly pulling at his heart strings, and shit, he wished he'd always loved you this way.

Maybe he had. Maybe you were right that he was stupid—he never really was very good with feelings. He’ll never make a mistake like that again.

“That’s my good girl, always sayin’ exactly what I want to hear…” He’s trying so hard to hold on. “God—M’ sorry, mama—” Enjin’s hands lock around your thighs, hiking them up until they’re flush with your chest and he’s wearing them like a necklace. “Didn’t mean to make you wait this long.”

You didn’t think it was possible for him to get any deeper—but fuck, he was—the stretch burning so good, and you can practically feel him in your stomach. His thick cock bullies into your tight cunt with little to no mercy, forehead pressed against yours, and your walls flutter around him as the coil in your stomach tightens.

“You gonna cum for me?” He goes faster, harder—he could win an Olympic medal at this point. “Please, baby. Need you to—” The pace of his thumb circling around your clit speeds up, giving you about 30 seconds until you fall apart. “Need you to cum all around my cock—”

Your vision goes white as you snap, orgasm rushing over you in mind blowing waves. You fall forward, this time biting down on his neck—hard enough to bleed and bruise.

“Mine—mine, mine, mine—” If you’re going to be his, then he’s going to be yours. No more Mr. Playboy. You’re not about to let him claim you without claiming him right back. If he wants you locked down, then he’s locking the fuck down too.

“Fuck—yeah baby, just like that…” Enjin’s cumming harder than he thinks he ever has in his life—the feeling of your walls spasming and clenching as you experience your own release, your teeth sinking into his skin, the sound of your cries and chanting right by his ear—it leaves him fucking you rough and filthy through both of your highs. 

You think this must be what heaven feels like. If you died right now, you’d be at complete and utter peace with the life you’d lived. 

His hips slow, easing your legs gently back down around his sides. You’re utterly wrecked beneath him—flushed and panting, skin glowing with sweat, shimmering almost like the glitter you always dust across your collarbones at parties.

You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

The way your hair fans out on his sheets. The way your lips are swollen and bruised from kissing him. The way your eyes are looking at him right now. He wants to burn the picture of you into his brain forever. 

Enjin slowly pulls out and you mewl at the overstimulation, then at the loss of him inside of you. “Was that okay?” His eyes search your face like he’s looking for any sign he messed up.

“More than okay,” you reach up to trace the mark you left on him. It’s dark and gnarly. You wince. “Sorry about that… But was it okay for you, too?”

“Best sex I’ve ever had, baby.”

Enjin drops back onto the bed and pulls you into his chest where you belong. “And don’t apologize. I liked it, was hot as fuck. I feel branded now—might go get it tattooed.”

“You’re gonna get so much shit from the guys.”

“Do I look like I care?”

You run your fingers over the lines of his tattoos, tracing them absentmindedly while he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. “We should probably get you cleaned up.”

He’s right, your thighs are sticky from your combined juices now leaking out—but you whine and cling tighter to him. “Nooo. Not yet. In a bit.”

“You’re such a spoiled brat.”

“Your spoiled brat, if I remember correctly.”

“Yeah, my pain in the ass.”

His heartbeat thuds beneath your palm, his hand rubbing slow circles into your back like he’s trying to lull you to sleep. “Got a question for ya’.”

You lift your chin to look at him. “What’s up?”

“You still going on that date this weekend?”

You roll your eyes and pinch his cheeks lightly. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

He grins. “Second question.”

“God, what now?”

“Girlfriend?”

Your heart flutters—the best word that could’ve come out of his mouth. You smile softly and nod.

Countering him, “Boyfriend?”

“Obviously.”

You poke his chest. “Best friend?”

He never hesitates.

“Forever.”