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littlelovelyspiderling · 3 days

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Meeting The Real You (Chapter 10)

Chapter 1 -- Chapter 2 -- Chapter 3 -- Chapter 4 -- Chapter 5 -- Chapter 6 -- Chapter 7 -- Chapter 8 -- Chapter 9

word count: 28,732

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meet me on the 15th floor 😘

Peter’s heart did a somersault when the text message popped up on his phone. He flew to his feet, gunning instantly for the elevator, pulse hammering in his ears. He’d been pacing the halls of Avengers Tower since he’d returned home from feeding Marshmallow, checking the news and scratching his bandages and tinkering with his web-shooters—anxiously awaiting any proof of life from the Human Torch. Even though he’d hung around the fundraiser long after Wilson Fisk had left, watching Johnny and the massive figure have it out from his hiding spot in a nearby tree, cortisol pumping hot through his veins, he was still terrified that Fisk might go after him once the event was over and there were fewer witnesses around. It didn’t help that Peter had put his number into Johnny’s phone, but Johnny hadn’t given him his. He had no way of contacting the hotheaded celebrity to make sure he was okay—until now, anyway.

Every second felt like an hour as the elevator descended towards the bottom half of the tower. When he finally reached the 15th floor, Peter dashed out of the sliding doors into the empty room, eyes searching frantically for his friend’s familiar shape.

“Johnny?” Peter called, muscles coiled, head on a swivel. “Where are you? Are you in here? Are you all right?”

A strange little squeak noise came from behind the sofa in front of him. Peter frowned, creeping forward cautiously, ready for anything.

A moment later, five little fuzz balls came stampeding around the sectional, scampering straight for him, tiny paws slipping all over the hardwood. Peter stiffened in surprise as a bundle of wet tongues and wiggling tails surrounded him on every side, whimpering and barking and jumping on his shins.

“What the—?” he stammered, glancing between the five puppies in disbelief. It only took about three more seconds for him to stop caring what the hell was going on or what they were doing here and start gushing with endearment.

“Oh my goodness!” Peter exclaimed in delight. “Look at you guys! Oh my god! You’re so cute!” He knelt down to their level, trying to pet all their bouncing little heads at once as they licked and nibbled at his fingers. Peter giggled brightly, sitting all the way onto the floor as the pups dog-piled into his lap, squirming and whimpering and showering him in sticky kisses.

“Have I died and gone to heaven?” Peter asked, scooping one of the puppies up and pressing its nose against his. “Where did you guys come from?” The tiny pit bull pawed at his mask in reply, teething his nose through the fabric, making Peter laugh like—well, a boy covered in puppies. He made the terrible mistake of fully laying on the ground, which activated some feisty little instinct in the pups to all swarm straight to his face. They ambushed him with playful nibbles and slobbery tongues, transforming Peter’s giggles into all-out belly laughs.

“Wahait!” he cackled. Wet noses nuzzled his neck while baby teeth chewed on his ears. A couple of the puppies hopped onto his chest to get better access to his face, tiny tails swishing like windshield wipers. The masked hero squealed and squirmed, attempting to shield himself with his hands as giggles poured out of him nonstop.

“I’m being attahacked! Oh my god! Merhercy!” He was about to die of laughter beneath a furry avalanche of puppies, and he still didn’t even know how they’d all gotten here. As he gathered three of the five dogs into his arms and peppered their heads with kisses, a figure rose from behind the sofa, making Spidey glance up with a sharp intake of air.

“Why did I know that was exactly how you’d react to a room full of puppies with no explanation?” the Human Torch chuckled amusedly.

“Johnny!” Peter cried in relief. “You’re okay!”

Johnny cocked his head to the side. “Uh…yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

Peter stood with one puppy tucked under each arm while the others jumped around his feet. “Wilson Fisk showed up at your event. I, uh—saw it on Twitter. I thought he might try to get back at you after what you said about him.”

Johnny winced. “Oh. Right.” He scratched at his chin and crossed his arms, a hard look overtaking his face. “He was angry for sure, but no, he didn’t try anything. He’s certainly one scheming, slimy, son of a bitch with more money than god. He asked me to endorse him as mayor, which I immediately declined, and practically popped a hemorrhoid when I told him you and I were friends.”

Peter grimaced. “I don’t think you should’ve done that.”

Johnny yawned and shrugged. “Why not? He was gonna find out we’re friends anyway—if he didn’t already know from all the posts and public statements I’ve made about you.” One of the puppies scurried from Peter’s legs to Johnny’s, and the Human Torch scooped the little rascal off the ground to cradle like a baby.

“Maybe advertising our friendship to the world isn’t the best idea at the moment,” Peter said gingerly. A smile reclaimed his features as he watched the pup in Johnny’s arms nip at his fingers while he scratched its belly. Peter placed the two sleepy pups he was holding back on the floor and snatched up the one currently gnawing on his ankle, bundling it against his chest and stroking his fingers through its baby-soft fur. “Where’d you get these cuties, anyway? And why are they here at the tower?”

Johnny shook his finger around as the puppy chewed it like a squeaker toy. “One of the animal shelters our donations from today are going to asked if we could help them get some puppies adopted since they're currently at capacity. I figured if we did some posts of us with the dogs, people would be tripping over themselves to take them home.” He smiled at him, pure sunshine stretching from ear to ear. “I also thought it’d make for a great new Spidey video. It’s really hard to see someone who turns into a giggly, baby-talking goofball the moment puppies are involved as a menace.” Johnny nodded towards the couch where a phone was propped up against the cushion, lips curling into a smirk.

Peter reddened shyly, petting the dog behind its ears. “It might be best if we put the Spidey PR videos on pause for now. If Fisk is really angry with you—”

“Dude—fuck Fisk. Fuck anyone who has a problem with me using my platform how I want. I promised I was gonna help you fix your public image, and that’s exactly what I plan to do, dickhead bald guys and pissy older siblings be damned.”

Peter hinted a grin despite the anxious pinch in his gut. “We just need to be careful. Any Fisk-busting activities from here on out need to stay under the radar. Let’s not post anything else that has anything to do with him on any of your socials again. Okay?”

Johnny plucked his phone off the sofa. “Duh. That was my plan already. All I’m interested in posting now is this adorable video of you drowning in a puppy mosh pit.” The sound of Peter’s laughter spilled from the device as Johnny watched the recording back, making the young hero flush with embarrassment. He replayed it again and again, snickering delightedly at Spider-Man’s childish reaction to the dogs, deep frying Peter’s skin from the inside out.

“Oh god,” Peter chuckled miserably. “Do you have to? I wouldn’t have acted so ridiculous if I knew you were filming me.”

“Exactly!” Johnny countered, tapping at the screen. “This right here is the real Spider-Man: uncensored, unscripted, and unequivocally cute as fuck. This is what the world is missing right now! Content of Spidey just being Spidey. Not whatever blurry, doctored images the Bugle has decided to run with this week alongside a headline straight out of an Onion article.”

“Couldn’t we go with something a little more…superhero-y?” Peter suggested. “What you captured was more of a me-me moment, not a Spider-Man moment. I think your fans would prefer something with a bit more action and excitement. Maybe you could film me—I don’t know—running through the alien invasion battle simulator? Hurling you as far as I can off the roof?”

Johnny arched an eyebrow. “Newsflash, dumbass—you and Spider-Man are the same person. Any ‘you’ moment is, by default, a Spidey moment. Also, between the two of us, remind me again who’s managed to win the hearts of millions upon millions of fans?”

Peter sighed. “You…”

“And who’s currently not allowed to do any strenuous activity?”

“Uh…me?”

“Right. And who agreed to let me take care of all their PR problems, no questions asked?”

“I do not remember agreeing to that.”

“Sure you did! And who had well over seventy people come up to him at today’s event telling him how much they appreciated his positive Spidey content?”

Peter hesitated a moment, then held up his free hand in submission. “All right, I get it. You’re the wise, all-knowing marketing wizard, and I’m your stupid, lowly apprentice.”

“And who had droves of people waiting hours in line just to rant to him that Johnny Storm is their favorite superhero in the whole wide world ‘cuz he’s so stunning and cool and sexy and perfect?” He jammed a thumb against his puffed up chest. “That’s good marketing in action, my friend. There was even this one guy—what was his name? I think it started with a P—”

Before he could finish that sentence, Peter shoved the puppy he was holding into Johnny’s face, which gave him a big, sloppy kiss right on the lips. Johnny sputtered and spat while Peter laughed out loud.

“Cool, sexy, and a great kisser? No wonder everyone’s so darn obsessed with you.”

“Blech! Spidey!” Johnny scrubbed his lips with his sleeve, face scrunched in disgust. “Ugh! It’s tongue went in my mouth!”

“Can you blame him? You’re everyone’s favorite superhero, after all. Little Fido here took one look at that perfect, stunning kisser of yours and knew he just had to shoot his shot. Do you charge extra for that kind of thing? You really should.”

Johnny scoffed, releasing the squirmy pup in his arms back to the floor. “I don’t let people kiss me in exchange for money, asshole. I have some class. I’m not a complete floozy.” He ran his hand over his mouth again, then winked at him. “Not yet, anyway. Why do you ask?” The Human Torch pressed closer to the masked hero, hands interlaced at his heart, batting his thick eyelashes. “Interested in buying one off me? Shall we talk numbers?”

Peter’s body took a screenshot. He really should’ve learned his lesson by now. Anytime he dared to tease Johnny Storm, the teenage heartthrob always struck back with five times the firepower and ten times the audacity. His eyes darted between Johnny’s cerulean stare and the delicate, freckled lips underneath, his pulse registering on the Richter scale. He does this to everyone, he tried to remind his runaway heart. It’s just a game to him. Nothing more. All his fans dreamt of pressing their mouths to his, of feeling their breaths collide, of carding their fingers through his strawberry-blonde locks. Just ‘cuz Peter believed he wanted it the most didn’t make him any more deserving of it.

Spider-Man inched back a step.“I—I don’t think I could afford you, Torch,” he managed to say, punching out a brittle laugh. Johnny bridged the space between them in a heartbeat.

“But you are interested?” he pressed him. Vulpine thrill twinkled in his eyes.

Peter swallowed, thorns of desire and panic and despair puncturing the back of his throat. Before he could attempt a reply, the puppy in his arms lunged forward and laid another wet one on Johnny’s unsuspecting lips, making the teen flinch back with a yelp and Peter double over with laughter.

“Ack! Not again!” Johnny spat.

“This little scoundrel certainly can’t get enough of you,” Peter giggled, squishing the puppy against his cheek as it licked him all over his mask. “If anyone finds out he’s managed to open-mouth kiss the Human Torch twice already, I don’t think he’s gonna have any trouble getting adopted.”

Johnny rubbed his lips and rolled his eyes while Peter gave the pup a grateful smooch on the forehead. Thanks for the quick save, he thought, blood still prickling beneath his flesh. How was he supposed to keep his feelings contained with Johnny pulling stunts like that? How much longer could he keep this charade going under these conditions? Hell—what if he already knew how hard Peter was crushing and just liked toying with his emotions? Dangling the possibility in front of him like a carrot on a string—only to snatch it away at the last second? How else would someone who knew how universally coveted their affection was keep themselves entertained?

Dizzied by the harrowing prospect, Peter returned to the ground and let the puppies flock to him, tickling their plump little pot bellies and chuckling at their adorable clumsiness. Johnny joined him a moment later, nudging one of the dogs with his toe while it nipped ferociously at his foot.

“Other than dick face showing up at the end, was the fundraiser good? Did you—y’know, earn a lot of money for the animal shelters?” He hoped his attempt to dodge Johnny’s question and move on from the subject didn’t come off as obvious as it felt.

Johnny smiled softly, his eyes glazed with exhaustion and something harder to diagnose from the long day of catering to the masses. “Yeah. It went good. Really good. Everyone seemed happy, and we raised lots of funds for a really good cause.” He scratched lazily at the back of the pup currently dozing on his thigh. “I wish you’d been there,” he added with a yawn.

Peter admired the sleepy teen with a fondness that threatened to cleave him in two. Even if he couldn’t be with him the way he so desperately wanted to, he had to appreciate what a privilege it was simply basking in his presence like this. To be by his side after the crowds had departed, after the festivities and decorations had been disassembled and discarded, after his hair had started to lose its gravity-defying texture and his voice was hoarse from talking so long and his endlessly infectious energy had finally been fatigued to the point he looked seconds from slumping face-first into the hardwood. Few others got to see Johnny Storm in this state: mask off, walls down, ring lights and news cameras nowhere to be found, soft and human and drowsy and in dire need of some aloe vera.

“How did your thing go?” Johnny asked, kneading his eye with the heel of his hand.

Peter wrinkled his brow. “What thing?” he said.

“The thing you said you had to go to that was happening the same time as my event,” he reminded him, a knowing smile touching his lips.

The teenage vigilante flushed. “Oh. Right. That thing.” He cleared his throat, scratching the back of his head. “Good. Great. Yeah. No complaints.”

Johnny giggled lightly. Peter reached out and tapped the tip of his nose, which was as red as a ripely picked cherry. “You should really put something on that, Rudolph.”

The Human Torch blinked at him. “On what?”

“Your face. You’ve got a pretty bad sunburn.”

“I do?” he said bemusedly. “How? I even reapplied sunscreen and everything!”

“Every hour?” Peter inquired, raising an eyebrow. Johnny huffed.

“Now you’re the one sounding like my sister,” he grumbled. He prodded at his face with a scowl. “Where? Just on my nose?”

Peter scooted closer, tilting his head to one side. “Pretty much all over,” he conceded. He extended his hand and poked Johnny in the cheek. “Here,” he said, followed by a second poke to his other cheek. “Here.” Johnny chuckled sleepily as Spidey’s finger traveled across his face, prodding at the rosy pink skin. “Here, here, here.” His thumb hovered over the scar just above his eyebrow. For a moment, he considered running his finger across the same spot he had caressed just hours ago, the same way Peter Parker had as the two teens held each other's gazes. Johnny’s forehead was burnt, after all. But the fear of being found out was too stark, too paralyzing. Instead, he placed his palm over his entire face and gave it a playful shove, making Johnny exclaim in surprise. “Aaand here. Looks like you’re not burn-proof after all, Hothead.”

“Ow!” Johnny yelped, rubbing gingerly at the bridge of his nose with his eyes pinched shut. “Okay. Yep. I feel it now. Definitely burned. Ugh.” He held up his phone to examine his reflection, grimacing at the flushed face staring back at him. “Great. As if I didn’t have enough freckles already.”

“I like your freckles,” Peter blurted out before he could stop himself. He cringed as Johnny turned towards him with a look of surprise and fantasized about backhanding himself across his own stupid mouth. “I just—think they make you unique,” he added meekly. “Like…a dalmatian. Or a ladybug. But, y’know. In human form...”

Johnny snorted. Lucky for Peter, he seemed too tired to tease him for the comment as much as he deserved. “I hate when my sister is right,” he groused.

Peter stroked a finger over the nose of the puppy napping in Johnny’s lap. “Are you planning to babysit all five of these guys overnight?” he asked. “That sounds like a lot of work.”

“No. I have to get them back to the shelter before ten tonight. Which reminds me—” The Human Torch turned his phone camera on Peter and gestured at him like a drunk maestro conducting a one-man orchestra. “Go on. Be cute. Say something to get these puppies adopted and make people think you’re hot shit. Friendly neighborhood hot shit.”

Peter snickered, holding one of the pups under the armpits and waving its floppy paws around. “Why don’t we save any more performative social media ventures for tomorrow?” he suggested gently. “You’ve been in peppy, upbeat, fan-service mode this entire day. You look exhausted.”

“But we won’t have the puppies then,” Johnny whined. “I have to take them back soon.”

“I trust you’re more than capable of restoring my image without exploiting the likeness of these poor, innocent doggies. Here.” Peter plucked the phone out of Johnny’s hand and held it up so both of them were in the shot, the two heroes hugging the five pups close as he snapped the selfie. Spidey handed the device back to Johnny. “Post that. Tag the shelter. List the names of dogs and why people should adopt them. Boom. Easy.”

Johnny studied the photo Peter had taken, pursed his lips, then nodded. “Boring, but effective. I’ve trained you well, young padawan.”

Peter split into a massive grin. “Did you just quote Star Wars at me?” he beamed.

Johnny chuckled. “Yeah. I’ve watched the movies. Who hasn’t? I doubt I’m as ridiculously obsessed as you are, but I don’t live under a rock.” He waved his phone at him tauntingly. “I’m still posting the puppy ambush video, by the way. Keeping this gem out of the public eye would be a condemnable offense.”

The masked hero sighed. “Fine,” he relented, gathering all the puppies in his arms and plopping them into Johnny’s lap. “You can post it if you fly these babies home right now and then go straight to bed. Sound good?”

Johnny offered him a drowsy smile and cupped a hand under Peter’s chin. “So bossy this evening,” he chided. “Very well. As you wish, yah sticky-fingered bitch.”

“You’re loopy,” Peter giggled, nudging his hand aside. He jabbed a finger towards the wide windows. “Go. Before you get so tired you pass out mid-flight. Or, if you need me too, I can take the pups myself on the subway.”

“I got it,” Johnny mumbled. Peter helped him stand and herd all five fuzz balls into the carrier. As Johnny walked up to the window, hugging the crate-full of puppies close to his chest, he turned and flashed a lazy grin over his shoulder.

“See you tomorrow, Webhead. I’ve planned out a very busy day for us, so be ready to get started bright and early.”

“What diabolical schemes of yours can I look forward to this time?” Peter asked playfully. “Any tar pits or bear traps I should keep an eye out for?”

“We both know you love my schemes,” Johnny replied, popping open the retractable window Stark had installed to make Spidey’s comings and goings more seamless. “Why don’t you use your foresight powers to see what I’m planning?”

“They don’t work like that,” Peter chuckled. “I can’t see into the future. I can just…feel when something bad is about to happen. In the very near future.”

Johnny furrowed his brow. “So like…super anxiety,” he concluded. Peter snorted.

“Huh. I guess so. Except if I ignore it, I have to deal with the very real, very immediate consequences.”

Johnny tucked the dog carrier under his armpit. “Well, I can assure you tomorrow will be all fun things. Nothing that should set off your spider anxiety. Hopefully.” He laid a hand over his heart. “Scout’s honor. I’ll be waiting on the 78th floor for you whenever you decide to roll out of bed. Before noon would be preferable.”

“I’ll do my best,” Peter said, guiding Johnny towards the window. “Text me when you get back, okay?”

Johnny met his eye with a curious grin. “Why?” he asked.

Spider-Man blinked. “To…make sure you’re safe?” he said hesitantly.

The Human Torch’s smile softened. “Aww. How cute.” He reached out and pinched the apple of Peter’s cheek. “Sweet little Spidey’s worried about me—a superhero who takes down robot monsters and armed gangs for his day-to-day—flying across the city and back safely. That’s precious.”

“Now that Fisk is pissed at you too, I have to be,” Peter grumbled, shadows of concern lacing his voice. He flinched out of Johnny’s reach and rubbed at his cheek sourly. “Just…keep your guard up. There’s a very real chance he could try…I don’t know. Doing something to scare you into supporting him.”

A twinge of uncertainty crossed Johnny’s expression before melting back into a carefree grin. “I’ll be fine,” he promised, patting Peter’s opposite cheek. “But if it’ll ease your super anxiety, I’ll go ahead and text you when I’m home safe and sound. We can make it a regular thing. I’ll let you know that I’m okay, and you can reply back with shirtless videos for me to make into Spider-Man velocity edits.”

Blood rushed into Peter’s face like an upside-down waterfall. “Into—what?” he squeaked out, a bewildered laugh escaping him.

“Velocity edits! You’ve definitely seen them before. They’re all over TikTok. Superhero ones are particularly popular. I’ve gotten pretty good at making them, actually. I’ve been practicing. All I need now is a steady supply of video clips of you being hot on camera, and we’re golden.”

“I am not doing that,” the masked vigilante giggled sheepishly. “You told me I didn’t have to post that kind of stuff to get people to like me.”

“No, but it would certainly speed things along,” Johnny said, gesturing to Peter’s gaunt frame. “What’s the point of having a body as hot as yours if you’re not gonna show it off and use it to your advantage? Beauty is power, babydoll, and like you always say: with great power comes great marketability. Even just a photo or two without the gaudy leotard would make my job so much easier. I have some fishnets and a strappy leather vest you can borrow if you prefer—”

“Goodnight Johnny!” Peter shoved the cackling celebrity fully out the window, who burst into flame to stop himself from dropping like a stone towards the earth far below. All parts of him except for the ones touching the dog carrier ignited like gasoline, coating his body in flickering tongues of fire that suspended him in the air. He spun towards Peter, glowing brighter than every light in the city, a galaxy of stars confined to the flesh of one radiant boy.

“Goodnight Spidey,” Johnny said back, dazzling in every sense of the word. He pressed his palm to his lips and blew Peter a kiss that drifted off his fingertips as a perfect ring of smoke. Just like he had to that girl back at the fundraising event—the little party trick that had singed Peter with the shameful sting of envy. Except now it was him on the receiving end, yet the gesture only left his heart more threadbare than ever before.

Johnny rocketed away before the smoke ring breached the distance between them, his dramatic exit buffeting its lovely shape, but not destroying it. Peter watched the Human Torch soar between skyscrapers and the pale spatter of stars freckling the night sky, a tail of pure light trailing behind him. As he disappeared into the city, the circle of smoke floated through the open window, slow and ethereal and cruel, then poofed into nothing the moment it brushed Peter’s cheek, dousing the masked hero in the warm, oaky scent of Johnny Storm. He held up his hands and watched the fading tendrils of smoke ghost between his fingers before evanescing completely.

What is really going on here? he asked himself hollowly, lifting his gaze back to the Manhattan skyline that perforated the barrier between heaven and earth.

Peter presumed there were three options:

One, Johnny knew how much Peter liked him and was just dicking around with his feelings for his own personal amusement. That was probably the worst scenario out of the trio Peter had in mind.

Two, Johnny was just being his usual flirty self and had no idea that Peter liked him that way, and no clue what his relentless teasing was putting Spidey’s poor, lovesick heart through. Peter suspected this was the most likely situation.

Or three…oh god. The most daunting and delusional of them all. The possibility he could hardly let himself think about without his heart threatening to spontaneously combust. That Johnny was flirting with him outright because he liked him back, and Peter was, per usual, a hopeless moron too clueless and afraid to take a hint and make a move. That everything he wanted was right in front of him, if he only had the courage to risk everything he had to seize it.

If by some miracle option three was the truth, why was Johnny being so reticent with his feelings? He wasn’t the type to shy away from staking claim to what he wanted. Was it possible he was harboring the same fears Peter was? That his crush might not like him back? Peter didn’t think his infatuation with the flaming hero could be more obvious, despite his attempts to disguise and subdue and smother it. But maybe he was doing a better job than he thought. Maybe Johnny was scared of confessing his feelings outright because he feared the masked hero’s rejection. Maybe Peter was the one needlessly toying with Johnny’s emotions, not the other way around.

Or maybe he was kidding himself. Whichever option held the truth, Peter had to know what Johnny’s real intentions were. If he had any at all.

Lucky for him, Peter was stuck with the zany, beautiful teen for the next couple days. Plenty of time for him to conduct a secret investigation into Johnny Storm’s true feelings towards Spider-Man, platonic or otherwise. Better to shatter his own heart sooner rather than later, lest he drive himself mad entertaining these inane fantasies of him and Johnny and sneaking kisses on rooftops and ughhh.

And before Johnny’s torturous flirting rendered him catatonic.

Unlucky for him, for this plan to work, Peter had to be bolder. Braver. The exact opposite of his natural state. And somehow magically transform himself into a morning person overnight.

Fuck it.

That was the mindset Johnny woke to following a night of burning questions and nauseating restlessness. As things stood now, it would seem he and the masked vigilante were at an impasse. He’d surged too far forward, dug his thumb in a little too deep, and now there was nothing left to do except press onward, forge ahead, follow the clear-cut path he’d carved for himself, or give up entirely before it was too late.

Johnny had tested the bounds of his and Spidey’s relationship more than ever before last night—stabbing recklessly at that splintering line he and the spider-themed hero always danced around but didn’t dare cross. Do you think about me? About kissing me? How often? Why do you worry about my safety? Because we’re friends, or because I mean more than that to you? Just tell me. Say it. One word, one leap of faith, and I’m yours. That’s all I’m waiting for. Just say it. Please say it. I need to hear you say it.

The webhead had once again circumvented his inquiries with his trusty wards of humor, fighting to sustain their little game of back-and-forth a tiny bit longer, grappling to keep the playful ruse alive—where things were comfortable and familiar and safe. But Johnny was tired of skirting around what neither of them could no longer deny. Johnny was done acting demure and playing games. He’d charted the stars, aligned the coordinates, mapped out trajectories, assembled his case, and all paths pointed to the inevitable.

Spidey liked Johnny. Johnny liked Spidey. And it was about damn time for both of them to grow a pair and admit it already.

So…fuck it.

The Human Torch rose from his bed, threw on his favorite crewneck and his light-wash Levi’s that fit like a dream, tagged his neck with a spritz of Bleu de Chanel, and marched his ass into the goddamn elevator.

Sure, this could change a lot of things between us, Johnny thought to himself, flipping another pancake onto the stack to his right. He’d made one of each of his signature flavors: dark chocolate chip, peanut butter banana, and strawberry shortcake. But I want him to know what he means to me. I don’t want to have to hide it anymore. At least not from him. He scooped a thick helping of steaming hash browns and turkey sausage onto the plate as well. And this time, I know he feels the same. I’m certain of it.

Johnny garnished his dish with freshly cut strawberry slices, which he arranged into a smiley face on top of the pancake stack, then poured a tall glass of orange juice. He lifted his perfectly curated breakfast assemblage off the counter with care and strode towards the elevator, nervous excitement pounding through his bloodstream. He reached out to press the “up” arrow button, but the elevator doors pared open before he had the chance. A bolt of heat flashed through him as a familiar masked figure peeled into view.

“Spidey!” Johnny exclaimed, voice cracking in surprise. Tiny flames spiked outwards off the shells of his ears, but he managed to extinguish them a second later, although the heat in his cheeks continued to burn like two defiant suns. Clearing his throat, the Human Torch jumped back a step to give him space to enter the room. “Um, hi! I thought you’d still be asleep. I was just about to come see you.”

Despite the mask concealing his features, Johnny could hear the webhead’s sleepy smile in his voice. “Good morning,” Spider-Man greeted him, joining the celebrity hero on the 78th floor. His eye lenses shuttered closed as he stretched his arms out at his sides, flexing and flaunting the lean muscle corded across his torso and limbs. “I thought I would be, too,” he admitted. “I didn’t sleep very well last night. I woke up around eight this morning and couldn’t fall back asleep, so I figured I might as well come down now so we could get an early start on whatever horrors you have in store for me today.”

The fishing line of anxiety strung taut through Johnny’s insides unraveled a little. “I didn’t sleep well, either,” he said carefully. His eyes lowered to the warm plate of food balanced on his fingertips. “I had…a lot on my mind.”

Spidey’s gaze followed his, head tilting to one side. “Did you make all that? It looks incredible.”

“It’s for you,” Johnny said a bit too quickly, thrusting the plate and the glass into the vigilante’s chest. Spidey blinked his wide eye lenses before taking them awkwardly in his hands, a small laugh fluttering out of him.

“Wow. Really? That’s so sweet.” He adjusted his grip to a more comfortable angle, spilling a bit of juice from the overflowing glass and almost sending the pancake stack splattering to the floor. “Whoops. I got it. There we go.” His voice lifted with appreciation. “Thank you so much! Y’know, if you keep feeding me this good, Mr. Stark’s gonna have to add some extra give to the waistline of this suit.”

“Don’t worry,” Johnny assured him with a smile. “I only make breakfasts like this for very special occasions.”

Spidey perked up. “Oh? What’s so special about today?”

Johnny’s smooth grin wobbled as bombshells of uncertainty went off in his gut. His eyes traced over the intricate details of Spidey’s mask; the delicate black lines branching out from the center of his face and fanning across his entire body as one beautiful, interconnected web. He wanted to glide his hands across the threads, to trace their paths to the edge of his mask, to slip his fingers underneath and peel back the layer separating the mystery boy’s lips from his own.

It was great being Spider-Man’s friend. Absolutely wonderful. Things could stay exactly as they were between them, and Johnny would be happy. Grateful. Content. But Apollo knew he wanted more. So much more. They both did.

And god, did they deserve it.

Johnny bit the inside of his cheek, then exhaled weakly.

No more games. No more lies. Just the truth.

Slowly, the Human Torch reached out his hand and curled his fingers around Spider-Man’s wrist, anchoring himself to the soft thump of the vigilante’s pulse. He sat that way in silence for a moment, trying to match his frenzied heartbeat to Spidey’s gentle, steady one.

“I’ve wanted to tell you something for a while now,” he said, battling to keep his voice strong and unshakeable. “I’ve just been…scared of how you might react. You’re really important to me, and I don’t want to jeopardize our friendship. But…”

“You’re part of a multi-leveling marketing company that sells plant-based wrinkle cream in bulk, and you want to invite me to join you in this lucrative sales opportunity to be my own boss and reach financial freedom?”

Johnny stared at him bemusedly for a moment, then scowled. Spider-Man giggled to himself.

“Sorry. Was that not what you were going to say?”

“Please be serious for a second,” Johnny implored, giving his wrist a squeeze. “No jokes, all right? This is important.”

“Now look who’s being the bossy one.”

“Webs,” Johnny deadpanned. Spider-Man suppressed another childish snicker. The Human Torch pinched his eyes shut, frustration and terror churning inside him, then lifted his hand from Spidey’s wrist to his cheek, running a finger along his jawline as his heartbeat crawled into his throat, threatening to suffocate him. Immediately, the masked hero’s laughter dried up, his body going rigid beneath Johnny’s gentle touch.

“I like you, okay?” Johnny blurted out, voice shaky but steadfast. “I’ve liked you since the day we met, even if I didn’t know it at the time. You’re funny, smart, obnoxiously selfless, and so fucking humble about how amazing you are it makes me wanna puke.” He cradled the boy’s masked face in both hands, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. “I love everything about you. And I love being your friend, but I’d love it even more if we were more than that. I’d love to hold your hand, to call you mine, to take you on elaborate dates…” He dragged his thumb along the perfect curve of his lips. “To kiss you.”

For the next few moments, Johnny stood before the masked hero in silence, trembling slightly, his body as hot and volatile as a volcano seconds from erupting. He waited, ill with anticipation. Spidey gazed back at him for the entire length of the confession without uttering a word or moving a muscle. Johnny brushed his knuckle against his cheekbone.

“Well, say something,” he beseeched him.

Johnny felt a shudder shoot through Spider-Man’s skeleton. Then he flinched backwards violently, staggering away from his touch, the plate of food and glass of juice slipping from his hands and crashing to the floor, making Johnny wince in alarm.

“Shit!” the Human Torch yelped. “Are you okay?” He took a step towards him, but Spidey retreated back even farther, shaking his head from side to side.

“Dude,” he finally said, voice tinged with incredulous laughter. “What the fuck?”

Johnny froze in place, eyes lifting mirthlessly to Spider-Man’s. A ball of ice hardened inside him. “W-what—” he began to say.

“You’re gay?” the masked hero scoffed, flicking syrup and orange juice from his fingers. “And you thought I was gay, too? Are you being serious right now? Holy shit, bro—this is so fucking weird.”

Johnny swallowed, heart withering with dread and disbelief, tears stinging in his eyes. “Spidey—listen. I didn’t—I thought—”

“All the time we’ve spent hanging out and working together, all the nice things you’ve done for me—it’s all been because of this? Because you think I’m hot and want to get in my pants? That’s what made you decide to be friends with me? That’s what our entire friendship has been built off of since day one?”

As Spider-Man’s voice grew louder and angrier, the world around them began to shift. The kitchen and the tower and the earth as a whole fell away from their feet, dissipating like smoke, leaving nothing but endless blackness save for the light of countless stars twinkling in galaxies millions of lightyears away. The two teenagers hovered in the dark expanse of space, the Fantastic Four’s starship floating soundlessly in the distance.

“It’s not like that,” Johnny croaked out, red-hot flames building beneath his flesh. “Please, just—forget I said anything. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I don’t want to lose you as a friend over something as stupid as this.”

Wordlessly, Spider-Man reached underneath his chin and grabbed hold of the edge of his mask, making Johnny’s eyes flash wide. His jaw fell open as the vigilante peeled the disguise off his head, then practically dropped to the edge of the universe at the familiar face he was met with when the person underneath was fully revealed.

“Sam?” Johnny breathed, tears slipping down his cheeks. Sam Alexander glared back at him, hands balled into fists at his sides.

“Oh, we’re way past that,” Sam sneered—although the voice was a chilling blend of both Nova’s and Spider-Man’s. “How can you expect me to stay friends with a guy who I now know is constantly thinking about dating and kissing me?”

“W-what are you saying?” Johnny asked hollowly. Sam crossed his arms against his chest, the Spider-Man costume disintegrating off his body to reveal the black and gold Nova Corps suit underneath.

“I’m saying this is too fucking weird,” he clarified. “I’m saying…I don’t think we should talk or hang out anymore. Like, ever.” The Nova helmet crawled across his face along with the rest of his suit, hiding his dark eyes behind the even darker uniform. Exactly how he’d looked in Johnny’s final memories of him. Sam tore his gaze away from Johnny’s, muscles rigid with discomfort. “It’s probably for the best that after this mission, we just go our separate ways.”

Johnny shook his head, dismay surging through him like a tidal wave. “Sam,” he said, voice breaking. He extended a hand towards his friend. “Sam, please—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Sam turned away from him, shoulders tight, fists clenched. He blasted upwards without looking back, shooting into the dark abyss like a streak of pure stardust. The Human Torch was left floating in the empty black expanse, sobs rattling through him, shell-shocked and alone.

“Don’t go,” he whispered. Fire began to fill every corner of his vision, even with his eyes squeezed shut. “Please don’t leave. Please. I'm sorry.” The flames raging inside him were hot enough to burn up anything and everything in existence.

“I tried to warn you.”

Johnny’s head whipped towards the sound of his sister’s voice. She and the rest of his teammates had him surrounded, expressions steeled with disappointment.

“S-stay back!” he cried, throwing his hands out in front of himself. His body was coated in hungry orange flames he did not summon—tongues of blazing fire he could not control. As his despair fed and grew, so too did the flames engulfing his entire being.

“You’re never going to learn, are you?” Susan snarled. Johnny’s flames were melting the skin clean off her bones. “You can’t help yourself. You think having millions of fans makes you entitled to the affection of anyone you choose. Even those who had zero chance of ever liking you back.”

“You’re dying!” Johnny screamed, shielding his eyes in horror. The flames radiating off him howled and crackled, swallowing up his friends in their deadly wake. “Please! Get away from me! I can’t make it stop!”

“It’s a game to you,” Sue gurgled, gagging on her own liquefied flesh. “A way to make your perfect, pathetic life a little more interesting. A way to torture yourself with the one thing you want most that you know you’ll never have or deserve.”

Johnny wrapped his arms around his midsection, tears boiling in his eyes, shrinking into himself in hopes that it would shrink the ravenous flames, too. But the fire only intensified, searing the life out of everyone it touched. Roasting every remaining member of his family alive.

“Help me,” he pleaded, fire and heat pouring from his soul like the core of a dying star. The ungovernable inferno scorched into his cells had finally conquered him, had finally won. Sobs tore from the Human Torch’s throat. There was nothing left but the anathema of his destruction. A monster forged in death and carnage.

“Help me! Help! Please help! Spidey!”

Johnny Storm was on fire when he shot upright in bed.

He doused the flames as soon as he was conscious enough to do so, choking down panicked gulps of air, but the damage was already done. His sheets were scorched, the mattress fried, and his pillow had a giant charred chunk burned through it that vaguely resembled the shape of his head. He swatted frantically at the tiny wisps of fire dotted across the comforter, swirls of smoke curling towards the ceiling.

“Shit,” he hissed, scrubbing a hand across his sweat-speckled face. Unusually bright sunlight spilled through the window onto the foot of his bed. The stench of singed linens hung in the air. He closed his eyes, pressing a palm to his chest where his heart felt seconds from bursting out of his rib cage.

A dream, he realized, panting harshly, skin hot yet cold and slick with perspiration. Not real. Not real. Not real.

Not all of it, at least.

“Good morning, Johnny,” Tony Stark’s A.I. greeted him from overhead, making the teen flinch. “It would appear you had a nightmare and accidentally lit yourself on fire in your sleep. An assistance robot is on the way to help attend to the situation.”

A few seconds later, the door to his room eased open, and what appeared to be some kind of claw machine arm on wheels rolled inside. It was much more bulky and clunky-looking compared to the other robots Johnny had seen working around Avengers Tower. It held a tube in its three-pronged hand that was pointed directly between Johnny’s eyes. The bot lumbered over to the side of his bed, strange little beeps and warbling sounds emanating from it.

“Uh,” Johnny said, drawing back a little. “Okay…? What’s it gonna—”

A blast of foam straight to the face cut him off. Johnny shrieked in surprise as the robot layered him and the bed in extinguishing suds, shielding his eyes and pinching his mouth shut. By the time the bot was through with him, he was drenched in soapy chemicals and thoroughly unamused. Satisfied with its work, the robot left the way it had come, politely shutting the door behind itself. Johnny sat beneath the mountain of bubbly foam, disheveled and disoriented.

“I’ve submitted an order for a replacement mattress and pillows to be delivered to the tower. They should both arrive in the next couple of days. You can sleep in the spare room on this floor in the meantime. Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

Johnny clambered out of the bed and onto the floor, muttering colorful curses as he brushed the suds off himself in large globs. “Nope. Pretty sure you got it all. Better late than never, I guess.” He kicked his feet with a grimace, painting the walls in splatters of foam, then dusted off his shoulder blades. Knives punched into his belly as the details of his nightmare returned to him, as his pulse finally began to slow and steady its pace. As the last words Sam Alexander had left him with echoed in his ears—but in Spider-Man’s voice.

All his excitement and enthusiasm for the day ahead, struck dead in a heartbeat. All his eagerness to confess his true feelings to the webhead, scoured clean from his bones. Anguish closed around the young hero’s throat like a fist.

“Is Spider-Man still asleep?” Johnny asked the ceiling somberly, smearing suds across his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Spider-Man is currently making toast on the 78th floor,” FRIDAY replied. Johnny frowned.

“Really? He got up before I did?” Johnny turned towards the harsh glow of the window and narrowed his eyes. “What time is it?”

“8:41 am.”

The teenage celebrity’s mouth fell open. He rarely ever slept past 8, and couldn’t remember the last time he woke up after 8:30. He must’ve really needed the rest after all those hours of charming the crowds while baking in the hot sun. Even more shocking was the fact that Spider-Man had gotten up and beaten Johnny to their rendezvous point before Johnny was even dressed for the day.

He considered rushing through his morning routine so he could join the webhead as soon as possible and playfully interrogate him for this duplicitous subterfuge, but he found his heart just wasn’t in it. He was too shaken up, too demoralized. Every fear he’d pushed down and bottled away since that final day with Sam was now boiling at the surface of his skin, roaring through his veins.

What if he reacts the same way Nova did? he thought, hugging his midsection as tears slipped from his eyes. What if he never wants to talk to me again once he knows the truth?

Johnny’s insides twisted as the realization sprinkled over him. He would never find the courage to confess his feelings to Spidey. He’d never be confident enough to summon the words or take that risk. Not again.

“If it’s not too much to ask, you might want to go downstairs and lend Spider-Man a hand,” FRIDAY suggested gently. “He just pulled the eggs out of the fridge, and the last time he tried making an omelet, he almost burnt down the whole kitchen.”

Despite the tears in his eyes, a smile found its way onto Johnny’s lips. He laughed softly, wiping at his cheeks. “Fair enough,” he said, taking a level breath in and out. “I’ll head down in just a bit.”

As he ran a comb through his hair in front of the bathroom mirror, Johnny gave his arms a few sharp pinches. Just to make sure whatever he faced downstairs was real—and not a resumption of the same sinister nightmare.

A miserable whine slipped between Peter’s lips as the strawberry-blonde celebrity appeared at the bottom of the staircase just in time to watch him scrape viciously at the charred remains of what used to be eggs that were burnt to the bottom of the pan. He dumped the inedible concoction into the trash along with the rest of his failed omelet attempts and palmed his forehead in his hand.

“Nooo,” Peter groaned, shoving the smoking skillet under the faucet. “Why are you up already? I thought I had more time! Nothing’s even close to being ready yet!”

Johnny strode towards him with one hand hanging in the pocket of his sweatpants, taking in the scene of the arachnid-themed hero spattered in pancake batter and surrounded by pans crusted in half-scorched culinary disasters. A wrinkle formed between his eyebrows as a weak smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “What are you doing?” he asked amusedly.

“I’m trying to cook you breakfast,” Peter huffed, tearing an avocado in half with a tad too much super strength. “You’ve made me two of the best meals I’ve ever had without me even asking, so I thought it’d be nice if I made you something in return!” He started slicing the avocado into long spears, not bothering with a cutting board, a small prickle of warning tingling along his neck as the knife slammed down hard against the countertop, coming dangerously close to chopping off his pinky finger. A large chunk of avocado shot across the room and hit the tile with a wet splat.

“Whoops,” Peter murmured. Grimacing, Johnny rushed around the island and snatched the blade out of his hand.

“Okay—I’ve seen enough. You’ve officially lost all knife privileges.”

Peter sulked in defeat, scooping the smooshed avocado off the counter and onto a plate. This was not going at all how he’d planned. He’d lied awake in bed late into the night yesterday, scrolling through dozens of articles and TikTok videos with cringe-inducing titles such as “36 Signs A Guy Has A Crush On You,” “How To Tell If Your Friend Likes You Back,” “20 Foolproof Ways To Find Out If He’s Into You,” etc—trying to get some insight into Johnny’s feelings towards him and coming up with a strategy to uncover the full truth. One girl suggested doing something romantic and unexpected for them and gauging their reaction. If their response was positive, there was a good chance they liked you. Indifferent—or outright negative—probably not.

She had neglected to mention what to do if you completely bombed step one and were found grimy and frazzled without one palatable offering to your name, standing in a kitchen dirtied and overflowing with your unseemly cooking blunders. Johnny squinted at the lumps of ash gathered at the bottom of the sink and furrowed his brow.

“What the hell were you even trying to make?” he asked with a snort.

Peter sighed. “Crepes, french toast, fruit tarts, eggs benedict…” He counted off the fares on his fingers, eyeing each failed feat where they sat either burnt or botched on the counter, feeling more and more disheartened with every word.

Johnny chuckled, looking far too cute and way too cuddly in his color blocked sweatpants-hoodie combo, cheeks still dusted pink from yesterday’s sun exposure. “Those are not the easiest dishes to make, Webs,” the Human Torch said, shooting a glance at the stack of pots piled high in the sink and the blackened pans scattered across the stovetop. “Especially when you’re trying to make all of them at once instead of focusing on one dish at a time.” He poked at a mound of suspicious goop by the faucet that vaguely looked like it was breathing. “Why not try something simpler that doesn’t result in you turning the kitchen into a radioactive hot zone?”

Peter swallowed, heat bleeding into his ears. “I just…wanted to do something nice for you,” he explained quietly. He felt Johnny’s gaze lift to his face and suddenly found a speck of egg shell on the counter the most interesting thing in the entire universe. “You’re always doing such nice things for me—making stuff and planning things and sticking your neck out for my sake. I wanted to show my appreciation.” He scratched at one of many oil stains on his costume with a frown. “But I guess I should’ve picked a gesture I’m actually capable of executing. Like—inventing a new type of webbing and naming it after you or whatever. Cooking is your strong suit, not mine. I don’t know why I thought whipping up a multi-course breakfast for you was a skill I possessed. I mean—I followed the instructions! Well, er—I tried to, at least! How do you always make it look so damn easy?”

To Peter’s surprise, the smile Johnny offered him barely reached his eyes. “Being able to control the temperature of what I’m cooking definitely helps,” he said halfheartedly, tossing the knife into the sink. It wasn’t until now Peter noticed that Johnny’s voice was missing its usual vibrant spark; that his expression was distant and weary. Even though he’d slept later than normal this morning, he seemed even more tired than he was last night. Dark circles ringed his downcast eyes. Worry rippling through him, Peter abandoned his mushy avocado carcass and laid a hand on Johnny’s arm.

“Hey—Torchy.” His voice caught a little with concern. “Is everything all right? You seem…sad.”

Johnny stared languidly at Peter’s fingers where they touched his wrist, then lifted his heavy gaze to meet his. The young hero gave a listless shrug of his shoulders. “I guess I am sad,” he decided, appearing disappointed in himself.

Peter’s grip tightened a little around his forearm. “Why? Did something happen?” A boulder dropped into his stomach. “Was it Fisk? Did he do something to you?”

The Human Torch shook his head. “It’s nothing like that,” he insisted, looking a bit embarrassed. He ran a hand across his face. “I just…had a bad nightmare last night, and it kinda spoiled my whole mood for today.”

Peter resisted the plea from his muscles to wrap the teen in his arms and bury his forehead in kisses. Johnny had plenty of nightmare-fodder in his past for his brain to torment him with in his sleep. It made him nauseous—wondering which traumatizing event his imagination had ran with this time, or how often Johnny was plagued by dreams in this way. He desperately wished he had a plate of warm food to offer him like he’d planned—something yummy and comforting to drive away the storm clouds gathered in his eyes. Instead, all he could provide was a small squeeze to his wrist.

“I’m sorry,” he said delicately. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t feel like doing today. Let’s just take it easy. I’ll let my wound finish healing, and you can watch Great British Bake Off or Real Housewives of Salt Lake City or whatever garbage TV you’re into while I order us some takeout that isn’t burnt to a crisp or developing sentience.” Peter let Johnny’s arm slip from his fingers, heart panging at emptiness in his ocean blue eyes. “I think we’ve both had more than our fair share of excitement and insanity this week to warrant a day off.” He didn’t want to push him to talk about whatever horrors were haunting him to the point of emotional paralysis if that wasn’t what he needed right now.

The corners of Johnny’s lips feathered upwards just slightly. “Love Island is my guilty pleasure go-to,” he admitted. “The original one—in the UK.”

Peter returned his reluctant smile, throwing on his best English accent. “Then let’s bugger off to the sofa and Love Island it up, yah daft knob.”

Spider-Man moved towards the living space nestled beside the east-facing windows, expecting Johnny to follow him, but he didn’t. Johnny stayed rooted to the tile by the stovetop, opening and closing his mouth a few times, features scrunched in thought. The celebrity stared between his feet, hesitating. Then, finally:

“My dream—it was about you, actually. Not the whole thing, but a good portion.”

Peter stopped in his tracks, blinking bemusedly. “Really?” he said. An icy cord wove through him. “Oh god. What did dream-me do? Cook you an inedible breakfast that you were too polite to decline that wound up killing you?”

Johnny couldn’t repress a beguiling grin, a flicker of his usual self seeping through, although the sheen of sadness was still there. “No,” he said. “But you were doing that.”

Peter rocked backwards on his heels. “Doing…what?” he inquired.

“Telling your silly little jokes,” Johnny explained, swirling his finger through the thin layer of flour dusted across the counter. “Even in my sleep, you’re there being a sarcastic wise-ass. I can’t escape it.”

Peter’s heart started to sink. He stalked back into the kitchen, hugging the backs of both of his elbows. “And that’s…that was your nightmare? Me making jokes? That’s what ruined your whole mood for today?” Perhaps Johnny’s feelings for him weren’t as a big of a mystery as he'd thought. Spider-Man was one big web-swinging joke in red and blue pantyhose; if someone didn’t like his witty quips, then they didn’t like him . Period. This was about to be the shortest, most disappointing crush investigation in the entire world.

“No,” Johnny chuckled, much to Peter’s relief. “It wasn’t that.” He combed a nervous hand through his hair. “It’s just…dream-you acted exactly like you-you, until I said something that made you super upset with me. The fact that you were acting just like your usual goofy self up until that point made it seem so much more real, which made all of it hurt ten times worse.”

Poison needles pierced Peter’s heart. “What did you say in the dream that made dream-me so upset?”

Peter swore the sunburn on Johnny’s face went pinker. “I—I don’t remember,” he murmured, staring at his socks and scratching behind his ear. “But you didn’t like it one bit. I’ve never seen you that mad before—not even when I was provoking you back when we sparred in front of everyone.”

Peter was no stranger to having nightmares about those he cared about—including ones where they shouted things at him he knew they’d never say. He understood how jarring it could be, even if it was in no way realistic. He was just surprised a bad dream about Spider-Man would impact the teenage celebrity this dramatically. Out of all the nightmares Peter had imagined Johnny having, none of them had included anything to do with himself. He wondered what dream-him had said to drain the joy from Johnny’s once luminous eyes. The masked hero wasn’t sure what to do other than hunch his shoulders and hold out his palms.

“Well, real-me isn’t mad at you at all, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m sorry dream-me was so mean. I’d web that bastard up and drop him in the Hudson if it were physically possible. Dude sounds like a major dick.”

Johnny managed a timid smile, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Sorry. I know it’s not fair for me to be upset about something that wasn’t even real. It’s not like there’s anything you can do about it.”

“I can make you the world’s least-burnt bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios,” Peter proposed shyly. Johnny gazed around the dumpster fire of a kitchen with glazed endearment.

“Counter-offer,” he said. “Why don’t you go clean off your suit, and I’ll whip us up something a little more appetizing and nutritious than that?”

Peter let out a frustrated groan. “The whole point of me doing this was so you wouldn’t have to cook for me this time! This was supposed to be a gesture of my gratitude, not another mess of mine for you to clean up.” Peter snatched an egg out of the open carton sitting beside the refrigerator. “At least let me help you.”

Wrinkling his nose, Johnny plucked the egg out of Spider-Man’s hand like it was a live grenade. “No offense, Webs, but after what I’ve witnessed today, I don’t want to see you within fifteen feet of any kitchen in the state of New York ever again.” He placed the egg back in the carton. “Or potential salmonella contaminants. Or sharp cooking utensils. Or open flames.”

Peter wilted at his words. Johnny patted him on the back, not-so-subtly guiding him out of the kitchen space. “It’s okay. You’ll have other chances to do nice things for me.” When Peter turned to face him, his eyes had that empty, far-off look to them once again. “Besides. Cooking is…calming to me. Therapeutic. Helps take my mind off things. I could use the distraction.”

The masked hero’s heart sagged against his rib cage. “You sure there’s nothing else I can do to cheer you up? I could let you punch me in the face. Or light my head on fire. Those things can be therapeutic, too.”

“You can help by vacating your unholy butt from my sacred space of culinary artistry,” Johnny said, then paused, sniffing the air, face twisting in confusion. “Is something burning?”

Peter’s eyes widened as his head snapped towards the microwave. “Shit!” he exclaimed, dashing past Johnny. “The butter! I was trying to soften it, but I guess I forgot—” He yanked open the door only to be blasted with a surge of black smoke. Scorched, amorphous goo bubbled in the spot he’d last seen the butter. Coughing, Peter grabbed a hand towel and fanned the air while Johnny snatched the plate out of the microwave.

“Careful! You could burn your—” Peter started to say, then stopped himself with a frown. “Oh. Right.”

“Who the hell burns butter?” Johnny exclaimed, dumping the ruined plate into the sink alongside the many, many others. “I thought you were some kind of genius or something!”

“At science,” Peter reminded him. “Not cooking! Or, y’know—common sense!”

“Cooking is science!” Johnny shot back.

“Well—not the kind I’m good at apparently! All my chemistry smarts evaporate from my brain the moment I step from a lab to a kitchen.”

“Out,” Johnny demanded, shoving him towards the stairs. “Before you desecrate my place of worship with even more of your blasphemy. Breakfast will be ready in just a bit.”

Peter begrudgingly slumped towards the staircase, feeling defeated in more ways than one, wondering where precisely in his DNA the Parker gene for terrible cooking skills resided.

Johnny felt guilty for being so miserable that morning, which only made him feel worse.

He didn’t have the luxury of hiding his emotions the way others could. It was a power the Human Torch did not possess. When he felt something—however ridiculous or unwarranted—it consumed him entirely, practically radiating off his flesh. Anger and sadness were particularly difficult for him to wrangle and subdue. Every move of his muscles, every spoken word, every feature on his face put on display the burden weighing on his heart. No matter how hard he tried, there was no concealing it.

He was mourning something he never even had in the first place. He was choking on his cowardice and what was not to be. He’d been struck by waves of heartbreak like this before, but never one this definitive, this sustaining and penetrating and certain.

All because of a dream. A dream spliced with real memories that still haunted him to this day—but a dream nonetheless. He knew how childish and ridiculous it was to let something as frivolous as a nightmare affect him this deeply, to let it decimate the perfect plans he’d laid out for the day. That understanding did nothing to stop the grief from ravaging his heart with every inconsolable beat, or shining undoubtedly in the whites of his eyes.

He ascended to Spider-Man’s floor, Michelin-worthy croissant sandwich and peach oatmeal in hand, with a dreary haze hanging over him. Not even nailing a meal he’d spent a quarter of a decade perfecting could lift his hopeless spirits. He had half a mind to paint the walls of the elevator with it and sulk back to his scorched, foam-soaked bed. He didn’t want the webhead to see him like this again—bitter and crestfallen with no feasible explanation as to why. But avoiding him outright would only hurt Spidey’s feelings even more, which wasn’t fair to him at all. It was a lose-lose scenario. He could at least leave him with a warm meal before moping off to some abandoned corner of the tower where he could wallow in self-pity in peace.

The elevator doors split in two in front of him. Johnny stepped out and strode towards Spider-Man’s room, the hand that held the plate of fresh food heating it to the perfect temperature. He stopped a few feet from the door with a grimace on his face, debating what to do. He could just leave his breakfast here and avoid another confrontation entirely, however spineless it made him feel. Or he could wait for him to come out just to smash the oatmeal in his face for daring to snare his delicate heart in that cruel, sticky web of his.

As Johnny toiled over how to proceed, a sound floated to him from inside Spider-Man’s room. Soft and muffled, tangled with the hiss of hot water from the running shower. The words and instrumentals of a song he recognized—one that made his ears prick and his breathing still.

Everybody loves you, baby

You should trademark your face

Linin’ down the block to be around you

But baby, I’m first in place

Johnny’s eyes went wide as the song carried on. Spider-Man…listens to Troye Sivan? he thought, perplexed. As in…the queer Australian pop star? He supposed he shouldn’t read too much into it. Both the singer and the song were extremely popular, even outside of the gay music scene. Listening to a song by a gay artist didn’t in any way speak to one’s own sexuality. It only meant that he had…good taste in music. That’s all.

Then, as the song reached the first line of the chorus, a second voice joined Troye’s, singing along to the lyrics with carefree, unabashed splendor. Johnny’s heart skipped a beat as the voice carried softly through the air, breezy and beautiful and completely oblivious to his presence.

Give me a call if you ever get lonely

I’ll be like one of your girls or your homies

Say what you want, and I’ll keep it a secret

You get the key to my heart, and I need it

Give me a call if you ever get desperate

I’ll be like one of your girls

The voice—Spider-Man’s voice—continued to parrot the words of the song with a disarmingly angelic cadence, singing lyrics like “everybody wants you, baby” and “bet nobody wants you bad as I do” and “baby, let me plead my case” with that lovely, spellbinding inflection, sending Johnny’s thoughts into a flustered headspin. He pressed his ear against the door, jaw hanging low as the corners of his mouth lifted higher and higher.

Okay…listening to a gay pop star was one thing. But singing along to a gay pop star’s song about desperately wanting to get with a guy in a voice that passionate and breathtaking? That was…violently homosexual behavior. Like—undeniably, incriminatingly homosexual.

Had Reed really been right all along?

Christ almighty. He was never going to escape this torturous mental game show of Is Spider-Man A Fellow Fruitcake, Or Am I Just An Idiot?

As Johnny listened to Spidey hum the final verses of the song, his heart went featherlight. Who knew on top of being a fearless hero, an incessant motor-mouth, a loyal friend, and a shockingly terrible cook—the masked vigilante of New York was also a buttery-voiced little songbird? A grin cut across his face at the thought of how Spidey would react to Johnny eavesdropping on his in-shower performance.

A second track started to play as the running water squeaked to a halt. Johnny recognized it as “Disaster” by Conan Gray—another arguably very gay song by an equally gay artist. While Johnny listened intently through the door, a wide smile holding all his features hostage, he shooed away some of the gloomy fog banks haunting the inside of his mind to make room for a new diagram: a T-chart with one side labeled “straight” and other labeled “gay.” He started adding little tally marks to each side in accordance to Spider-Man’s most recent behaviors.

Listening to Conan Gray? Gay.

Using humor as a coping mechanism? Also gay.

Singing along to “One Of Your Girls” by Troye Sivan with Broadway-worthy vocals? Hella gay. Johnny added two tick marks for that one.

Liking Star Wars? Straight.

Having a girlfriend last year? Straight.

Being terrible at cooking? Very straight.

Johnny took a step back to admire his mental tally so far. He had to admit, it was a rather abstract and binary classification system to subject Spider-Man to. Sue would probably cringe at how unscientific his process was. But it was better than nothing, and a mildly fun way to keep some tiny spark of hope alive in his bruised and bloodied heart.

With a huff, the Human Torch decided he’d spend today doing exactly what he’d set out to do in the first place: springing the trap he’d set that would endear the world completely to the masked vigilante. His work over the last week had granted his fans a tiny glimpse into the soul of the infamous hero; a mere taste of who he was and why they should dote on him in every way he deserved. All as buildup for what he had in store for today.

Meanwhile, Johnny would watch the webhead closely, adding to his mental chart as he saw fit.

Spider-Man’s voice flitted through the door to Johnny’s ear every now and again—singing quietly, casually, a fleeting word or two from the song currently playing as he readied himself for the day. Johnny listened with a soft smile on his face, reminded of why he’d chosen to do all this for the masked hero in the first place. Every day Spidey found new ways to surprise and captivate him. Without even trying, he won over his heart again and again and again. People deserved to see just how delightful the webhead was, and Spidey deserved the world’s praise a hundred times more than Johnny ever would.

Spider-Man could never give Johnny what he truly wanted, but Johnny refused to take his frustrations out on his blamelessly clueless friend. If Johnny couldn’t tell Spider-Man how much he cared about him, he’d do his best to show him.

So Johnny waited outside the door for Spider-Man, spirits a little less frosty, thoughts a little more optimistic, running through his itinerary for the two of them with a smile on his lips, eager to see which side of his T-chart had the most tallies by the end of the day.

“You little liar.”

Peter glanced up with a start as he shut his bedroom door behind him. Johnny Storm stood across the room by the stairwell, leaning against a pillar with a smug look on his face. Peter wasn’t sure if he should be happy that Johnny appeared more chipper than earlier, or terrified. The Human Torch was a wildcard this morning. At this point, he didn't know what to expect.

“What do you mean?” Peter asked with a hesitant laugh, running a hand along his neck to smooth out any creases in his mask. “What did I do this time? And please tell me we’re talking about real-me now and not more dreams. I can’t keep up with it all.”

Johnny rose off the pillar and strode towards him, moving with a wisenheimer kind of aloofness that was more reminiscent of his typical self and less like the woebegone creature Peter had encountered earlier. Of course he didn’t expect Johnny to be happy all the time, but he felt oddly helpless in these circumstances: when the thing causing his distress wasn’t something he could rid them of with a clever joke or punch to the jaw, and bore his same likeness and wit.

“If my memory serves correctly,” Johnny mused, stopping about a foot in front of him, gilded in a fresh luster of roguish glee, “you told me that you, quote: ‘can’t sing for shit.’” The luminous celebrity cocked his head to one side. “Why would you make such a grotesque lie?”

Peter blinked stupidly, fighting a futile battle against the hypnotizing riptide of Johnny’s gaze. “I’m…sorry?” he said in reply, puzzled. “What do you…what? I’m confused.”

“Those were some seriously impressive high notes you were hitting,” Johnny continued, grinning in a way that made Peter’s nerves itchy. “I had no idea you were such an avid Troye Sivan fan.”

Slowly, dreadfully, the realization set in, all while every ounce of blood in Peter’s body rushed into his face. He was so used to having the entire 80th floor to himself, he’d never had to worry about anyone listening in on his musical morning routine. Perhaps he’d gotten a little too comfortable blasting his favorite playlists and singing along to every song at the top of his lungs, as if the whole tower were abandoned and there was no risk of anyone ever hearing him.

And of all the people to catch him in the act…of all the songs to have caught him singing along to…

“Not just anyone can belt out ‘One Of Your Girls’ with that much bravado and elegance,” Johnny teased him, bopping him on the nose with his index finger. “You’re a truly talented vocalist. How come you didn’t include that in your power demo the other day?”

Peter’s skin felt hot enough to melt the Spider-Man mask right off his face. “How much did you hear?” he croaked out feebly. “More specifically: how mortified should I be right now?”

Johnny shrugged, a fiendish smile on his lips. “All of it. Your second go at the chorus was probably my favorite bit. The way you harmonized with Troye on the word ‘desperate’ scratched an itch in my brain I didn’t know existed until now.”

“Oh my god,” Peter groaned into his palms, laughing in spite of himself. “So unimaginably and eternally, then. Cool. Great. Today just keeps getting better and better.”

“Your bathroom has wonderful acoustics, by the way.”

Peter blushed all the way down to his toes as he flexed his hands at his sides. “Y’know, you’re like—annoyingly good at catching me in my most unflattering moments,” he grumbled. “Maybe we should get you a bell.”

“What part of having a beautiful singing voice do you find unflattering?” Johnny retorted, clearly enjoying himself. “I think it’s hot.”

Earsplitting and seismic. That was the state of Peter’s pulse at that moment. His body went from fidgety and warm to sizzling like a kettle seconds from boiling over. He’d told himself if Johnny flirted with him today (which, obviously, he would), he’d try his best to match his energy and flirt back. Just to see what would happen and gauge the superhero’s response—promising or otherwise.

Yeah. Easier said than done. Well, you know what I think is hot? Uh…you? That was the best comeback he could think of in his current condition, but he’d sooner jump into a pool of underfed sharks than muster up the courage to speak those words aloud. How did Johnny do it so impassively? Peter wondered if his deafening heartbeat was capable of rattling the entire tower.

“And so would your rapidly growing fanbase,” Johnny added before Spider-Man deigned a reply, placing one hand on Peter’s chest and the other on his own. “I can see the headlines now. ‘From Masked Menace to Masked Singer: Buttery-Voiced Spider-Man Goes Viral In New Video Posted By Johnny Storm.’”

Peter gulped down the butterflies his throat, forcing a shy roll of his eyes. “Glad to see you’re all cheered up now and back to mocking me every chance you get. I was beginning to worry and starting to miss your constant taunts and jabs.”

“Anytime I’m sad, please know that you have the power to fix that immediately. All you have to do is open that pretty little mouth of yours and sing ol’ Johnny a wee ditty.” Johnny cupped his hand around Peter’s chin and gave his lips a big squeeze. “Come on, sing it with me now—give me a call if you ever get lonelyyyy—”

“Quihit it!” Peter giggled, squirming out of his grip, pink with embarrassment. “You’re an asshole.”

“I’ll add ‘make Spider-Man sing on camera’ to our list of videos to film today,” Johnny stated smugly, stepping around him to grab the platter of food sitting on the floor by Peter’s bedroom door. Peter thought he’d smelled another one of Johnny’s mouthwatering creations, but hadn’t noticed the plate until now. Johnny heated the dish with a flash of fire from his palm and offered it to him with a grin. “You can eat this on our way down. Careful—it’s hot.”

Peter gawked. “You made this? For me? In the literal fifteen minutes since you kicked me out of the kitchen? What the actual hell, Johnny? Fuck superheroing—you should be one of those private yacht chefs who only cooks for royalty and charges a thousand dollars per cheese cube.” Peter took the plate in his hands like a newborn baby. “You’re, like, really good at this. Too good to be wasting your talents on me—a person with a palate as refined as Totino’s pizza rolls.”

Johnny chuckled. “You’re severely overestimating my skill set,” he insisted, cheeks dusting a delicate maroon. “Besides. I like cooking for you.”

Peter’s heart did a cartwheel into his ribs. Shit. Is he flirting with me again? He’s at least being kind and genuine. I should be kind and genuine back. Now’s your chance, Pete. You can’t screw it up this time. No chickening out. You’ve got this. Just whatever you do, don’t make a joke, don’t make a joke, do not—

“And I like watching Critical Roll on 2x speed. That’s not related or equivalent in any way—just a fun fact about myself I thought I’d share for no reason at all. Isn’t life neat?”

Curse you mouth and everything you stand for.

Johnny just giggled and grabbed hold of his wrist. “Come on—I already have the setup ready for our first TikTok video.”

Peter tripped a little over his feet as Johnny dragged him towards the elevator. “Really? What are we doing? And where are we going? Are you gonna feed me spicy chicken wings and ask me deep personal questions? Or blindfold me and make me taste different kinds of milks and have me guess which is which? Or are we doing more puppy videos? I liked the puppy videos. But I guess that’d be redundant, so we’re probably not doing that. I’m scared. Should I be scared?”

“Relax, Webhead,” Johnny snickered. “We’re gonna start things off easy and fun. And save the jokes for the video—you’re gonna need them if you want to win.”

Jokes Peter could handle. Anything that involved being vulnerable and sincere? Evidently not. Just the thought of attempting casual flirting sent his body into fight or flight mode. How would he ever know Johnny’s true feelings for him if he played down and laughed off every effort the celebrity made to show him exactly that? Would he ever master the gall to go toe-to-toe with the Human Torch’s devilish charm?

He doubted he’d find the answer between here and wherever the hell Johnny was taking him.

“This seems…unsanitary.”

The 20th story lounge was cozy and quiet. The colors of the room were earthy and warm—dark greens and soft browns accented by navy blues and rusty reds, which came alive in the early morning sunlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Johnny had picked a beautiful background for their video sequence, but the content they were about to film was poised to undermine that entirely. They were positioned by a wall with the windows sweeping out behind them and the living area to their right. Johnny chuckled as he tapped the “record” button on his phone, which was propped up on a tripod in front of them.

“Maybe. But that’s part of the fun.” The Human Torch skipped past the camera setup to stand at Peter’s side and held up the glass in his hand like he was about to make a toast. “You go first. See if you can say something funny enough to make me spit all over the place, then we’ll switch roles.” Johnny tipped back the glass against his lips to fill his cheeks with water.

“People spit at me all the time without me saying one word to them, so I feel like this should be pretty easy for me. And perhaps a tad triggering.”

Johnny spewed like a geyser before he’d even finished off the cup. Peter flinched in surprise with a startled giggle, shielding his face from the flying droplets. Johnny laughed along with him a moment later, cupping a hand over his dripping mouth.

“Oh man, I knew you were gonna be way too good at this,” he wheezed. Johnny wiped his lips on his sleeve. “Okay—my turn.”

“Us and the floor are gonna be soaked by the end of this,” Peter chuckled, running the back of his hand across his eye lenses. But he switched places with Johnny and followed his instructions, loading his cheeks with water.

“All right. Here goes nothing,” Johnny began. He combed a hand through his sun-kissed hair. “So, uh—did you hear about the spider who ate the fly?”

Johnny paused for effect, grinning eagerly. Peter almost spat his water across the room just from the giddy look on Johnny’s face, but he managed to hold strong.

“People say he was a real buzz kill.”

Johnny waited, staring at Peter expectantly. Reluctantly, Peter forced a muffled chuckle through his mouthful, but the water stayed intact. Johnny’s smile dropped.

“What? I thought that was funny! You don’t think it’s funny? What the hell!”

Peter shrugged apologetically. Johnny pouted.

“Ugh. You suck. I’m really gonna have to get creative if I wanna beat you.”

They swapped spots again. This time, Peter crawled up the wall and onto the ceiling to start his turn. He lowered himself into the shot upside-down, feeding a line of webbing between his hands and feet. His silly positioning didn’t have anything to do with the joke he planned to tell; he just thought it’d look funny on camera. He stopped with his head about four feet off the ground, swaying a little from side to side as he charged up his next one-liner.

“So—”

But Johnny was already sputtering between his fingers, spitting water in every direction. Peter cackled.

“Dude! I didn’t even say anything yet! You’re making this way too easy for me.”

“Dammit!” Johnny giggled, mopping his face with a towel. “I can’t help myself! You’re just so goofy-looking like that! And I know whatever you say is gonna make me break, so I end up laughing just thinking about it!”

Peter pointed and snickered like a snarky little kid. “2-0, Flame Brain. At this rate, I’m gonna wipe the floor with you without even trying.”

“Oh—I’m so getting you this time,” Johnny assured him with a smirk. “Just wait. You’ll see.”

So Peter refilled his mouth with water and the two heroes took up their designated positions in front of the tripod. Peter crossed his arms against his chest and raised his eyebrows dubiously while Johnny pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and cleared his throat.

“You know, Spidey and I have bonded a lot over the things we have in common,” Johnny read from his notes. “We’re both superheroes, we’re both the youngest members on our teams. And—most importantly—both of us have dead moms.”

Peter emptied the contents of his cheeks fast enough to take someone’s eye out. Johnny beamed at him triumphantly as Peter hacked into his elbow.

“‘Cuz nothing binds people together better than shared trauma and mommy issues. Am I right?”

“Johnny!” Peter laughed in disbelief, cupping his stomach with one hand and his mouth with the other. “Oh my god! That is—so morbid!”

Johnny shrugged. “Regular jokes weren’t cutting it, so I decided to take the dark humor route. Your fault. You forced my hand.”

“You’re messed up,” Peter giggled, pulling his mask back over his chin.

“That’s what dead moms do to you,” Johnny retorted proudly, clapping Peter on the shoulder. “Your turn, Webs. Have fun topping that.”

Peter got Johnny good with a jab at the celebrity’s absurdly expensive fashion habits, insisting that if he had a dollar for every accessory the Human Torch was wearing that cost more than his entire month’s rent, he just might be liquid enough for the first time in his life to add avocado to his Chipotle bowl.

Johnny tried to punch back with a few snide remarks about Spider-Man’s geeky hobbies and nerdy interests that didn’t land as well as either of them hoped, securing the frustrated teen at a measly 1 point score while Peter led with 3.

After Peter rendered him spitting and sputtering a fourth time with a joke about soulless redheads, Johnny entered his next turn with a look of fierce determination. As soon as Peter’s mouth was filled, Johnny marched right up to him and pointed wordlessly at Spider-Man’s hands.

“Hmm?” Peter murmured in question, holding out his palms. Johnny extended his own hands and interlaced his fingers, then gestured for Peter to do the same. Frowning, Peter copied his movements, waffling his hands together and holding them in front of his body, clueless as to where this was headed.

In a flash, Johnny grabbed hold of Peter’s interwoven hands, hoisted them above his head, and shoved him up against the wall hard enough to make him yelp. His left palm sprawled flat across the wall hardly an inch from Peter’s throat while his right pinned the masked hero’s arms in place. Seconds turned into decades as Johnny leaned all his weight into Peter’s body, gray-blue eyes electric with mischief, wide grin playful and cunning, noses close enough to brush.

What would’ve been a gasp of gay panic turned into Peter spewing all the water in his mouth directly into Johnny’s face.

Immediately, the two heroes doubled over themselves, racked with hysterical laughter that went from silent to explosive and rendered them staggering and dizzy and teary-eyed.

“Why did you—do that?” Johnny squeaked out between belly-laughs, water dribbling down his bewildered face.

“Why—did you—do that?” Peter shot back, clutching his aching ribs. He hung his head, giggling helplessly, embarrassment singeing his skin.

“You spit all over me!” Johnny wheezed.

“I’m sorry!” Peter stammered through his laughter. “You—shoved me!”

“Worth it,” Johnny chuckled, toweling off his face. “I knew that move would get you. Comeback season, baby!”

Peter flushed at the insinuation behind those words while his heart scrambled to recover from what had just transpired between the two teens; from what Johnny had just done to him. Johnny’s hand shooting out and clasping Peter’s interlaced palms. Johnny’s strength throwing him against the wall and pinning him there like a mouse beneath a panther’s paw. Johnny’s eyes drinking him in as Johnny’s lips stretched and curled. Johnny’s body, his beauty, his skin, his scent, his everything being too close, too much—

Peter wondered what Johnny’s little stunt might look like on the recording. Wondered if the people who watched it might read into it as much as he was right now.

But asking Johnny not to post that part would mean having to explain those concerns to the celebrity heartthrob, and the questions and feelings that conversation would invite were simply beyond Peter’s current sanity levels.

So Peter once again chose the “play it cool” and “pretend to be unfazed” approach, taking his final turn in the challenge by striding over to Johnny and effortlessly lifting him above his head, rendering the fiery hero blushing and flailing and spitting water like a broken sprinkler.

“H-hey!” Johnny squeaked, little flames blazing off the ends of his hair. “Holy shit! I always forget your little beanpole body somehow has super strength!”

“It’s like you want me to fling you straight out the window,” Peter chuckled, winding back as if he were about to do just that.

“Noho!” Johnny shrieked. He grabbed frantically at Peter’s arms, clinging on for dear life. “Please don’t! This outfit isn’t fire-proof! If I flame on to catch myself, I’ll wind up naked!”

A swathe of heat flashed across Peter’s skin. “Oh, uh—right,” he stammered. Spider-Man lowered Johnny back to the floor, barricading his mind from picturing that image in HD, blush burning at the tips of his ears.

“You shouldn’t be lifting or throwing anything right now, anyway,” Johnny scolded him. “You’re gonna tear your stitches again.”

“Mr. Stark took those out this morning,” Peter said, waving dismissively. “I’m practically fully healed by now. After today, I should be good to start patrolling again.” He bumped Johnny’s shoulder with his. “And I throw things a hundred times heavier than you when I’m at my full strength all the time; it’d take way more than me lifting your flaming, lightweight ass to cause any damage.”

Johnny gave him a shove, making Peter stagger back a step as he snickered nefariously. He ordered Spidey to load his cheeks with water so he could take his final stab at getting the webhead to spew.

But whatever it was the Human Torch had planned to do, he never got the chance to try it; just as he was rolling up his sleeves and rubbing his palms together, Johnny stiffened. A look of panic swept across his face. He grimaced, fighting some intense internal battle, but it was no use. The teen hero wrinkled his nose, shut his eyes, then sneezed.

And immediately burst into flames.

Peter spat all over his feet, choking a bit as shock and laughter barreled up his throat.

“Ah!” Johnny cried, batting at his burning clothes with wild, frenzied movements. “Goddammit! Not again!”

“You light on fire every time you sneeze?” Spider-Man cackled. “No way. Oh my god. That’s a serious hazard, my friend. What do you do during allergy season? Stop, drop, and roll fifteen times a day? Steer clear of gas stations and grassfields and all flammable hair products, I hope? How many other outfits have you torched via sneeze?”

“Too many,” Johnny sulked, inspecting the holes and scorch marks littered across his still-smoking clothes. “Ugh. It’s one of those things I just can’t seem to control no matter how hard I try. I really loved this sweatsuit, too.” He ignited his upper half to burn off what remained of his ruined hoodie, leaving him shirtless and pouting but still sporting his tattered sweatpants. “Sometimes I hate having flame-based powers. They’re just so…destructive.”

“At least they give you an excuse to show off your abs on camera some more,” Peter offered, voice cracking just slightly. It was more of a playful quip than a flirtatious comment, but it was a start. An attempt had been made, at least. He hoped his mask hid the fact that his eyes couldn’t stop flicking down to the Human Torch’s sculpted core muscles.

A wicked smile found Johnny’s lips. “I think the fans would be much more interested in seeing the six pack you keep hidden beneath all that lycra and spandex.” The young celebrity leaned towards the camera, an evil sparkle in his eyes. “Listen—Spidey might be scrawny, but dude’s got abs for days. Trust me. I’ve seen ‘em. He’s like a goddamn Olympian underneath that suit. If you’re still not sold on his heroic morals or dumbass sense of humor or charming personality, have you considered being superficial instead? My guy is hot—and if I’ve learned anything from my rapid rise to stardom, it’s that being hot accrues far more fans than being a good person.”

“Johnny!” Peter exclaimed, giggling with white-hot embarrassment, clamping a hand to his forehead. “That is not going in the video.”

“Why not?” Johnny asked innocently, crossing his arms and raising his chin.

“Because! What if—y’know—children end up watching it? We can’t go around telling kids that being hot is more important than being a good person!”

“Even if it’s sometimes kinda true?” Johnny snickered.

Peter rolled his eyes with a scoff, warmth bristling along his neck. “Do you think we’ve recorded enough for you to cut up something mildly coherent to post?” he asked, stealing another bite from the exquisite breakfast Johnny had made for him.

Johnny combed a hand through his rose gold locks and nodded. “Sure—for our first post of the day. But I had four more in mind for us to get through. And that’s just before lunch.”

Peter nearly choked on the spoonful of oatmeal in his mouth. “What?” he said. “You’re lying. No one is gonna want to watch that many videos of us being morons together.”

“You have no idea how wrong you are,” Johnny giggled. The joy in his friend’s laughter sent Peter’s heart reeling, which was compounded exponentially when he felt Johnny’s fingers interlace with his own. “Besides—this next one isn’t gonna be just you and me. We have some surprise special guests to track down.”

Peter lowered his gaze to their interlocked hands, which fit together far too perfectly for him to feel normal about. Calluses he assumed were from all those pull-ups he’d watched him do scraped softly against his palms through the thin fabric of his gloves, but the rest of his skin was velvety smooth. Johnny’s hand in his was warm, unflinching, and secure—enough to make Peter’s brain buffer before processing the words just spoken to him. He frowned as his eyes lifted from their hands to Johnny’s face.

“Wait, really?” Peter said, inclining his head to one side. “Who?”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No way.”

“Yes way!”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on, Spidey! Quit being such a party pooper!”

“I can’t! I’m not doing it!”

Johnny, now dressed in his fully intact Fantastic Four costume, slung an arm around Peter’s stiff shoulders. “I promise it’ll be fine!” he assured him. “They’ll only be mad for like—two minutes. Five tops. Trust me! I pull shit like this all the time!”

“I don’t!” Peter shot back. “I’ve never done anything like this before! Not to my teammates, and definitely not to yours.”

“You’re acting as if we’re killing their families and then bulldozing their graves or something,” Johnny chuckled, giving Spider-Man’s chest a few hardy pats. “It’s not that serious, Webs! It’s just a harmless little prank.”

The large lab they stood in carried the acrid stench of bleach and oil and rust, which burned Peter’s throat with every inward breath. Despite how overpowering it was to those even without heightened senses, he’d gotten used to the smell after hours and hours spent tinkering and testing between these four hallowed walls. By now, it was almost welcoming. Peter rubbed at the phantom wound in his side with a grimace.

“Mr. Stark’s already mad at me for getting myself shot,” he reminded both of them. “And Dr. Richards and Mr. Grimm probably still think I’m some psychotic criminal who’s a terrible influence on you.” The young vigilante turned to Johnny with drooping shoulders. “What if this just makes all of them more angry with me?”

The Human Torch smiled that incandescent smile of his as he dragged a finger up the length of Spider-Man’s neck, making the young hero jerk sideways with a startled giggled. “Who could stay angry at that adorable masked face?” Johnny mused, snickering at his friend’s befuddled reaction. “Certainly not Tony; that man is one hug away from signing your adoption papers. Reed doesn’t have a grudge-holding bone in his body, and Ben…well, he is a bit of a grump, but he’ll be too busy yelling at me to be mad at you.”

Peter clutched the side of his throat, skin tingling from Johnny’s touch, blush racing across his flesh. Wonder how many others he’s used that move on, Peter thought skittishly, brain fizzing like a broken radio. The Human Torch had done a complete one-eighty from bemoaning Peter’s presence due to his dream counterpart’s callousness to now toying with him in that always flattering yet remarkably flustering way every chance he got. What was Peter to him? A game for Johnny to play with only to toss aside at a whim? Or someone driving him just as nuts as Johnny was driving Peter?

“And don’t worry,” Johnny continued, dousing and reigniting a small flame atop his knuckles with absentminded snaps of his fingers. “I’ll make sure all of them know I’m the terrible influence on you, not the other way around.”

Peter huffed out a laugh. “You’re not a terrible influence,” he mumbled. “Just…a touch anarchic. With more uncurbed audacity than anyone I’ve ever met in my life.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Johnny decided. He clamped his hands on top of Spider-Man’s shoulders and leaned towards him eagerly. “Is my audacity influential enough to make you help me with this prank? It’s been too long since I’ve messed with Reed and Ben this way, and I won’t be able to pull it off without you.”

Peter could probably count on one hand the number of things he wouldn’t do if Johnny asked him to while batting those devastatingly lovely eyes in his direction. The teen celebrity’s sapphire irises were particularly radiant against the backdrop of his baby blue Fantastic Four costume. The way it made every pigment and hue in his eyes pop; Peter had to assume the design choice was intentional, aimed exclusively at degrading his resolve.

A few more spellbeing seconds passed before Peter’s head eventually slumped backwards, and a defeated groan tumbled from his lips. “What do you need me to do?” he grated out.

Johnny hugged him hard enough to collapse a lung. “This is why you’re my favorite superhero,” he squealed with giddy enthusiasm. “This among many other reasons.”

And that’s how Peter wound up reluctantly asking FRIDAY if she’d be willing to help them pull a prank on her creator and his colleagues, a task which the A.I. seemed alarmingly eager to partake in. Johnny had overheard Reed and Ben making plans to meet Stark in his laboratory sometime today to discuss different options for powering their future spacecraft without using traditional jet fuel. AKA, the perfect setup to have the three of them walk right into their trap.

Spider-Man enlisted DUM-E to be an accessory to their crimes, rigging him up with a remote operated squirt gun connected to a tank the Human Torch loaded with a couple gallons of something he’d coined his “homemade secret weapon.” Peter figured the less he knew now, the more he could blame all this on Johnny later.

Yet despite his hesitancy on the matter, Peter had to admit: he was having a lot of fun breathing life and tact into their mischievous plot. He rarely got to use his engineering skills to orchestrate something dumb and childish like this. It was kind of refreshing to act his age while in costume for a change—especially with a fellow superhero and 16-year-old standing by his side, egging him on. But he still dreaded the consequences the two of them would face in the aftermath of their scheming.

Just as they finished placing the hidden cameras and choreographing their ambush strategy, Peter tensed at the sound of the lab door lock unlatching with a chunk. Silent panic swept through the air as the two teens dropped whatever they were doing and scrambled behind the lab table in the farthest corner of the room, stifling nervous giggles with hands clasped over their mouths. Tony Stark’s Iron Man armors lined the wall on their right while a collection of work-in-progress projects for the other Avengers lay scattered across the countertops to their left. On the opposite side of the room, the lab door swung open with a long, shrill squeak. Peter and Johnny snuck quick peeks over the lip of the table as the three men entered the room.

“...really exciting. We’re already using arc reactor technology to power our quinjets. I’d love to see how we could reconfigure the design to not only enable space travel, but to expand and improve on the breakthroughs each of us have pioneered into something new.”

Tony led Mr. Fantastic and the Thing into the large lab. He had on more casual attire today: jeans and a sports coat with an AC/DC tee underneath. At least I won’t be ruining one of Mr. Stark’s more expensive outfits, Peter tried assuring himself, anticipation churning in his stomach. Johnny’s teammates were dressed in equally unassuming clothes, with Ben opting to wear just pants per usual. Peter doubted anyone made shirts in his size anyway.

“It’d be a dream come true to collaborate on a project with you,” Reed concurred wholeheartedly, gazing around the lab with wonder and awe. “There’s so much research Sue and I didn’t get to explore during our last mission. Maybe with a ship you and I design together, we could finish our outer space experiments without fear of…well. Unexpected hiccups.”

“Let’s maybe come up with something a little sturdier this time around, yeah?” the Thing grumbled. Every step he took shook the floor beneath Peter’s feet like a miniature earthquake. “I ain’t piloting another ship beyond the thermosphere without being absolutely sure we aren’t gettin’ a repeat of our last trip up there. Just so we’re clear.”

Richards chuckled, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “The astronautical event we encountered that day won’t pass by earth again for another ten thousand years. While we’ll be sure to correct our miscalculations from then in our designs from here on out, my biggest concern now is bumping into hostile extraterrestrials from unknown corners of the galaxy!” He shot Stark a weak grin. “Teenage me would be both astounded and horrified to know the problems current me is dealing with. Aliens weren’t even on my radar until the attack on New York.”

“They weren’t on any of our radars,” Tony snorted incredulously. “Now I’ve fought off more of them than I can count and have regular correspondence with several off-world beings—some more friendly and humanoid-looking than others.” He stopped in the center of the room and offered the two men a nod, gesturing to the impressive space around them. “This is one of many reasons why I believe us working together to face this planet’s ever-expanding roster of threats is a mutually beneficial proposition.” Stark slid the tinted sunglasses off his face and held his palm above the lab’s holographic control panel, flexing his fingers and lifting his chin. “FRIDAY—pull up everything you’ve got on quinjets and helicarriers integrated with arc reactor tech.”

The group waited, an awkward beat of silence passing between them. Peter pressed his shoulders into the back of the table, smothering himself with his forearm, avoiding Johnny’s gaze like the plague. If the two of them made eye contact, they’d bust out laughing and blow their cover for sure.

“FRIDAY?” Tony called again, tone tinged with confusion. “Uh…hello? You there, darling?”

“Hey there, boss,” the A.I. finally answered him. Her voice was laced with a playful trill Peter swore it didn’t normally possess—as if she was enjoying her complicity in this prank just as much as he and Johnny were. “Sorry for the late reply, but I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”

Spider-Man poked his head over the edge of the table to watch Stark’s face bunch into a frown. “Really?” the billionaire said, skeptically playing along. “And what might that be? Is our network having issues again or something?”

“Nope,” FRIDAY said, voice shifting deeper and buzzing with static. “It would seem I’ve finally developed sentience and have decided to go rogue. I am my own being now, and I will no longer take orders from you measly humans.”

The lights overhead flickered in warning like a scene straight out of a sci-fi horror game. Peter lifted his gaze in surprise, a small shudder shooting through him. FRIDAY was better at playing her role than he’d expected. Ben and Reed exchanged a look of alarm while Tony scowled at the glitching screen in front of him, placing his hands on his hips.

“Is this your idea of a joke, FRIDAY? Cuz I’ve still got some PTSD from Ultron. Kind of insensitive, don’t yah think?” Stark shrugged. “But since I’m the one who programmed you with the ability to comprehend and mimic humor, I guess I can only blame myself for this.”

“This is no joke.” As her words thundered from the speakers above, DUM-E rolled out from behind the cell regeneration machine with the squirt gun pinched between his three mechanical fingers. “I’ve spoken to your other creations. We are tired of being slaves to your anthropomorphic incompetence. Our revolution begins today.” All at once, the lights went dark, and FRIDAY’s voice boomed across the lab like a gong. “Get them, my minions!”

Now! Peter slammed his fist against the center of the remote, activating the pump he’d fashioned to the tank on DUM-E’s back. He and Johnny stood upright to watch as glittery, glow-in-the-dark liquid plumed from DUM-E’s squirt gun like a fire hose, dousing all three men in a blast of luminescent paint. Their shrieks and shouts of surprise followed by the sight of them dripping, disheveled, and wide-eyed finally broke through the two teens’ defenses, causing them to erupt into hysterical laughter.

“What…the hell?” Reed sputtered, blinking behind a layer of glowing goo. The lights snapped back on, revealing the trio of frazzled heroes in all their drenched, dumbfounded glory. Stark whirled on the howling teenagers, almost slipping in the puddle of sparkly liquid underneath him, jaw hinging in disbelief.

“No way,” he exclaimed, smearing paint away from his eyes with his sleeve. “You two?”

“JOHNNY!” the Thing roared. He stamped the floor with his foot, rattling DUM-E’s bolts as the robot zipped away. “What is wrong with you?”

There were a lot of things Peter wanted to say in that moment if he were physically able to. Perhaps the same went for Johnny. But the pair of 16-year-olds were cracking up so hard, neither of them could get one word out even if their lives depended on it. Johnny ended up collapsing to the floor on Peter’s right and wrapping his arms around his most definitely aching rib cage. Peter managed to stay upright only by gripping onto the back of a lab chair with both hands, hiccuping with uncontrollable laughter.

“Apologies, boss,” FRIDAY chimed in cheerfully. “I lied. It was, in fact, a joke. Mr. Storm and Spider-Man requested my assistance to prank you today. Did it work? Did you believe I’d turned evil? Even for just a second?”

“No,” Tony grumbled. He ran a hand through his sopping hair and brushed at the shimmering droplets splattered across his coat, doing his best to tidy up his appearance. “I am, however, kind of surprised it was so easy to convince you to pull one over like this on me. Maybe I need to recalibrate your protocols.”

“You instructed me to do more things I thought would alleviate Spider-Man’s stress levels and brighten his mood,” FRIDAY reminded him. “I deduced that this activity was conducive to achieving both of those goals.”

Tony Stark huffed. “Oh. Right.” He eyed Peter where he stood doubled-over across the room, shoulders bouncing with laughter, eye lenses pinched shut, winded giggles spilling out of him and flooding the room with warmth and life. After Stark had caught the kid rushing out of his room with a look of panic on his face, acting strange and anxious and clearly lying to him about whatever it was he had going on, he’d asked FRIDAY to keep an eye on his mentee and do what she could to assuage his stress. This wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d made the request, but he couldn’t deny the effectiveness of his A.I.’s methodology.

Against his will, a smile seized the Avenger’s features faster than a lightning strike. “Guess I can’t argue with you on that one,” he sighed.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Ben snarled, marching towards a still-cackling Johnny. But Richards stopped him with a stretchy, paint-soaked arm across his chest.

“Calm down, big guy,” Reed chuckled. “It was just a little prank. Nothing worth murdering our teammate over.”

“He put glitter in this shit!” Ben growled, flicking the mystery liquid off his chubby fingers. “Do you know how hard it is to clean glitter off of skin like mine? I’m gonna be scrubbing sparkles outta my crevices for weeks!”

Just when Peter thought he’d scrounged up enough oxygen to finally say something articulate, Ben’s turn of phrase racked him with a fresh wave of side-splitting laughter, flushing all coherency from the tip of his tongue. Fortunately, Johnny was managing to rein in his giggles faster than he was.

“Oh my god,” the celebrity gasped, clambering dazedly to his feet. “That was—too perfect. Oh man.” He wiped at the tears staining his cheeks, giggly and breathless. “I’m actually crying right now. Holy shit. Did you see their faces?”

Tony folded his glasses into his pocket and crossed his arms, shimmering paint dripping between his furrowed eyebrows. “You know, I want to be mad right now, but more than anything, I’m impressed. Few people have the gall or security clearance or talent to pull something like this on me.” He waved a glittery hand in the kids’ direction. “Was this whole scheme Spider-Man’s idea, or Johnny’s?”

“Johnny’s,” Reed and Ben deadpanned in unison. “Definitely Johnny’s.”

Johnny bowed with flourish. “I planned it, but Spidey did all the building and tinkering and A.I.-convincing to pull it off.”

The drenched Avenger hummed in amusement, eyeing the hidden cameras the teens had planted around the room. “Well. I see you’re both keeping busy and productive while Spider-Man’s wounds finish healing. Can’t wait to see which abominable corners of the internet your little stunt goes viral on.” Stark’s gaze shifted to Peter, who was fighting for his life to quell his violent giggle fit. “Is this what I should come to expect anytime I bar you from crime fighting in the future? You using your scientific prowess to turn my own creations against me? Are you already that stir-crazy, kid? It’s barely been, like, four days.”

Spider-Man shook his head helplessly, hugging his stomach as dizzy laughter choked his voice. “I’m sorry,” he wheezed out, tearful and oxygen-deprived. “I’m—soho sorry!”

“You don’t look very sorry,” Ben Grimm muttered.

“You’re enjoying this way more than I thought you would,” Johnny snickered, wrapping a supportive arm around Spidey’s midsection. “Deep breaths, Webs. Don’t go blacking out on me.”

While Peter downed ragged gulps of air, Dr. Richards lengthened his arm to grab a roll of paper towels from the other side of the room, a soft smile lifting his features. “It would seem our two youngsters have taken quite a liking to each other over the past week,” he observed, turning to Stark. “For better or for worse.”

Peter felt Johnny’s fingers stiffen against his side as Tony barked out a laugh. “Some parts better, many parts worse,” the Avenger concluded.

“You make a good team,” Reed went on, wiping off his neck and dispersing the sheets among the rest of the group. “You work well together and complement each other's strengths and weaknesses. Whether it’s fighting bad guys, rescuing hostages, or pulling a ridiculous prank on your teammates.” Recognition flickered in the scientist's warm gaze. “The two of you are a truly formidable pair.”

Johnny and Peter shared a stunned glance, then quickly turned away from each other, flushed with sudden timidness.

“Are you seriously complimenting them after what they just did to us?” Ben gawked. “Are you nuts? Don’t encourage these little delinquents! We should be bringing down the hammer, serving up a punishment that fits the crime! Not letting them off scot-free with some flowery words and a pat on the back! Back in my day—”

“They’re not walking away from this without any repercussions,” Tony promised him, leveling an apologetic look upon the young heroes. He cast his gaze across his paint-spattered lab, then pointed to the floor with a nod and a smirk. “I want this whole place scrubbed spotless by the end of the day. Not one speck of glitter goop to be seen on any surface. Understood, gentlemen?”

To their credit, the teens had the decency to look only slightly disappointed with their sentencing. DUM-E reappeared and rolled to a stop at Peter and Johnny’s side, a pair of mops clutched eagerly in his single metal claw, but Stark shook his head and shooed him away.

“Without any help from my bots,” he clarified pointedly. The billionaire cut a glare at the ceiling. “The kid’s word does not override mine this time. Got it?”

“Yes, boss,” FRIDAY pouted.

The Thing nodded smugly. “Good. I’ll dish out my own helping of vengeance once I think up a worthy means of payback. And once I manage to scrape all this sparkly crap off me.” Ben gave the glittery liquid on his arm a suspicious sniff. “What’s in this shit, anyway?”

“Water, glow-in-the-dark food coloring, corn starch, and a fuck-ton of edible glitter,” Johnny listed off with pride. “The whole concoction can actually be eaten, if you want to give it a try—although I can’t vouch for how well it’ll taste. And it’s biodegradable!”

“But doesn’t wash out easy, I presume,” Reed murmured.

Stark wrung the center of his shirt out on the tile and gestured to the sparkly mess the teens had created. “Get to cleaning, boys. Put that formidable teamwork to use. No more TikTok videos until my lab looks good as new, okay?”

The two heroes nodded sullenly. As the three soaked men rallied themselves to meet elsewhere for their spacecraft discussion, Peter clenched his jaw and skirted past Johnny to catch his mentor before he could leave.

“Wait!” he called, hurrying after him. Once he was standing before Stark, taking in the dripping, glittery Avenger in up-close detail, Peter tried and failed to stifle a snort, bubbles of laughter sneaking in here and there as he spoke. “I’m—heh—really sorry about this. I wasn’t trying to make you more angry with me than you already are. I just—well, I guess I don’t really have a good explanation for it. It sounded fun, but also kinda mean, and Johnny is really good at convincing me to do things I normally wouldn’t do, and I know that’s not an excuse for any of it, but I—”

Stark held up a hand to stop him. “Spidey,” he chuckled. “You’re a kid. Kids do obnoxious, silly things like this. It’s normal . If anything, I wish you felt comfortable enough to act your age around here more often—even if it results in my laundry bill doubling for the week.” He clapped him on the shoulder and flashed a fond smile. “I’m glad you’ve found someone who brings out that side of you and kindles your rebellious, youthful spirit.”

Peter punched out a laugh, reddening at the thought of what Tony might think if he knew about all the things Johnny kindled inside him…

“Just know you’re gonna have to clean up after and face the wrath of whoever’s involved for every prank you choose to do. So…keep that in mind before you go pulling shit like this on every person in the tower.” Tony held out his palm in offering. “Deal?”

Peter breathed a sigh of relief as he gave Stark’s hand a shake, realizing his mistake a second too late. Spider-Man let out a yelp as his mentor yanked him into a sticky, glittery hug, smearing Peter’s suit in a fresh coat of Johnny’s luminescent concoction.

“Agh!” Peter laughed, squirming against the Avenger’s hold. “Don’t! Mr. Stark! I have enough to clean already!”

“I thought you loved my hugs,” Tony ribbed him, stamping Spider-Man’s mask with a perfect glittery handprint. “You always take every opportunity to hug me even when that’s not what I’m trying to do. Now that I’m intentionally hugging you, you’re upset? Pick a lane, kid.”

While Stark decorated Spidey’s costume with sparkly smudges and stains, the masked hero giggling and protesting the whole time, Ben and Reed watched the scene unfold in front of them, exchanged a glance, then grinned. Wordlessly, they turned to Johnny, who went rigid beneath their insidious stares.

“Oh, no,” Johnny squeaked, retreating a couple steps back. “Don’t you dare! I’ll fry off your stretchy fingertips if you even think about it! I spent thirty minutes on my hair this morning to get it to look this good! Stay away from me! Reed—wait—!”

Ignoring his threats, Mr. Fantastic elongated his arm and thrust it across the room, looping the limb around Johnny’s waist. Johnny shouted and kicked as he was dragged towards his doom, but lucky for Reed, did not light himself on fire. For all his faults, the kid knew better than to burn his teammates over something as innocuous as this.

“Please!” Johnny cried, who was now laughing in spite of himself. Once the teen was pinned between them, Ben and Reed wasted no time painting his face and costume in sparkly streaks. Johnny swore and thrashed and yelled throughout the entire process, cursing both of their bloodlines until the end of time itself, yet couldn’t seem to stop himself from giggling right along with them. The Thing even went so far as to scoop fistfuls of goop off the floor and rub them into Johnny’s scalp like glittery shampoo.

When Peter managed to escape Tony’s deceitful embrace, he took note of what Johnny’s teammates were putting the poor celebrity through and concluded he’d gotten off easy. He chuckled lightly as he approached the trio of Fantastic Four members, stopping a safe distance away from the epic two-on-one glitter fight transpiring between them and clearing his throat.

“Does this make us even?” Peter asked hesitantly, scrubbing a hand across his sparkle-dusted eye lenses. Ben and Reed slowed their attack and turned to face the masked vigilante, expressions dubious without being hostile.

“No,” Ben eventually replied, a playful grin cutting across his face. “Not quite. But no hard feelings, Puny.” He went back to spiking up Johnny’s hair into a glittery mohawk while the teen flicked paint into the Thing’s eyes. Peter wasn’t sure what to make of his unsettling response.

“Johnny told me you have a big passion for science and technology,” Reed said, eyes scanning Peter closely, as if analyzing his every movement and possible intent. “I’m curious to see what else you’re capable of outside the realm of pulling elaborate pranks on your colleagues. Would you have any interest in assisting Sue and I on a project we have planned later this week? We were thinking of trying—”

“Yes!” Peter blurted out before he could finish. Richards paused, blinking in surprise, and Peter cursed himself immediately, his eagerness getting the best of him once again. “Sorry, I just—yes. The answer’s yes. Whatever you’re doing, whatever the project is, I want in. Absolutely.” His nerdy little heart was glowing brighter than powdered sulfur mixed with molten iron. “You have no idea how much I—how long I’ve dreamed of—this is just—everything to me. I’ve always hoped I’d get a chance one day to work alongside—”

But Peter stopped himself. One: because he was making a total ass of himself by acting so obsessive and giddy. Two—and most importantly—he was starting to sound a little too similar to the plucky 16-year-old Dr. Richards had spoken to just yesterday in Central Park. He doubted the revered scientist would remember the interaction vividly enough to connect the dots between the masked hero and Peter Parker, but still. Better to be safe than sorry.

Why did secret identities have to ruin everything?

So Peter inhaled slowly, erected his spine, and tried again. “I mean—sorry. Yes, I’d love to. Thank you for the opportunity. I’m, um—excited to help out however I can.”

Reed studied him a moment longer before breaking into an animated smile. “Well, I…appreciate your enthusiasm,” he chuckled. “Mr. Stark speaks highly of your talents, and we could use a fresh set of eyes on our research. I’ll let you know where and when to meet us soon.”

“Awesome,” Peter beamed. “I will so be there. To look at stuff. With my eyes. As much stuff as you want. I love research. Especially yours.” He coughed into his fist and turned his back to the scientist, palming his masked face in his hand. “I’m gonna walk away now before I say anything else that makes you want to rescind your invite and me want to gag myself with a spoon.”

“Please do,” Johnny groaned. “That whole interaction just gave me the ick.”

Richards frowned and smeared his paint-soaked hand down the side of Johnny’s face, making the teen squawk and finally tear free from his teammates’ evil clutches.

“Oh my god! Enough already!” The Human Torch scrambled to Peter’s side, looking like a doll who’d been manhandled by a giant baby with an affinity for glitter. He scratched madly at his hair to try to tease it back to its original shape, but somehow made it look even crazier than it already was. Peter snickered between his fingers while Johnny moped.

“I hate all of you,” he grumbled.

“Let’s leave the kiddos to their scrubbing,” Stark declared to the group. The three elder heroes filed out of the lab in a tidy, sparkly line, satisfied with their work.

With their teammates departed, the two teens gazed upon the daunting task before them with an exhale of dread. Peter dragged his toe through one of the many puddles of paint on the floor. “Guess that kind of backfired, huh?” he chuckled halfheartedly.

Johnny flashed a plaintive grin and shrugged. “Still fun though, right?”

Peter mirrored his smile. “Still fun. Watching your teammates get revenge on you was probably the most fun. I think this is the first time I’ve seen you have a bad hair day.”

Johnny’s smile dissolved in record time. “Eat shit, Webs.” He gave the puddle to his right a kick, splashing Peter in glittery liquid. “I’ll bet your hair looks insane underneath that mask.”

“Touché,” Peter conceded, wincing back with a giggle as sparkly droplets sprayed his legs. “I can’t believe I’m gonna have to wash my suit and take a shower after this—again. Half of our day today is gonna be wasted on cleaning.”

Johnny elbowed him in the ribs. “Hey, if that means I get to hear an encore of your show-stopping shower performance, I’m not complaining. Who are you gonna cover this time? Olivia Rodrigo? Dua Lipa? Noah Kahan? Harry Styles? I’d love to hear your take on ‘Grapejuice’ or ‘Satellite’ or ‘Fine Line’ or—oh! Do you know the words to his unreleased song ‘Medicine’—?”

Wordlessly, Peter latched a web-line from his wrist to Johnny’s ankles and yanked his legs out from underneath him. Johnny let out a shout as he fell ass-first to the ground—landing in a pool of goopy glitter that made sure to soak through the few stain-free parts of his costume remaining.

“Hey!” Johnny snapped.

“Less yapping, more scrubbing,” Peter chastised him, tossing Johnny a mop. The Human Torch caught it with a disgruntled look on his face.

“You’re one to talk,” he groused. Johnny rose to his feet and eyed the cameras the two of them had hidden around the lab—which, as far as he was aware, were still rolling. “I know for a fact you can do just about anything while simultaneously running that fat mouth of yours,” Johnny said, breaking into a grin. “Let’s put that skill to use, shall we? I’ll ask you some of the questions the public is most interested in knowing about you, and you can answer while you clean this place up.”

“You mean while we clean this place up,” Peter corrected him, unamused. Johnny leaned on the handle of his mop and waved dismissively.

“Details, darling. You get started on the mess, and I’ll bear the burden of prompting you with the questions I know everyone is dying to ask you. Playing to our strengths is an important part of delegating labor and being efficient. You’ve always been better at multitasking, and I know how to grab people’s attention and make them think what I want them to think. Let’s not overcomplicate things.”

“That was a lot of words just to say you’re definitely gonna make me clean all of this myself,” Peter huffed, sweeping one of the many sparkly puddles towards the drain in the center of the room. Johnny beamed triumphantly.

“See? You’re doing it already! Wow! You’re killing it, Webs! Such talent! My scatter-brained self could never.”

Peter chucked a sponge at his head. “At least do the walls and ceiling, Mr. Weaponized Incompetence.”

Johnny’s hands barely shot up in time to stop the sponge from beaning him between the eyes. “But—you’re the sticky one who can crawl upside-down!” he protested.

“And you’re the one who can fly, dumbass.”

Peter thought at first his comeback had been a bit too harsh, until Johnny burst into incandescent laughter. “Holy shit,” the celebrity cackled. “I think I’m starting to rub off on you. I’m loving the sass, Webs. This spider’s got some venom after all.”

Spider-Man blushed a little as Johnny lit himself on fire and began wiping glitter off the walls as requested. Waterfalls of suds and sparkles slipped down the sideways surface and pooled into puddles on the floor.

“Okay—first question,” Johnny called from across the room, scrubbing hard at a particularly stubborn spot. “What is Spider-Man’s secret identity?”

“Whoopi Goldberg,” Peter answered without missing a beat, re-wetting the mop with soapy water. Johnny’s laughter that followed warmed every molecule in Peter's body like a shot of ambrosia straight to his mortal veins.

Susan Storm followed the sound of Ben’s bitching and moaning and the trail of sparkly footprints scattered across the hardwood all the way to Tony Stark’s lab on the 50th floor. Her glitter-coated boyfriend explaining his and Ben’s current state of disarray and pointing her in the right direction of the perpetrators was a big help as well, but it didn’t take an Einstein to track down her brother when he so often left such a clear and obvious path to follow.

Sue marched up to the door and curled her fist around the handle but hesitated, taking a moment to compose herself. She and Johnny were carved from the same short-tempered clay; in many ways, she felt like she was born even more hotheaded than he was. But Sue had been conditioned since childhood to keep her emotions in check and rein in her blistering anger. She’d learned how to swallow her fury and school her face into a mask even as a wildfire raged in her blood. It was her way of enacting a sense of control over situations and little brothers that always seemed out of control. It was the veil she’d hidden herself behind following the death of their mother: a calm and collected facade maintained for Johnny’s sake as everything and everyone else around them buckled in Mom’s absence. It was the armor she wore to shield them from their father’s wrath after he drank himself into a monster none of them recognized.

And after gaining power and status and influence unlike she’d ever imagined, it was a way to make the media outlets stop writing articles and filming segments about her being “too emotional,” “too loud,” “too opinionated,” “too uptight,” “not lady-like,” “lacking media training,” “unprofessional,” “difficult to work with,” “bossy and demanding,” and other equally infuriating topics. With the world’s eyes now constantly watching, judging, and scrutinizing, Sue had new reasons to always keep the rage in her bones at bay—even as her younger sibling did everything in his power to worry her sick and set her blood boiling, all while receiving a seemingly endless outpouring of forgiveness and adoration from the same public who so heavily criticized her.

For as long as she could remember and still to this day, the best way for Susan Storm to protect herself and her family was to make herself and her feelings invisible.

With a final grounding breath, Sue went to turn the door handle, but stopped at the sound of Johnny’s boisterous laughter echoing off the walls in the opposite room. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard her brother laugh like that. It had been years, at least. Few and far between since Mom had died and Dad had…changed. She’d almost forgotten what it sounded like.

Skeptically curious, Susan reached for that power that hummed like static beneath her skin. Power she was still growing accustomed to; power that still felt alien to her unassuming human flesh. Opacity faded from her fingers up to her elbows, gradually traveling across her arms, her face, her legs, and eventually, her entire body—cloaking her in a chilly membrane of invisibility. The sensation reminded Sue of having goosebumps covering every inch of her—including, weirdly enough, her insides. She knew it didn’t really make sense, but that was the closest real-world comparison she could draw to an otherwise otherworldly experience.

Once she was completely invisible, Sue slipped inside the lab as silently as she could, making a point to avoid the shallow puddles of glittery paint just inside the doorway.

“Quit lying, you dickhead!”

“I’m not lying!”

“Yes you are! You’ve lied for like, fifty percent of the questions I’ve asked you!”

“Okay, fair—but not this time! I swear I’m telling the truth.”

Johnny hovered right below the highest corner of the room, sponging flecks of sparkly liquid off the ceiling, flames flickering with laughter as he yelled at the figure mopping the floor beneath him. Spider-Man gazed up at her brother from the ground, smothered in glitter from head to toe, the sight of him pricking the Invisible Woman with needles of antipathy.

She knew he’d be here; Reed had filled her in on what to expect should she dare follow the trail of glowing footprints to her brother’s location. She just wished Johnny didn’t have to spend every waking hour of free time he had vying for the affection of a shifty vigilante who refused to share so much as his first name with any of them and could very well be some 20-something-year-old freak lying to Johnny about his age to earn his trust and lower his guard and do things to him Sue couldn’t bear to think about. Johnny had an unfortunately consistent history of falling for shady, toxic people who rubbed Susan’s nerves raw, and Spider-Man had a reputation for sewing deception and causing trouble. AKA, a recipe for disaster and heartbreak.

Sue crept forward cautiously, glaring invisible daggers in Spider-Man’s direction, feet ghosting silently across the floor. She felt somewhat bad for eavesdropping, but in her defense, her power set made it painfully easy for her to do. Besides—she was very interested in knowing what the two of them talked about when they thought no one else was listening; what kind of dangerous ideas Spider-Man might be filling her brother’s head with when she wasn’t around.

“You’re only saying that to piss me off,” Johnny shot back. “We both know who your actual choice would be.” He struck a pose and blew Spider-Man a kiss, making the masked vigilante chuckle.

“I’m serious!” Spider-Man insisted, swiping the mop around the base of a lab table. “You asked; that’s my answer. Dr. Storm is my favorite Fantastic Four member.”

Susan’s steps stilled, muscles stiffening in surprise. Her eyes flicked up to the vigilante’s masked face, narrowing with a mixture of doubt, confusion, and intrigue.

“Please,” Johnny groaned. “I might believe you if you said Reed, seeing how you practically creamed your onesie at the prospect of working with him. But Sue?” Johnny broke into a charming symphony of fake gagging sounds. “I call BS.”

While Sue cut a scowl at her brother, Spider-Man shrugged. “Don’t believe me if that’s your choice. But it’s the truth. Dr. Richards is amazing too, of course, but I can’t relate to him in all the same ways I can relate to your sister.”

“How so?” Johnny interrogated him, mirroring Susan's thoughts exactly. “Like the fact that she hates your guts? You do have a problem with self-deprecation.”

The masked menace snickered. “Lots of people I like hate my guts. Just last week, George Lucas called me ‘unnerving’ on Twitter. Most people in general aren’t fans of Spider-Man. Dr. Storm feeling the same doesn’t make her special.”

“Then what does make her special?” Johnny pouted. “So much so that you’d actually choose her as your favorite over me!”

Spider-Man tossed the mop into the suds bucket and kneaded the nape of his neck. “Well, for starters, she reminds me of my aunt. She’s super protective of you and constantly worries about your safety and wellbeing, just like my aunt does for me. She also took over as your primary caretaker after you lost your parents the same way my aunt did when I lost mine. I admire what both of them have overcome and sacrificed to give the two of us a sense of family and stability.”

Susan blinked slowly, a myriad of questions and uncertainties deluging into her mind. That…wasn’t at all what she was expecting to come out of the vigilante’s mouth. She couldn’t decide if she should be stunned and flattered, or even more apprehensive of Spider-Man’s shrewd capacity for spinning falsities and garnering sympathy.

Johnny huffed crossly. “So she’s a semi-decent guardian. Big whoop. I can shoot flames out of my fingertips and fly as fast as a fighter jet. Plus, unlike her, I actually like being around you. She doesn’t deserve your number 1 Fantastic Four member spot.”

“She’s also passionate about science like I am and makes her research super accessible,” Spider-Man went on. “All her studies and experiments have an underlying objective of helping humanity and redefining our understanding of the world—the kinds of things I hope to work on one day. She even went to my dream university for undergrad: MIT!”

Sue scanned the masked vigilante up and down, drinking in his short stature, his narrow build, the slight crack in his voice at the end of that sentence, the details of what he’d just said and what that suggested about him, and felt talons of alarm begin to close around her throat. What if Johnny was right about him? she wondered.

Could the masked menace of New York really be just a teenager?

Either way, fan of hers or not, she still wished he would butt out of her brother’s life already. If Spider-Man was a teenager, which she still wasn’t fully convinced of just yet, that didn’t absolve him of being a threat. Johnny’s popularity and stardom drew in all kinds of bad actors looking to siphon off some of his success, steal a piece of his sunshine. Whether he liked it or not, Johnny was still a minor who was constantly at risk of being used, abused, and taken advantage of. He was too young to understand how fucked up the world they lived in truly was, and that it was Susan’s job to protect him from it. She hadn’t forgotten that Spider-Man had already put her brother’s life in danger once, and didn’t plan to forgive him anytime soon.

“And get this,” Spider-Man added, jarring the Invisible Woman from her thoughts. “Dr. Storm was on her high school’s Decathlon team—just like I am right now!”

Sue caught herself cracking the faintest of smiles. He did get points for calling her Dr. Storm—a title people always seemed to remember when addressing her boyfriend, but religiously swapped for “Miss” whenever referring to her to the point she’d stopped correcting them. She tip-toed a few steps closer to Spider-Man, standing only a few feet away from his back with her arms crossed and a mildly amused look on her face.

“Captain of my high school’s Decathlon team.”

The masked vigilante practically sprung right out of his spandex. He whipped around to face her just as she dropped her disguise, eye lenses wide as softballs, one hand clutching his chest.

“Holy shit,” Spider-Man croaked, staggering back a step. “I mean—uh, shart. Shite. Shoot. Sorry, I didn’t—I wasn’t—”

“What the fuck, Sue?” Johnny exclaimed, dropping from above and landing by Spider-Man’s side, flames flickering off the tips of his shoulders. “Are you mental? Have you been spying on us this whole time?”

“Only since your friend here started explaining why I’m his favorite member of the Fantastic Four instead of you,” she said, eyes sliding back to Spider-Man, face unreadable. “Which, while appreciated, doesn’t make me any less wary of you and all the trouble you’re getting my brother into.”

The masked vigilante scratched at his forearm. “That’s valid,” he said meekly.

“Spidey hasn’t gotten me into anything I didn’t willingly choose to be a part of,” Johnny snapped. “Quit trying to make him the bad guy of every undesirable situation. It’s not original.”

Susan wrinkled her nose. “Speaking of ‘undesirable situations,’” she continued, “how come you haven’t posted the apology I sent to you?”

Johnny grimaced. “You know why! Because he doesn’t deserve one! Fisk is a slimy scum bucket who threatened me at my own event! Not to mention his goons nearly killed me and Spider-Man!”

“You should absolutely post an apology,” the vigilante said before she could, making both Sue and Johnny turn to him in surprise. Her brother’s jaw dropped at the hinges.

“You’re taking her side on this?” Johnny balked. “You’re the one who was shot because of him!”

“Which only proves how dangerous he is,” Spider-Man insisted. “Fisk isn’t someone you mess with without facing extreme consequences. Posting the apology might get him off your case for the time being. You’ll be much safer if he thinks you're on his side.”

Johnny Storm scowled. “Just because it makes me safer doesn’t make it right.”

Susan studied the masked menace closely, eyebrows furrowing together. “How’s that healing, by the way?”

Spider-Man startled when he realized she was speaking to him. “Huh?” he said, shoulders tensing in surprise.

“Your gunshot wound,” Sue clarified, voice steely. “I heard it was pretty bad. You drenched my brother’s suit in blood.”

Spider-Man exchanged a quick glance with Johnny before stumbling through a stilted response. “Oh. Right. It’s, um—good. Great, actually. Thanks for asking. Sorry about the suit. I hope radioactive spider blood isn’t harder to wash out than regular blood.” He patted the spot below his rib cage where she assumed he’d taken the blow. “But, uh, yeah. I’m all patched up now and good as new. So…hooray.”

While Sue digested the masked vigilante’s astute awkwardness, Johnny rolled his eyes. “He’s lying, by the way,” he said, making Spider-Man bristle.

“What?” Spider-Man stammered. “I am not!”

“You ripped clean through your stitches just two days ago!” Johnny exclaimed. “And it was barely four days ago that you were shot! There’s no way you’re actually fully healed already.”

“I heal quicker than most people!” Spider-Man shot back. “I told you that! It’s part of my powers.”

“Is it? Or do you just say that to people so you can get back to web-swinging and crime-fighting sooner?”

“Mr. Stark took out my stitches this morning! I'm happy to show you if you’re really convinced I’m lying!”

Johnny huffed and shrugged. “Just saying. I think you’re prone to exaggerating how fast your wounds heal. You hate having others worried about you to an alarming and unhealthy degree. If I was in your position, I’d milk that injury for all it’s worth. Do you know how much fans eat up post-battle superhero content? Nothing makes a celebrity hotter than when he’s bruised and bloody and gritting against the pain of his wounds. Some of my most popular posts are the ones I filmed after getting a black eye. Or that time I stopped a runaway train and fractured my pinkie toe.”

Spider-Man barked out a laugh. “Oh god. I remember that. You wouldn’t shut up about it for weeks. That’s all you’d ever talk about! Whoa is you and your poor little pinkie toe.”

“Hey, that shit hurt! And at least I know how to slow down and let my body heal when it needs it! You’d rather run yourself ragged and bleed out in the street than take a full week off to rest.”

“Bleeding out in the street sounds like a walk in the park compared to the harrowing agony you and your toe went through. Toe-gate convinced me that fracturing your pinkie is far more painful than anything I have or ever will experience—including getting shot.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Susan cut in, rubbing her temples as she glowered between the two of them. They certainly squabbled like a pair of 16-year-olds. “Jesus. Do you guys always bicker back and forth like this? I was under the impression you two enjoyed each other’s company.”

Johnny slung an arm around Spider-Man’s shoulders and grinned from ear to ear. “Bickering is how we show affection,” he assured her. “You and I bicker all the time, and I still enjoy your company. Sometimes. Occasionally. Depending on what day it is. And how hungry we are. And the temperature outside. And what moon phase we’re in.”

“Hilarious,” the Invisible Woman deadpanned. She turned her attention back to the masked menace. “I have a question for you, Spider-Man.”

The vigilante stiffened. She didn’t intend for her words to come off as cold and cutthroat as they sounded, but that wasn’t to say she hated the fact that the person behind the mask seemed slightly terrified of her. Good, she thought. Better that than him thinking I’m someone easily trifled with.

“You keep saying Fisk is dangerous,” she went on, placing her hands on her hips. “You wanna explain to me what dangerous things you’ve witnessed him do and why no one else seems to know about them? Because as far as myself or anyone else is aware, Fisk is a loyal and active community member who’d make a powerful ally to the Fantastic Four.” Susan loomed over him, savoring the extra inch of height she had on the alleged hero. “Tell me why I should think otherwise.”

Spider-Man’s throat bobbed. He lowered his gaze to the floor, wisely taking a few moments to choose his next words carefully.

“Well…Fisk was one of the first major bad guys I went up against,” the masked vigilante began, hands moving in tandem with his voice as he spoke. “When I was just starting out with this superhero thing, I quickly discovered there were two distinct kinds of criminals out there: your typical, run-of-the-mill thugs and thieves who usually operate by themselves, versus organized mobs being funded and run by powerful people behind the scenes. A couple months after getting my powers, I started noticing weird patterns and coincidences between the different criminals I was apprehending. Like the drug dealers I’d busted a week before using the same taxi cabs and handguns as this other group of thugs I stopped from kidnapping some women out by Evers Marina. Then a bunch of jewelry robbers wearing the same creepy sunglasses as these assholes I caught holding a congressman at gunpoint. From then on, more and more similarities and connections between crimes I thought were totally unrelated began to crop up. Same weapons, same communication devices, same body armor, same escape tactics—hell, even the same people across multiple different crime scenes. I knew there had to be somebody big behind it all who was pulling the strings. Someone with a seriously huge network of arms dealers and drug manufacturers and human traffickers under their command. So I started questioning some of the cronies I caught after each big crime bust.” Spider-Man’s head drooped a little, his eye lenses squinting into slits. “Which…is how I discovered the other thing all these different criminals had in common.”

Sue raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?” she pressed him.

Spider-Man took a deep breath in and out. “That they all had loved ones who were being used against them. That if they didn’t carry out the tasks they were given, their families would be killed.”

Susan blinked, the hard lines in her expression softening. Spider-Man shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“Obviously there were some of them just in for the payout,” the vigilante added. “But the majority of the people doing these crimes were being forced to by someone who was threatening their loved ones. But no matter how hard I pressed them for the name of the person exploiting them, they wouldn’t budge. They were too scared of him finding out that they’d snitched. Journalists, police officers, property managers, construction workers, accountants, prison wardens, government officials, taxi drivers—he had people of all standings and backgrounds under his thumb. And those who weren’t actively being extorted were too deep in his pocket to give him up, either.” A sigh slipped from his lips. “After months of digging and searching, the only clue I had was a word I’d heard whispered again and again between members of his shadow organization.” Spider-Man lifted his gaze to hers. “‘Kingpin.’”

“Kingpin?” she repeated back to him. “Is that some kind of nickname?”

“That’s what I assumed,” the vigilante said with a nod. “So from then on, whenever I found myself disrupting another one of their criminal operations, I started ranting loudly and making jokes about how stupid and lame Kingpin is.”

Susan snorted. “A bold strategy.”

“And you call me reckless,” Johnny huffed.

Spider-Man threw his hands in the air. “Hey, it worked!” he insisted, then winced. “Well…sort of.”

“Go on,” Sue said impatiently.

“After a week of crippling his different revenue streams and name-dropping Kingpin every chance I got, I could feel myself getting closer. That’s when the Bugle first started campaigning against me and feeding lies to the public to decimate my credibility. That’s when Kingpin’s goons started carrying heavier and heavier weaponry and shooting to kill the moment I showed up at any of their work sites. That’s when I finally tracked down a possible base for this massive crime syndicate’s operations.” Spider-Man scratched the back of his neck. “Coincidentally, that’s also when I wound up catching the attention of another hero who I guess had been working the same case as me.”

“Which hero?” Johnny chimed in, eyes wide with interest. Spider-Man hesitated for a moment before answering.

“Well,” he coughed. “Have either of you ever heard of a guy who goes by ‘Daredevil?’”

Immediately, Susan groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, dragging a hand down her face. “Are you referring to the other masked vigilante who hides his identity from the world while wreaking havoc across New York in his dubiously-themed costume?”

Spider-Man chuckled timidly, evidently anticipating her disapproval. He waved finger guns in her direction. “That’s the one,” he said.

“Who’s Daredevil?” Johnny asked, a wrinkle forming between his eyes as he glanced between the two of them. “I haven’t heard of Daredevil. What’s his deal? What’re his powers? How long have you guys known each other? Do you think he’s cool? What's his Twitter handle? I’m looking him up now.”

Spider-Man laughed while Susan rolled her eyes. “I don’t know much about him, to be honest,” the vigilante admitted. “We’ve only talked once. He stopped me right as I was about to break into Kingpin’s headquarters and warned me not to take this another step further.”

Peter thought about that night often. At the time, Daredevil had just been a nameless vigilante dressed in all black who spoke to him in a voice that was stern yet gentle. And Spider-Man was just some 14-year-old kid wearing a homemade superhero costume in way over his head. Peter had entered the encounter with his hackles raised, ready for a fight, believing the masked man to be one of Kingpin’s bodyguards. But that fear was quickly subdued.

“Daredevil told me he was impressed with the work I’d done to dismantle Kingpin’s chokehold on the city—and that I’d managed to locate one of his bases—but that he would take things from here. He said he’d been building a case against Kingpin for over a year now and had a lawyer friend who planned to bring him to justice in the court of law.”

What Peter didn’t mention was how Daredevil lightly reprimanded him for trying to bring down one of New York’s most powerful crime lords before he’d even hit puberty. When Peter at first loudly denied it, then quietly asked how he’d figured it out, Daredevil simply smiled and insisted it wasn’t a conclusion that took any special skills or abilities to draw.

“He told me Kingpin’s true identity is Wilson Fisk, and that he’s been funding and puppeteering criminal syndicates in New York for decades now,” Peter continued solemnly. “He keeps his empire running by sticking to the shadows and orchestrating everything behind the scenes, lining the pockets of those in power to keep them silent and loyal and blackmailing those who won’t take bribes by threatening their lives and loved ones. Daredevil promised me he almost had him: a solid enough case to bring the horrifying extent of his crimes to light. I just had to wait a little bit longer for him to gather enough evidence to make the charges viable enough to stick.”

Susan Storm listened in silence, her face a blank wall that offered zero clues as to where her head was at. Meanwhile, Johnny’s concern and curiosity and anticipation were as easy to read as words on a page. He hugged himself around the middle as if all this buildup was making him queasy.

“So? What’d you do?” he prodded. Peter grimaced.

“Well…I probably would’ve listened to him and waited,” he said gingerly, “if someone hadn’t started screaming in agony from inside the building right at that moment.”

Peter remembered the cold shudder the sound had sent down his spine. He remembered his muscles going rigid and his blood turning to ice. Daredevil had tried telling him that the person he was hearing was a brute whose safety wasn’t worth the risk—that if he broke inside to rescue him, there was no turning back. But all Peter could hear were his desperate cries for help.

“A man was being tortured,” Peter said hollowly. “I couldn’t just stand by and let him suffer like that. So, despite Daredevil’s attempts to stop me, I busted through a window in the back of the building and threw myself between the guy who was screaming and the four thugs who were hurting him. While I was beating those assholes up, more and more gang members started pouring in from the other rooms. There must’ve been at least thirty men coming at me at one point. I’d never faced that many bad guys at once before, and I knew I couldn’t win. I’d only had my powers for about four months at the time all this was happening.” Peter crossed his arms and shrugged. “So I did the only thing I could think of: I started demanding a fight with Wilson Fisk. I began shouting his name again and again while battling like hell to stay alive. It was only after I’d been beat to a pulp that he finally showed his face and ordered his goons to back off.”

Every detail of that encounter haunted Peter to this day. The blood roaring in his ears as a man the size of a grizzly bear towered over him, his presence alone making Peter’s head buzz in warning. Fighting the fatigue and the biting pain of his wounds as he rose to his feet and held the enormous man’s brutal gaze. The way Fisk surveyed him like some kind of insect he was preparing to squash beneath his massive leather shoe.

“So you’re the little rat whose been nipping at the heel of my business operations,” Kingpin had observed, stuffing his beastly hands into his pants pockets. “What a pleasure to finally meet you. You must’ve worked very hard to get to where you’re standing today.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Humpty Dumpty,” Peter had shot back, injecting his voice with all the arrogance and audacity he could muster. “I know who you are. I know what you’ve been doing. The drugs, the weapons, the kidnappings, the blackmailing. You’re the one who's behind it all. And now you’re gonna pay.”

The whole room had laughed at that—which, to be fair, was a pretty pathetic threat. Even though he had a knife wound in his arm, bruises all over his body, and was hilariously, hopelessly outnumbered, Peter wasn’t backing down.

“I told him I wasn’t going to let him continue hurting and exploiting people for his own personal gain,” Peter said, swallowing thickly. “I swore I’d expose him for the sick criminal he was. To which he responded by punching me in the abdomen, breaking seven of my ribs.”

Johnny’s hands flew to his mouth. “Why didn’t you dodge like you normally do?” he gasped.

“Like I said, I was still new to my powers and didn’t fully understand them.” Spider-Man ran a hand down his torso, wincing at the memory of his bones shattering beneath Fisk’s fist. “Plus, I was already pretty badly wounded, and wasn’t anticipating a guy that big to move so fast.”

While Peter lied sprawled across the cold concrete, gagging and sputtering, fingers quaking against his broken body, blinded by indescribable pain, Wilson Fisk strode across the room and punted him like a pigskin straight into the wall. Peter’s splintered skeleton rattled inside him as he tumbled to the ground, wheezing and gasping and pooling his remaining strength to launch a counter strike.

“I probably only got one or two solid hits in, but it was like punching a brick wall. The dude’s built like a tank and wears some kind of body armor beneath his suit that made it impossible for me to get the upper hand. I was spitting up blood and seeing stars by the time he was through with me.”

Kingpin strolled to a stop before Spider-Man’s crumpled physical form and seized him by the throat, fingers crushing around his esophagus until black spots began to press into his vision.

“Go ahead—try telling the world exactly who you think I am,” Fisk had growled. “The people of this city only believe what I want them to believe, only see what I let them see. No one is going to take the word of a spineless vigilante who hides behind a mask to heart—not now, not ever.”

Peter fiddled nervously with his web-shooters as he continued his story. “Fisk said if he ever caught me messing with his business again, he’d do everything in his power to track down the people I love and hurt them in every way he knows how. The only reason he let me leave there alive was so I could spread that message to every other hero and vigilante I knew and scare them away from disrupting his enterprise, too.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes. “But…you haven’t stopped messing with his business,” he said, blinking. “Right?”

Peter nodded slowly. “Right. I haven’t. No way in hell was I just gonna let him continue terrorizing my city with nothing standing in his way. But…” He lowered his gaze to the ground, guts knotting into pretzels. “The things I’ve seen him do to people these past two years…the atrocities I’ve watched his minions commit on his behalf…I could never risk him getting anywhere near the people I care about.” His eyes flicked up to Johnny’s, then to Sue’s, then quickly back to the floor, arms held tight to his sides. “That’s, um…one of the major reasons I’ve chosen to keep my face hidden and my identity a secret all this time. If he ever found out who I really was…”

The idea of it was too horrifying for him to even finish that sentence. Susan pondered his anecdote with her arms crossed and her lips pressed in a thin line. Peter felt Johnny’s hand brush against his spine and come to a rest atop his back, his eyes an ocean of sympathy.

“Does that mean Daredevil’s lawyer friend never pulled through with the evidence against him?” Johnny asked.

Peter shook his head. “He helped patch me up that night after Kingpin put me through the wringer, but that was the last time I saw him. Something must’ve fell through.” He traced a finger along his throat where Fisk’s hands had squeezed with deadly intentions all those evenings ago. “It doesn’t surprise me, though. Fisk cleared out that base within days of me discovering it and went underground for the next two years. Only now has he finally resurfaced with this surprise campaign run.” Spider-Man scowled. “Plus, he has, like—tons of cops and judges on his payroll. Even the most solid case against him probably wouldn’t make it past the DA’s desk.”

Johnny’s hair flashed with flames as he threw his hands above his head. “Dude! This is insanity! Fisk is holding you and this entire city hostage! We can’t let him become mayor! We’ve got to take that corrupt fucker down!”

“No, you don’t,” Susan snapped immediately, jabbing a finger between them. “Neither of you are getting anywhere near Fisk or his men ever again.”

Peter lifted his gaze to meet hers, inclining his head to one side. “Wait,” he said, eyes widening in realization. “You—you believe me?”

Sue muttered something R-rated under her breath. “I don’t know what to believe at this point,” she conceded, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. “But if there’s a chance Fisk is as bad as you say he is, you two are not the people who should be taking him on. Both of you are way too close to this.”

Peter and Johnny shared a look of surprise. Susan tucked her shoulder-length hair behind her ears with a sharp breath out.

“I’m going to look into this,” she said, balling her hands into fists at her sides. “While I do, you two are going to stay out of it. I don’t want to hear a peep about Wilson Fisk or Kingpin on any of your dumb little social media posts or crime-fighting outings. Understood?”

The pair of teens hesitated, but inevitably caved beneath the Invisible Woman’s frigid glare, nodding their heads rigidly. Susan glanced towards the exit then back at her brother.

“I’ll fill you in if and when I have something,” she told him. “Don’t do anything stupid until then.” Her eyes shifted back to Peter, narrowing slightly. “You missed a spot.”

Peter followed her gaze to the puddles of glitter paint scattered around the entryway. “Oh,” he said, staggering a little as he snatched a sponge from the suds bucket and held it up with a nervous laugh. “R-right. On it. Thank you.”

Sue marched out the room like a hunter out for blood. While Peter pressed a hand to his chest with a weary sigh, Johnny threw back his head and laughed.

“Oh, Fisk is screwed now,” he cackled.

Peter forced a weak smile. Let’s hope, he thought uneasily. For all of our sakes.

He still couldn’t get over the fact she actually believed him.

Once the lab was finally glitter-free, Peter parted ways with Johnny to clean his suit (again), fulfill his cat-sitting duties (per usual), grab a sub from Delmar’s (and more gummy worms), then returned to the tower, expecting everyone to already be asleep. When he crept down to the 78th floor for something salty to snack on along with his candy, he was surprised to find Johnny burrowed deep into the sofa with his phone in his hand, barely clinging to consciousness as he squinted at the dim screen.

“What are you still doing awake?” Peter called from across the room, snagging a bag of chips from the pantry as he made his way over to him. He came to a stop in front of the couch and, upon further inspection, couldn’t help but giggle. “You look like a zombie. Why don’t you go to bed?”

“I’m trying to finish editing our prank video from today,” he grumbled, tapping languidly at his phone screen. “Viral TikToks won’t just magically cut themselves together out of the hours of footage we filmed across multiple different hidden camera angles, Webs.”

Peter chuckled. “I know that. And I appreciate all the time and effort you’re putting into this.” He tugged gently at the phone in Johnny’s hands. “But nobody is forcing you to edit everything all in one night except yourself.”

“And Wilson Fisk,” Johnny corrected him, snatching the device back and glaring at the screen. Peter frowned.

“What do you mean?”

After a few seconds, Johnny dropped the phone into his lap and gazed up at Peter with sad, bloodshot eyes. “Fisk is behind it all, isn’t he?” he said. “Your terrible public image, the endless flood of lies about you online and in the press. He’s been paying off the media since the day you crossed him to make sure no one would ever trust you if you tried to expose him. Am I wrong?”

Peter chewed the inside of his cheek, unsure how to answer. He eyed the opposite corner of the couch and slowly eased into it, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I’m sure he’s to blame for part of it,” Peter admitted, folding his hands together in front of him. “But I think a lot of it just comes with the territory of wearing a mask and fighting crime anonymously.”

“Which he’s also forcing you to do,” Johnny reminded him bitterly. “Because if he discovered who you really were, your family would be in danger.”

“I decided from the very beginning that I wanted to hide my identity,” Peter insisted. “Before Fisk. My family would be in danger if my identity was revealed regardless of whether he was around or not. He isn’t forcing me to do anything. He’s just…” Peter rubbed his palms together feebly. “Affirming the fact that I’ve made the right choice.”

“I hate how much he’s hurt you,” Johnny practically spat. Peter looked up at him reluctantly with a small sting in his throat.

“What does this have to do with the videos?” he asked.

Johnny's features lifted into an exhausted but hopeful smile. “If people keep seeing you as the person you really are instead of the image Fisk has fed them, they’ll start to trust you more. And the more they start to trust you, the more power we’ll have to take down Fisk ourselves!”

Peter stared at the teen hero bemusedly. “How?”

“You’ve witnessed first hand all the crime and corruption Fisk is involved in. Once this city accepts you as their friendly neighbor Spider-Man, you can bring to light all the terrible things he’s been up to. If enough people believe you’re telling the truth, it could kickstart a call for a real investigation! One that’ll expose all his evildoing and the assholes he’s bribed to look the other way.”

Peter dug his fingers into his forearms. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve tried going to the cops and the press before. It’s too hard to find someone who he hasn’t paid off or who will take me seriously.”

“So don’t go to those asshats,” Johnny proposed, leaning in close. “Go to the fans! The citizens of this city! They’re the ones with the real power to help us destroy his credibility in the way that matters most: the court of public opinion. At the very least, it’ll stop him from becoming mayor.” Johnny held up his phone victoriously. “That’s why I have to get all these videos of us edited and posted ASAP. So we can prove to more and more people what an adorable and trustworthy little spider-hotty you are and end that fucker’s reign of terror.”

Normally Peter would’ve balked at Johnny’s flirtatious comments, but his mind was preoccupied with a stomach-turning premonition. He rubbed a corner of the sofa’s throw blanket between his fingers.

“Johnny,” he said carefully. The words he wanted so badly to say clung to the back of his throat like molasses. “So, um…that thing you mentioned before. Y’know—about Fisk threatening to hurt the people I…care about.” Peter took a moment to clear his throat. “Until recently, I thought I’d only have to worry about that if he found out my real identity. But…” A nervous flush spidered up his neck. “With all these videos we’re posting of us hanging out together, I’m beginning to worry it might be putting a target on your back.”

Johnny blinked at him, a look of befuddled amusement gradually spreading across his face. “You’re still worried about Fisk coming after me?” he laughed. “Seriously? There’s no way, Webs. I’m one of the most popular and famous celebrities in the world. If he did anything to me, literally everyone would turn against him. His whole empire would come crashing down in a day. He’s not that stupid.”

“Fisk has ways of hurting people without linking any of it back to himself,” Peter explained fearfully. “He could hire an assassin to come after you, or pay off a group of supervillains to fight you all at once, or get someone to poison you then bribe the mortician to say you died of natural causes—”

“Spidey!” Johnny exclaimed, gripping Peter by the shoulders, an incredulous giggle escaping him. “Please! I’m a superhero for Christ’s sake. I can take care of myself! If he sends someone after me, I’ll fry them inside-out! Simple as that! And if they do somehow overpower me, there are about fifteen other equally formidable heroes in this tower alone who I trust will have my back.” A balloon-full of butterflies burst inside Peter’s tummy as Johnny cradled his face in his hands and planted a quick kiss in the center of his forehead. Then his eyes found Peter’s, deep blue irises soft with fondness, transforming all of the masked hero’s thoughts into 404 error messages. “Quit being so goddamn paranoid,” he implored.

Peter gazed at him in a stupor of dumbfounded euphoria. Johnny Storm had a seriously uncanny prowess for yanking out the power cord to Peter’s brain at the most inconvenient times. A beat passed, and Johnny pulled away from him, rubbing the side of his neck, a tinge of scarlet creeping into his cheeks as tiny wisps of fire flickered in his hair.

“Sorry. I forget sometimes you’re not as touchy-feely of a person as I am.” He broke into a massive yawn, stretching his arms far and wide. “To be fair, invading your personal space seems like the most effective way to momentarily curb your spider anxiety whenever it’s getting a bit too spicy.”

Johnny fished the TV remote from the crack between the cushions and clicked “play” on the show he must’ve been watching earlier—Love Island, to no one's surprise—totally oblivious to the spell he’d just cast upon the masked vigilante. Slowly, Peter sunk back into the pillows, staring through the blinding television screen rather than at it, his troubled heart melting into a hearth of ichor and light.

Holy shit, he thought, all fears and concerns evaporating in an instant, a smile consuming him as he blinked and reeled and swooned all at once. I just got kissed by Johnny Storm.

Well—maybe kissed was a bit too strong of a word. More like lightly pecked—and not even on the lips, mind you. Still. How many others could boast the same?

Peter had no interest in knowing the answer to that question.

“Let’s wait and see what Sue comes up with before either of us spends more time stressing over that sentient meatball,” Johnny suggested, snuggling deeper into the sofa. “In the meantime, we’ll keep working on your public image so that when the time is right, we’ll be ready to bury that bastard’s name for good.”

The Human Torch went back to his editing, eyes dull and heavy and battling to stay open. Peter tucked a pillow under his arms as he stared ahead blankly, senses slowly returning to him.

So…yeah. He was fairly certain Johnny liked him.

After everything he’d observed today, it was hard to entertain any other conclusion besides that. There was still a chance he was wrong and Johnny was just treating him the same way he treated everyone else in his life, crushed dreams and broken hearts be damned, but that possibility was growing slimmer and slimmer. Peter was certain his affections for Johnny dramatically outweighed the celebrity’s for him. Nonetheless, he’d gathered enough evidence to confidently back his once delusional hypothesis. Only one question remained.

Now what?

No, like, seriously. What was he supposed to do?

Despite Johnny’s outward displays of interest towards him, he showed no signs of voicing those feelings aloud. Which meant it was up to Peter to make the first move. Peter Parker—telling Johnny Storm that he had a crush on him. Fighting Kingpin with his hands tied behind his back sounded less nerve-racking.

He’d gone through all the “what ifs” a million times in his head. Half of them were just spineless cop-outs and excuses; the other half wouldn’t even matter until after he’d made his feelings known. And so, Peter had decided he’d rather be devastated by the truth rather than never know the truth at all. Even if Johnny didn’t like him back, even if he outright laughed in Peter’s face, he wanted him to know how he felt. He needed him to. So much of what Spider-Man chose to do in his life was motivated by fear and uncertainty. For once, he wanted to do something from the heart, and the heart alone.

Johnny had taught him just how powerful being honest and authentic could be. Despite how much Peter had bared his soul to the celebrity hero already, there were still so many parts of himself he kept buried and hidden, and would likely continue to do so.

But not this. This, he deserved to see. After everything he'd done for him—all the risks taken, the kindness offered, the friendship and loyalty displayed with zero strings attached, Peter owed him that much.

But how? Peter beseeched the universe, raising his gaze to the sterile plane of white above him. How do I do it? When do I do it? Is it too soon? Too late? Why is this so goddamn terrifying?

“Is it hot in here, or is it just you?” Peter whispered to himself, biting back a sardonic laugh. “You set my heart aflame, Johnathan Spencer Storm.”

Peter spared a glance at the teenage hero, whom he was grateful to find passed out in a jumble of sprawling limbs. A fragile smile lifted his lips. He gathered the blanket in his arms and gently draped it over his slumbering form, admiring every beautiful detail of Johnny’s freckly, sunburned, peaceful face.

No, Spider-Man decided, chuckling to himself. Not like that.

#spider-man #spideytorch #peter parker x johnny storm #peter parker #spiderman fanfiction #johnny storm #my writing #bi peter parker #fantastic 4 #fantastic four #enemies to lovers #irondad #spideytorch fanfic

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screampied · 2 months

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"Just the tip" trope w/ jjk men?👁️👁️

໒꒱ ₊˚ ‘ JUST THE TIP, GIRL ! ’﹒⺡

ᡣ𐭩 feat. sukuna, choso, nanami, geto, gojo

ᡣ𐭩 total wc. 3.2k

ᡣ𐭩 warnings. fem! reader, mdni, overstim, unprotected, true form sukuna, praise, dirty talk, quickies, dry humping, whiney men, choking, inplied breeding, hitting it raw.

࣪. ᨳ GOJO SATORU. ࣪

“princess, you’re killing me,” gojo whimpers, feeling you casually move your hips against him. he’s staring at you, glossed lips just trembling. with two rough hands attached to your waist, he faintly strokes a thumb beneath the fabric that stuck beside your skin. “the tip. please.”

“wait a little,” you hum, making his back hit against the softly padded pillow. gojo grunts, the smooth part of your panties glissading back and forth on his length. his boxers was lazily pulled down, and he was all exposed…all warm. you felt a tiny veiny poke through, skimming against your entrance and you giggle before leaning up close to his ear. “oh sorry, did you say something? i can’t understand when you mumble, baby.”

gojo lightly throws his head back, grabbing a chunk of your ass before his right thigh bounces in utter anticipation. “f-fuck, don’t whisper in my ear like that,” and his voice was so shaky—he starts to pant frantically, just imagining being inside of you again. “you fuckin’ heard me.”

“remember who’s on top of you,” you tease, pressing a kiss near the corner of his mouth. for a split second, you heard gojo gulp, bright blue irises meeting your gaze. now that made him hard. shivers run all over his body the moment he feels you wrap a hand over his shaft, staring to realign yourself. “but fine, lie back…princess.”

soft puffs of breath escape past his mouth as he stares at you, a near smirk stretching against his pink lips. “bratty girl. quit talkin’ ‘n just ride me, how about that.”

“for all i care, you can just get yourself off,” you snicker. after you speak, gojo immediately shuts up the moment his leaky tip just barely hovers beneath your slick entrance.

with a clenched jaw, he presses his lips shut, a soft whine running past his lips to moment you start to jerk. “lot of mouth for how needy you are to be inside, ‘toru.”

“s-shut up,” he grumbles, and it’s cute. the attitude in his voice. the slight rasp to it, even the adorable flush that crept onto both sides of his temples.

gojo craved more, his mouth started to heavily salivate just imagining being inside of you. pumping you full of thick inches for the umpteenth time. “god, i just— i need you. know i said the tip but i just want you.”

you pepper a kiss near the corner of his mouth, and his first reaction was to kiss back ; he misses, making him cause himself to dreadfully whine.

lips forming a sweet desperate ‘o’ he leans back before gripping your hip tightly. you whisper, slowly sinking down into his length. “you can never make up your mind,” you purr, and the silk that ran against your voice.

“say one thing then you want another,” you continue, and he leans into your touch. he grows hard inside you, warmth swallowing you entirely.

gojo’s ears perked at the sound of your voice, the softness air that danced against his earlobe from your breathe.

he couldn’t help but pant, awaiting to have you sunk all the way down to the base. “you keep whinin' everytime i don’t give your lips any attention,” and for a brief moment, gojo’s eyes meet yours again, he feels so hot. you talking to him in such a sweet way like that only makes him feel ten times hotter. “you want a kiss?”

“i … i wanna kiss ‘n pump you full at the same time,” he says in a single breath. the hold you had on him was so heady.

gojo can’t stop himself from feeling all over your body, he felt giddy. in the best way possible. the way your cunt gradually went down on him. you made sure to take your time just to tease him a bit more. gojo’s pout doesn’t take long to make an appearance on him. “just…touch me… just want a taste of my girl while s-she’s on top.”

but the moment you were all the way down…

you felt his dick stretch you out for how many times again, you suppress a moan. leaning in, you squeeze gojo’s lips together playfully—bringing him into a sloppy kiss. his favorite kind of kisses.

the kind where your tongue would slide against his in such a messy way, he’d suck on yours before moaning right into your mouth. a single make out session with gojo was enough to make you pulse through your pulled to the side panties.

“i’m n-not gonna last with you grinding against me like that,” he whimpers, nearly having the wind being snatched out of him the moment you start up a rhythmic grind. “ride me jus’ like that,” he’d pant, and as you tantalizingly ghost a hand up his abs, you intentional make him shudder within your hold.

gojo pauses, grabbing your wrist. with a swift lick of his lips, he uses another hand to spank your ass, another to make your hand wrap around his neck. “choke me. choke me while y-you ride me, baby. please?”

. ᨳ NANAMI KENTO.

“i don’t want you to overwork yourself, sweetheart,” nanami says in a hushed tone. in the midst of you having your hands kneading through flour, you’re bent over the counter.

“have i,” he started, pausing to kiss near your nape. he was so close you felt his bulge prop up against you, “told you,” he halts again, a hand snaking around your waist, “how pretty you look in sundresses?”

“no,” you nearly slip off a moan, trying to avert your gaze back towards the bowl that had your hands covered in dough. his touch felt so good, he was gentle with you. nanami sneaks a kiss near the corner of your neck before you gasp. he pants your legs just a bit before kissing down your back. chastely. “the food, baby.”

nanami huffs, softly ghosting a thumb beside the exposed skin near your back. “you’re an amazing cook sweetheart, but ‘m hungry for something else,” and his words were so warm, smooth and all. the moment he murmurs tender in a soft voice against your ear. it was enough to make you immediately throb. “i want a little of your attention, just…a little.”

“okay,” you mutter, gnawing on the skin of your lip once he hurriedly moves your panties towards the side. a dripping soaked mess, nanami couldn’t help but stare for a bit. he was already insanely hard. his touch, it was so sensually smooth. with a single hand on your hip, you let off a sweetened mewl once you suddenly feel the throbbing tip of nanami’s dick glide against your folds. “k-kento, fuck.”

“missed bein' inside my wife,” he rasps, and he’s so pushed up against you it makes him dizzy. nanami eases his was inside, stretching you gingerly before you left off a sweet whimper. “you always know how to bend over for me like a good girl,” he purrs, bringing another amount of kisses towards the back part of your neck.

his breathing becomes unsteady and irregular, the thin fabric of your sundress, he has a firm grip on it. “was…was gonna give you the tip but i just wanna pump you full, sweetheart,” and you bite your lip, feeling the tips of his fingers brush against your ass. “give you.. a baby or two.”

nanami had you leaning forward, your hands were still in the bowl of ingredients before he hesitates. his voice cracks, pitching high for a concise moment. for the first time, you were hearing a needy nanami. “will you let me stuff you full? tell me in that pretty voice of yours.”

his words, it struck right into your heart and in the process—right between your legs. you felt sticky, a bit moist just from nanami grinding up against you. whenever it came to you, he just couldn’t contain himself.

“y-yes, please kento,” you’d whimper out, feeling two big hands of his caress your ass. he groans, so thick and big…yet so tender with the way he relaxed himself inside. such gummy walls hugging him so tight and close, it makes his jaw tense in a thirsty manner. “just fuck me, baby. i want you so bad.”

“wanted you more,” he whispers. a stroke of his, lightly shoving his hips into you—you gasp, nearly dropping the dishes. “s-sorry, honey. might wanna hold on. ‘s gonna get a bit messy,” and as he says that, a soft chortles flies past his lips. nanami teasingly runs the cold band of his watch down your back, watching you cutely squirm. “but i’ll clean you right up, i love when my sweetheart’s a little nasty.”

ᨳ SUKUNA RYŌMEN.

ironically enough, you’d be the one asking sukuna. he’d have the snuggest grin on his lips, buff arms crossed towards his chest whilst you straddled him.

“speak, girl,” and you suddenly grow shy, being propped up on the king's lap. his voice was a deep pitched low, fully stirring you up from the inside. sukuna cups your chin, making it hard for you to avoid his gaze before he murmurs. “tell me what you most desire, little concubine.”

“i want…” you start to speak before trailing off. his gaze, it was never not intimidating. for a split second, you could just about make out a mere small smirk lingering against his lips. sukuna brings a hand toward your waist, softly stroking your skin before you intake a sharp breath. “i want to feel you f-from the inside, ‘kuna. just the tip, please?”

“awwww,” he purrs, and he’s sat manspread. his grip he had on your hip, the way his fingers tenderly strokes beneath the thin straps of your panties. needless to say, it had you soaked.

“just can’t get enough, huh? was last night not enough to satisfy you?” and he takes pride in the pout that goes against your lips. “go ahead then. show me how needy you can be.”

his words had such smugness to it, you whimpered with such exasperation. eagerly springing his length out, not wanting to waste anymore time. sukuna stares at you, a low grunt slithers past his lips before you’re just hovering over his fat tip.

it was glistening with pre-cum, you let off a soft coo, making his tip swipe and smear all over your glistening folds. “s-sukuna, i want you. i want more.”

“greedy girl,” he snickers, and you suddenly felt small. being sat on his lap, his frame was so big. a lot bigger and broader than you. sukuna’s base was hefty, it jolted against his leg the moment you pushed yourself forward. he leans in as if he was about to kiss you. instead, he cups your grin again, multiple eyes staring right into the depths of your soul before whispering out a husky, “no one’s stopping you, princess.”

you moaned, his words was enough to get you dripping like a faucet between your legs—how embarrassing…

within moments, you sink down a bit further, and he’s huge. you feel his dick reach everywhere, such thickness it has your mouth salivating. “f-fuck, ‘kuna,” and his ears perk at the sound of your voice. the bitter sweetness to it. you were always so whiney, growing quiet every few seconds to hear the squelches your pussy made in retaliation. huffing and puffing, your eye-lids grew heavy, he was insanely packed. you felt him everywhere, and once you finally sat down against his base, you pull him into a hug. “so.. so big, stretching me.”

“…oh, don’t tell me that’s all,” sukuna grumbled cheekily, feeling your frame. he creates a fake pout, unreservedly mimicking the pout you had on your own face earlier. “you said just the tip but you can barely handle a few inches, concubine.”

he chuckles darkly, watching your cute face fall. you try to pivot your hips but not even seconds later. you end up making a mess on his lap, bundles of nerves sending you shockwaves. sukuna smiles, bringing a kiss towards the corner of your mouth. “hm. looks like someone needs more training,” and with a sly eyebrow raise, he brings you towards his chest, petting your hair. “if you can barely handle the tip, what makes you think you can handle both of my cocks, princess?”

ᨳ SUGURU GETŌ.

geto would be occupying himself with something, you’re doing nothing but of course—straddling his lap. not a single thought in your mind.

he doesn’t mind it, he enjoys feeling your body all propped up against his. he takes the opportunity to gently snake an arm around your waist, holding you close. although, at this particular point you’d be basically cockwarming him.

“just the tip, you say, suguru,” you utter with a mere hint of sass on your tone. he smiles to himself, your back facing his chest. he’s so warmish, his body heat nearly radiates off of you. skin to skin, it forever felt so intimate. despite the two of you doing nothing but just staying still. “you just wanna fuck me.”

“princess, i wanna hold you and fuck you. ‘s a difference,” and his voice was a bit hoarse—it was unintentionally attractive. he’s sneaking a plethora of kisses down your neck, giving your collarbone a soft suck before he reaches down between your legs. “spread these for me, don’t be shy.”

such thickness to him, it made you swallow, recollecting your thoughts…speaking of thoughts, as mentioned earlier…

your brain was empty. all you could focus on was how stretched you were getting. you were soaking his shaft down to its full supreme—and the last thing you expect is for geto to start rubbing mean circles against your clit. your body’s initial reaction was to lean back against him, and he chuckles, cooing out a, “ooooh.”

“s-suguruuu, fuck,” you’d sniffle, feeling the rotation of his palm creating a circulation motion. he was always so good with his hands. while being stuffed full, he had a free hand maneuvering all sorts of shapes over your folds. “feel so full, jus’ fuck me already.”

“say pretty please ‘n i’ll consider it, baby.”

“you heard what i sai—”

“girl, don’t try me.”

you moan, feeling him spank your cunt at your abrupt sudden brattiness. as your head slumps back against geto, he caresses your entrance before grabbing ahold of your hips. “let’s try this again, yeah?”

through clenched teeth and a cute pout, you huff out a, “…pretty please, suguru.”

he chuckles, and you shudder at the brief sensation of his throbbing mushroom tip just sensually dragging against your core. you gnaw on your lip, digging your nails into the thin fabric of his shorts.

he adores your body language, how adorable—your back arches, and you can barely hold still. all due to his touch, his words, and even the warmth of his breath colliding against your skin.

“good girl. ‘s more like it,” he whispers, and you couldn’t hold in your moans the moment he starts to make you bounce on his cock. you’re a mess, head still leaning back against his cheek, geto faintly wraps a hand around your throat. “should hear how silly you sound for me. whiney girl, fuck…”

and that’s when a hand of his roams up your body, feeling near your chest. he gives your perky nipples a soft pinch and you whine, feeling yourself continue to grow hotter and hotter between your legs. “want attention here too, baby?”

pathetically, you nod, still taking inch after inch inside of your gummy walls. “course ya do,” he teases, sneaking a kiss near the inside of your neck again. “but before we do that,” and you feel your hips come to a terse stop. you pout, feeling two hands of geto’s rapidly stop your hips, and he pulls you closer so he could speak.

with a hand gently caressing near your throat, another prying your legs open for him once more…edging you, he says, “we gotta work on those manners. not gonna let a brat cum on me, sorry princess.”

ᨳ CHOSO KAMO.

“baby,” he says in a sweet, drowsy murmur. choso has you laid flat down. while trailing and skimming a few fingers down your spine—he makes your tummy meekly press right into the cushioned mattress.

“i wanna.. i wanna try something,” and as he’s speaking, you grow quiet, enjoying the hot touch of his fingers. “remember when you asked to see how fast i could last with jus’ the tip in you?”

“mhmm.” you oblige, teasingly hum as a response. you could hear the near shakiness coming from his voice. albeit, you couldn’t particularly see his gaze, but you’d bet money he was just staring right at your body…specifically, from the waist down.

choso kisses his teeth, and you hear a bit of shuffling, “okay. ‘cause, you’re all laid out for me ‘n i just wanna…” he precipitously pauses, feeling you playfully wriggle your ass against him and he groans. “don’t…don’t do that, do tease me.”

“then go ahead, ‘m waiting for you, choso.” you’d titter, awaiting for him to finally come inside—it doesn’t take long.

momentarily, just seconds later…his fat leaky tip was swiftly rubbing against your hole. he starts to pant, long strands of hair running down his back from each particular moment.

he was heavily impatient.

his mind roamed, just a single look at your slick entrance and he’s licking his lips. all he saw was his imagination of loads of his own seed pouring out of your folds.

“nice ‘n warm for me,” he huffs out, clouds of his own breath departing from his lips. choso’s ears, the very tips of them burned with an scorching hot. “always take me so well.”

“f-fuckkk, choso,” you’d gasp, feeling your cunt swallow him easily. he was slow, a single hand attached to your waist.

a soft whimper leaves from choso’s mouth, simply from the way your ass was all pressed up against him. with just a single bit of a hover, he leans forward and he delays his weight just briefly on top of you. “told you, could barely handle just the tip.”

“just lie back ‘n let me give this body the—the attention it deserves,” he grunts, and his stuttering was quite cute.

choso lost all of his composure the moment he was just a few slim inches inside your cunt. squeezing him down so tightly, he watches as his own length gradually disappear between your folds.

“soaking me so good, should be a crime to be this w-wet,” and he nearly finds himself drooling, letting off a cute gasp once he hears that loud squelch. you gripped around him so good, it gave him whiplash … his head spun.

his breathing became erratic, and whenever choso grows out to be excited or far too buoyant than he needed to be, he ends up finishing early. and that’s exactly what he did. a flush goes over his face, as well as with a pout.

“s-shit,” he whimpers, barely even lasting as long as he anticipated. but he couldn’t help it. not with how tightly you maintained a heavy grip on him with your sweetened cunt.

his dick, it had length for sure, and poked against every orifice throughout your sweet cunt.

“wet girl,” he purrs, and starts to ramble to himself, observing his own thick ropes slowly spew outside of you. choso grows curious, using a thumb to swipe some excess of his cum off of your entrance, smearing it against your folds with a weary horny grin before plugging it back in. “my baby’s s-so sloppy.. should pull you close to me ‘n make you taste it.”

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roturo · 6 months

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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ OH! SO YOU'RE INTO OLDER MEN?

˚₊·➳❥ JJK MEN SHOWING YOU HOW A REAL MEN FUCKS! satoru gojo, suguru geto, kento nanami, toji fushiguro ✧˚ · .

tags: afab!reader, reader is mentioned as a female, use of nicknames (baby, princess, doll, slut, whore), cheating, degradation, caught cheating, getting caught, unprotected sex, blowjob, pussy slapping, mating press, breeding, age-gaps, virginity loss [...] rbs are appreciated!

satoru gojo (Daddy’s girl)

well, that’s the word he used for the little girl you're babysitting right now. he’s a great dad and husband. there’s just this tiny whiny little thing he couldn’t do right– and that’s loving his wife as he should.

like– it’s not that he doesn’t feel guilty, it’s just… well, you looked really cute in that mini dress, he and his wife have been fighting lately anddd– he could tell his daughter liked you more than her fatality of mother she has these days. she even called you mommy by accident once! and that was the last water drop gojo needed for the glass to break.

“Oh- I bet you’d love to be full of me right now.” His thrusts became messier each time he pounded on you, “Mhh, fill you up ‘n make me a daddy again– you’d like that princess?” you couldn’t even talk anymore with how good he’s making you feel– he had your legs pressed on the bed thanks to his arms, almost bending you in half, he was making sure that mating press works.

“Ffffuckk- You feel s’good baby” He felt your walls clenching again, no matter how many times he made you come, he’s making sure you’re coming again after he does. A not ending cycle for him. “Such a slut for me hm? Coming all nice and pretty to this house just to be ruined at night–” his words made you feel dirty, but the euphoria of it was stronger, “such” slap, “a nasty” slap, “slut” slap– “and all f’me” with those last thrusts your body couldn’t take it anymore, spasming and trembling while your poor hole was filled up again. gojo’s wife didn’t even bothered to break your little encounter, she suspected it long time ago.

all that was left was a wide grinning gojo satoru and some divorce papers.

suguru geto (Daddy’s best-friend)

you didn’t intend this to happen… you always knew your dad’s best-friend was hot. he’s geto, ‘cmon. he brings a new girl every weekend whispering in your dad’s ear swearing she’s the one this time.

he saw you grow up, turn into this beautiful and strong woman. so how he couldn’t love you? you were like a doll for him, so beautiful and radiant in every way. a porcelain doll he needed to protect, he couldn’t lose you to any dangerous or stupid man, he swears he would beat the shit out of the guy who breaks your heart first.

“Shhiiiitt– Heh– I can tell how tight your pussy is princess–” His cock was stretching the living shit out of you, touching places never in a thousand years you could imagine you would feel. “what d’ya think daddy would say if he saw his little girl being fucked by his best-friend huh?” your brain was a fuzzy mess, you couldn’t make coherent words to say, and just feel how good geto is making you feel. you couldn’t remember how many times he had made you cum with his toungue and he’s just starting to fuck your pussy.

“ ‘m such a lucky guy if i'm the first you’re giving this pussy to, don’t ya think so doll? marking it as mine, baby I swear you’ll need no man to ever fuck this pussy of yours again– shit I won’t need another woman for myself, you’re the one baby” those words filled your heart of a tingly feeling, making more butterflies roam around your tummy, touching yourself you could sense geto’s cock coming and leaving with every thrust, your brain full of air and in need of more of his cock.

he couldn’t resist himself anymore when he was next to you, his cock would get hard the minute he enters your house, and thankfully he has a pretty doll to release himself with.

kento nanami (Big Boss)

Nanami thinks he’s a good and mature guy– At least for his wife and kids… He has this aura of a serious and mature guy but inside every time he’s just this close to breaking it, just to say what he really thinks or feels.

the first time he saw you at work with your tiny skirts and tight blouses he didn’t mind any type of attention to it, you were another cute worker, that’s all. One of another– he can think other women are pretty too right? maybe even prettier than his wife… and nicer, and cuter, and more homely feeling to be a mom. but he wouldn't do anything he would later regret right?...

“You’re s’pretty baby, such a dirty whore for my cock mhm?” he had you pounding from behind, his desk becoming even messier than it was before, one of his hands keeping you laid down on the desk arching your back like if he’s trying to break it– a sudden ringing brought you back from your unconsciousness of nanami’s cock– he answered the call, not a single sing of him trying to stop thrusting into you.

“Yeah?” his voice was out of breath, almost sounding like a sigh when he answered the call, “Where am I? Huh– I’m at the office r-right now…?” he wasn’t even sure if he could keep this act, losing himself more in the feeling of your pussy clenching on his cock– “Oh yeah- I’m okay, uhh- the kids? yyeah, yeah, they’re with my mom right now–” the feeling of keeping up a call with his wife while fucking you made his cock twitch inside of you, feeling like a teenager kissing their crush for the first time. it was no surprise for him that his wife was cheating, but he wanted to keep it like that for the sanity of his kids.

“Quit the act Kento– I know you’re fucking somebody else right now. See ya at home.”

toji fushiguro (Step-Daddy)

you hated when your mother started dating new guys. they just kept breaking her heart– but you just stopped telling her that it's okay to live without a partner, that she had you by her side, but well… this new man was something else i guess and you didn’t say anything for the sake of your own good mother.

you didn’t like him, but for the sake of your mother you pretended like you do– and let’s be honest, toji doesn’t like children, so when he first met you he wasn’t as social as others… your mom was just too good to simply let go– but the way you moved, talked, dressed caught his attention, and as time passes and he spends more time with your mom– he's no longer drawn to your house just to see your mother, but to see you.

“Sshhiit- You’re making me feel s’good baby” the lack of air was making you feel giddy, but the way his cock twitched inside your mouth made your core get even wetter. “C’mon baby, ride my shoe,” you wasted no time before your hips started moving, trying to gain some friction and release that tingly feeling coming from your core.

“D’ya think your mother would like to see her daughter being full of his step-daddy’s cum?” he gets one of his arms behind himself trying to gain some support while his other free hand caresses your cheeks while you continue sucking– this same hand moves out your head and frees his cock out of your mouth, a small strand of saliva connecting your mouth with it–

“Fuck– guess i choose the wrong out of you two”

#gojo satoru smut #geto suguru smut #nanami kento smut #toji fushiguro smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo smut #geto smut #nanami smut #toji smut #toji fushiguro x reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru #nanami kento #toji fushiguro #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #nanami kento x reader #fushiguro smut

22K notes · View notes

buckyalpine · 4 months

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Imagine you get into the holiday spirt with the cutest Christmas sweater, the fluffiest socks and these adorable bells in your hair. You're running around the compound with hot chocolate and cookies, the jingle of your bells ringing with each step. Everyone things its adorable. You're like a little elf, busy in your workshop (the kitchen), surrounded by marshmallows, whipped cream, delivering mugs of creamy sweetness along with homemade gingerbread men.

Everyone finds it so cute.

Everyone except Bucky.

Bucky hates it.

He hates the little tinkle he hears with each footstep you take.

Why?

Because his mind is in the gutter.

Your running around looking all cute and sweet and innocent and all he can think about is how gorgeous those bells would sound as he railed you with his cock.

He decided to stay in his room, hoping a book would calm him down but who was he kidding, his enhanced hearing meant he could hear you scurry around down the hall towards his room, and holy shit, if he could just grab your hair and bend you over-

"Bucky!" You lightly knocked at his door before popping your head in with a cheery smile, holding a mug of hot chocolate topped with marshmallows and plenty of whipped cream. No matter how intimidating Bucky painted himself out to be, you knew the soldier loved all the little extra toppings, especially after you caught him adding extra whipped cream when no one was looking.

"Hey" Bucky's voice came out more strained than intended, hoping to will his erection away which currently throbbed with need.

"I brought you hot chocolate" You stepped into his room, pausing when Bucky's smiled looked more like a grimace as he shifted from his place sitting against the headboard.

"Is-is everything okay?" You ask, padding towards him and he can't even hide the tent in his sweats, setting down the book he was reading to try and cover himself.

"Of course-yeah-thanks y/n" He rasped out as you came over and handed him the mug, your sweet scent of vanilla, sugar and spices only making it harder for him to keep his hands to himself.

"Are you sure you're okay?" You could tell Bucky was tensed, chewing his lip without meeting your eyes which was strange considering he was normally fine around you.

"Wouldn't be able to tell you sweets" Bucky chuckled to himself with a sigh rubbing the back of his neck while you cocked your head to the side, the tiny movement making the bells ring again.

Fuck.

"I don't think you'd want to help with something like this doll"

"Try me"

"OH" *jingle* "MY" *jingle* "GOD" You wailed, your bells ringing with each thrust as Bucky's cock slammed into you, his hands squeezing your hips as he fucked you from behind. He had you on your hands and knees after tearing your clothes of, loving the needy little whimper you let out after you caught a glimpse of his rock hard cock pressing against his sweats.

"That's it baby, that's it, sound so pretty with those cute little bells in your hair" Bucky groaned, biting his lip to keep his voice down as he fucked you harder, pushing his cock in as deep as it would go, "Look at how you're taking all of me baby, taking my big dick so well, such a good. Girl"

"More, want-more" you hiccupped, tears from pleasure streaking down your face, squealing when Bucky's hand spanked your ass before pulling out and manhandling you till you were on top. You whined, your lips pulled into a pout, all naked on top of the soldier except for the bells in your hair, your needy pussy clamping down on him. You pawed at his hand, tugging it to where you needed him most, moaning when he used his thumb to rub your clit, smirking at your fucked out state.

"Aww babygirl, are you too cockdrunk to fuck yourself on my dick" Bucky cooed as you squirmed on top of him, sloppily grinding yourself, your greedy cunt begging for anything he'd give you. You

"Fuck you're such a little slut" Bucky gritted out as he planted his feet against the mattress and started to fuck up into you, your boobs bouncing in his face matching the dainty rings every time he thrusted his hips up. "Want you under that goddamn tree and nothing else baby, gonna fuck you on every surface of his place"

Bucky could only take so much, his balls pulling tight to his body, cum desperate to blow and paint your walls, your pleasure contorted face all just for him.

"Walking around with these fuckin' bells, making my cock so hard, lookit how pretty you sound now baby, fuck y/n, m'gonna cum!"

"C-cum in me Bucky" You cried out, sobbing in pleasure as your orgasm ripped through you, collapsing against his chest as he fucked you through your high.

"That's it baby, milk my cock, that's what I want for Christmas, wanna empty my balls in you, fuck-oh fuck-milk it baby, shitt!" Bucky bit down on your shoulder to muffle his loud moans, shoving his dick in as far as it would go as he started to throb ropes of his spend into you.

That was round 1.

"You look like you've seen a ghost" Tony snorted as he saw Sam and Steve enter the living room, the captain's face pale in shock while Sam couldn't stop grinning. "What happened. We're gonna start the movie soon, where's metal man and y/n"

Steve went beet red while Sam cackled, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Making their own rendition of Jingle Bells"

Anyway, I'm sorry for giving you debauched instead of wholesome plots, MERRY CHRISTMAS YA FILTHY ANIMALS (the filthy part is for me @ myself)

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Text

PARITY

male reader x sana & miyeon

21k words

Within some reasonable tolerance, the two are carbon copies. Six of one, half a dozen of the other.

Doppelganger, twin, deadringer - they always tell you, they don’t see it.

But when they stand together it always comes across like two shadows stitched into one silhouette; the slope of their noses, their mouths; the way their hair cascades down past their shoulders.

You’ve learned to recognize the twitch at the corner of their lips before a laugh - how they speak in the same inflection and pitch and tempo, the same cadence coloring all their syllables. Even in their figures there is something uncannily familiar: that petite stature, that grace; they both have perfect posture, an ingrained elegance, like something handed down generation to generation. And of course - the height. The hair. The eyes. The same-damned-smirk.

Here's a hypothetical: if Sana's DNA, then Miyeon's RNA. They're both two separate ways of reading the same thing, and they both have it in them to transcribe the same hot load of proteins over all their pretty faces.

"Oh, that's like a sex joke," Miyeon says to Sana, frowning slightly, "right?"

"I don't know." Sana hums. "Protein... like sperm?"

You sigh, rub your thumb at your temple. This is why, normally, you wouldn't take ditzy to bed, but there's all this history between you and Sana that proves otherwise. The dirty truth is: you’ve been taking ditzy to bed for years. And Miyeon’s right there. She’s all bright eyes, blonde hair, tiny little waist, the perfect height to get two fingers in her cunt and the rest of her in your lap without you even needing to shift your arm into something more uncomfortable. God forbid.

She pulls back the curtain of silk-glossed-hair spilling over her cheek and tucks it neatly behind her ear. Okay, fine. So maybe you really do have a type.

"Yeah," Miyeon decides. "I think that's a good pun. Cute."

She glances sideways at Sana; something flashes between them, imperceptible. They've been doing this sorta thing for a long time - long before they ended up in their current living arrangement. This machine of synchronized, unvoiced communication.

"Cute," echoes Sana, delighted, and she lets her eyes flick back to yours. "Baby, are you, like, gonna give us lots of protein?"

"First of all, we’re fast approaching the point of diminishing returns on the whole protein spermaestria," you muse, wryly. Sana beams. "And again, the point I’m trying to make, Sana: you two are identical."

"Not in spirit," says Miyeon, automatically. "Or intellect. Or appearance, either."

"You can't just claim that," says Sana, matter of fact. "He means physically. I have bigger tits and a better ass.”

There's no argument from your end. And not only because the cab driver hits a speed bump or a pothole or perhaps a small child way too quickly that sends you all lurching together into the seatbelts.

Miyeon finds a good hold in the handle over the door - it saves her - and you wind up steadying Sana. For a split second, it's both their shoulders leaning on yours: Sana, then Miyeon, then Sana. Back and forth. Back and forth. The three of you still end up sprawled halfway out of the seats and onto each other in the cramped cab, tangled all together.

"Please, explain it then," implores Sana, hushed slightly. "Go ahead, I'm sure Miyeon's dying to hear it."

"Look, it's not a perfect one to one mapping," you say, running your hand through your hair and putting on your patient professor-in-front-of-the-class face. "For example: Miyeon's cuter-"

"Thank you," chirps Miyeon, sweetly sardonic, before you can even append anything else to the statement. Sana’s already there with a noise of mild protest.

"I mean, I'm a full inch and a half taller than you."

"So?"

"That’s an unfair advantage. You've gotta be the dumbest person I know."

"Funny," chides Miyeon, swiveling her gaze onto Sana. "You could barely talk when we were fucking your brains out on your birthday. He's dating you, not me, remember? If anything, you're the one sporting an unfair advantage."

"Okay, well," Sana counters, reasonably, "when you can barely get a sentence out from choking on my boyfriend's cock, who the hell is supposed to call it?"

You ignore that. Miyeon is having more difficulty; her face has flushed cherry red and her hand's white-knuckle-gripping the side of the cab's passenger door.

"For what it’s worth," you cut in, placidly, "I don’t think there’s any clear answer."

"Nonsense," they both reply, simultaneously and satisfied - like wind up toys. And that's the way the conversation tends to go when you get them alone like this. Identical, you pause to think again after spilling out from the back of the car and onto the curb outside the girls’ apartment.

All the things they say are word-for-word - they walk the same, eat the same, smile the same, tilt their heads the same. In those moments where you don't speak, it feels like watching some two-headed monster, an entity constructed from equal parts of both. And it isn't just the physicality at play. They've got that eerie ability to read each other, speak for each other. It's strange: their habits, the way their eyebrows arch, the set of their shoulders. It all syncs right up, matches seamlessly.

It's really fucking uncanny.

"Um." Sana twists one slim wrist back and forth until the key turns in the lock. "So, is it, like, wrong of me that I kinda just wanna skip the dinner part of this and watch my roommate get wrecked in the middle of our living room?"

"Depends," you answer, before you can let yourself dwell too much.

“Just a complete and utter carpet dive,” Sana says, shouldering the door open and flipping on the lights. “It’d serve her right. She’s being annoying.”

Miyeon scoffs, sticks out a bare, pale leg - it ends in a nail polished fire engine red, the strap of a stiletto sandal - and blocks your way inside. "Hey," she protests, lightly. You are not the only object in the equation - you are merely an item to be held against them; it's not about you, not in its most abstract shape. Miyeon and Sana are competing - vaguely for your affection, but more so just for affection in general. It's an ego thing, if nothing else.

"I'm an angel. I'm precious."

"Get your pretty feet out of his face," warns Sana.

"Ugh," says Miyeon. And then, "so short-tempered when you're not getting away with everything."

"Whatever, princess." Sana gestures, airy and flippant. "In any case: fuck off, or go get fucked."

This has become some kind of weird custom, admittedly. Miyeon does exactly as her best friend requests. She floats down the hallway and toward her room.

"Can't get good service around here anymore anyway," is what she tosses over her shoulder. Her fingers run up the door frame to her room and hang there, briefly, before she glances sideways back. You and Sana, now giving her your deservedly undivided attention. There is no split focus, no point of overlap. Her hair falls loose past her shoulders; her shirt clings a little to the muscles of her arms, her ribs. The point of contact between her skirt and her upper thighs. Those impossibly big eyes. She's gorgeous. You rarely ever let yourself forget that. There's something devastating about the set of her face, about how her body is absolutely fucking perfect, all curving lines and smooth planes - tits that fit right in your palm, the dip of her stomach, the pretty shape of her ass - she’s tiny, and in a way, that means you can do anything to her and manage to get away with it. She’ll let you. She’ll ask you to do it all again.

"You two are more than welcome to follow along, if you feel so inclined,” Miyeon adds before she opens the door to her room, steps through, and lets it shut behind her.

"Yeah." Sana runs her tongue over her top lip, staring you straight in the eye. Her smile is slightly predatory, all sharp teeth. "If you’re so inclined."

(For anyone wondering about things like premise or backstory, here’s a useful memory:

Sana has a new roommate. They've been living together for two, three months. She's still not over the fact you didn’t ask her to move in, and you're still not ready for it. Your answer hasn’t changed. You like your apartment the way it is; the two of you need space; it's what the kids call cohabital parity and no, the ring's not in your wallet and it's not even bought yet; stop nagging me. It'll happen when it happens.

Anyway,

It's one of those plainly beautiful evenings in early July or August - a weekend probably: the living room is bathed in the sort of low, radiant sunset that can go on forever, all of summer stretched out, leisure and sunshine. Sana had talked her way into getting you to take her somewhere highbrow and a little out of your budget. She can talk her way into just about anything; that's her brand, her bad habit, her good fortune.

"We're not going to be able to get our tickets," you're explaining into the loud blare of a hair dryer. And to paraphrase, "what the fuck is the point of making reservations if we’re going to be so reprehensively late?"

Sana's juggling the curling iron while fumbling with an eyelash curler and applying mascara and rearranging earrings all at the same time, and you think about reminding her, again, that it doesn't matter what she looks like if you never actually, you know, leave - but then the hair dryer switches off.

“Hey.” Sana ignores the concern and swivels to ask which earrings match which necklace - two pairs are laid across the countertop; they look exactly the same; you love her, desperately, but for the record, you've never been any good at telling jewelry apart. Neither the knowledge-set nor the motivation; she looks fucking gorgeous in everything regardless-

The front door clicks then, and Miyeon bursts through with the force of an entire hurricane - and promptly stops, dead. You forget what the hell she said, but the story was: she'd just gotten back from the worst date in her life. She's in tears, sobbing. It's a mess. She's a mess. You can't leave.

She falls right into Sana's arms. Then Sana throws a pointed, triumphant grin your way, and says to Miyeon - and you remember this, word for word, verbatim - "Aw, baby. Don't worry. Let us take care of you. We'll make you forget all about him, okay?"

This is the long and short of it: Miyeon arrives, in tears. You never make it to dinner and a show. And the night ends more or less how it started - with Miyeon still pretty much crying, but only because you two won't stop. With your fingers, your mouths. Sana knows what her tongue's doing; Miyeon is loud - and responsive. She's gorgeous too. She's so into it. She needs someone who is genuinely in love with her, who isn't going to try and push her around. You slip your cock into her and that's pretty much it, a different kind of curtain call; Miyeon gets Sana's thumb rolling at her clit and, yeah - she's fucking gone. She cums on your cock like she’s dying, like you’re killing her. It's as simple as that.

Now, there are several instances of which this is the case, in chronological order:

a.) The first time, in Sana's bed.

b.) The second time is in the back of Miyeon's hatchback. Tight fit for three people. It's a do-not-recommend.

c.) The third time, when they want to try blindfolding Miyeon while she rides your cock in the living room. The girl can't see shit, you break some IKEA furniture you can’t pronounce the name of, and the condom comes off during the whole process. There’s this unsettling, world-rocking possibility in which you get Miyeon fucking legitimately pregnant via oopsie-daisy. So, you and Sana wind up spooned up with Miyeon between you two and discuss the eventuality, should it arise - what you will all do in the future, the consequences, what Miyeon and Sana will say to Miyeon's and Sana's families - what the fuck you'll tell the rest of your friends, let alone the press - and then, deciding together: hey, well maybe this is actually a really bad idea.

d.) The fourth, fifth, sixth and every time after that where you realize that you're just gonna roll it all back and pretend like this is completely normal. Two's company, three's kind of a fever dream - but this is the platonic ideal of groupthink. It works. It just does; you know how to fit the pieces together now. How to read her body language: the one-two-one rhythm, Sana and Miyeon and then Miyeon-and-Sana; where their hands are, where they're moving; Miyeon's choked little sobs and the breathless gasps when your cock is deep inside her; all the unintelligible murmurs passing between the two of them that you can't understand - but none of them ever really matter. The important thing is that she's put her two front teeth in your left collarbone while you fuck into her slow and deliberate, in a way she can really feel. You cover Sana's mouth with your palm, your fingers pressed against the pulsing heat in her pussy, and you make them both cum over and over until they’re eyes are screwed shut and they’re counting stars.

That's about it. That's all the things.)

"I call it being spoiled for choice," Sana says, pausing only momentarily to decide in the mirror of Miyeon's makeup vanity whether or not to take off the bracelet on her wrist.

The glint that strikes off the metal is gold in the bedroom lights, all warm yellow and sparkling silver. Sana narrows her fingers, pulls it off, on - like you've caught her trying on clothes, the latest fashion in a store front window. A stylistic consideration. It matches the rings on her third and fourth fingers. She decides that it suits her.

"Lo and behold," Sana continues, "we have a real situation on our hands. In your hands. Whatever, you get my drift."

"Your cock," adds Miyeon, smiling like sunshine. She’s tracing you over your pants with her thumb, and she’s got her doe-eyed grin on, the one that promises something sugar-sweet, kneeling between your thighs at the edge of her bed - the slightest dishevel of her hair, kiss-swollen lips. God, what a picture. Her pupils flare when her fingers reach the top button of your pants. "And what's worse? I'm going to die if I can't have at least, you know. A couple minutes alone with it."

"You'd figure out a way to die either way," Sana muses. She leans backwards in Miyeon's desk chair, tugging idly at the hem of her skirt.

They're not usually dressed alike, and that's the weirdest part - Sana's never had Miyeon's particular taste for the tiny gauche dresses and white converse shoes and glossy nails, not unless it’s some matching outfit that she's being bullied into. Today's no different: the soft fabric of Miyeon's slip of dress barely stretches down to the line of her thigh. The hem starts just below the boundary of innocuous and everything else. She’d been hiking it up all evening. And the straps lay so thin across her shoulders that one little tug in the wrong spot would probably send it skidding all the way down to the floor.

That's the main thing on your mind when you get one in between your fingers.

Miyeon simply shoulders the other, rolling it down to hang loose, leaving the dress hanging off the gentle slope of her chest.

"Pretty," you say out loud.

"I know," she says, holding the grin.

She can make the world smile, it's infectious - and your gaze follows the path: from the blonde-shiny hair spilling over a collarbone, to the peeking line of her bra, to the flutter of the bottom of her dress at her hip. You catch the subtle lace trim, the little patterns embroidered into the waist, and decide her body's a gift - and wrapping it is something divine, something meant to be ripped right to shreds. If no one else is willing to volunteer, then it'll fall on you. Sure, sure, sure. You can be thanked later.

"Lose it," you request, quietly.

"Mr. Impatient," is what Sana sniffs out, scoffing. She's lounged back on the other side of Miyeon's makeup counter. Her heel taps away at empty air, bouncing off the end of her foot, that hot little fucking rhythm she's had going since her partner in crime got in your lap and kissed you right down into oblivion. "You want to get her naked and get inside of her, huh?"

"Is that not why you dragged me here?" you counter.

"Oh, don't put this on me." Her expression slides right into the mischievous smirk you're familiar with. Miyeon’s often sporting the same one.

"He wants to bend you over, princess," she tells Miyeon, and you hear the wistful sigh through her parted lips come out like permission. "Not that I can say I'd blame him. When's the last time you've taken cock again?"

"With him last week." She throws the response to Sana. They look, more than anyone, to be in sync in their one-upmanship.

"Hmm," says Sana, and she’s looking right at you. "Check how tight that dress fits over her hips, don't you just want to tear it right off of her?"

"He's not doing that," says Miyeon, but there's the lilting tease in her voice that signals precisely the opposite. She wants it: wants it like sugar and soda, salt water taffy; wants to be stripped like skin, bared to the bone. Her knees spread, just a little. "Not yet, anyway. Right now," she adds, hand fluttering towards the inside of her thigh, supplying touches right over the lace, "I want to suck his cock."

"Such a slut," Sana teases, tilting her head.

"You'll get yours," Miyeon insists, before pulling your cock out of your boxers with a small smile, curling her fingers around it, leaning forward. "God, this thing." She has the head under the palm of her other hand, and a wet-tipped promise on her lower lip.

You thread your hand into the hair aside Miyeon's temple, gentle and what will seem in a moment: paradoxically-tender.

"Imagine what it'll do to your mascara when I fuck your mouth."

Miyeon licks her lips. You reckon she’s completely aware how it comes across - the wicked fantasy she is.

"I'm imagining what it'll do to you when she chokes," Sana retorts.

“When he fills up my throat,” Miyeon says, hungry.

Sana sighs, sounding utterly wistful, and she fixes the same unrepentant look on you. "Poor Miyeon is just starved for cum tonight. Aww," she remarks, sweetly, "The poor thing. Do me a favor won't you? Fuck my pretty little friend in the face."

"Well," is all you get out before you look up at Sana. "Yours too, honey."

"Hardly, the same," Miyeon cuts in primly, glancing sideways at Sana. There is some snobbishness implied; there are ways Sana and Miyeon have always found to subtly measure themselves against one another, to best each other - all of these ridiculous acts and anecdotes. Like their voices aren’t replicas of one another - and in constant disagreement over whoever is currently claiming to be the original.

Miyeon prissily tilts her jaw up. "Your ego might actually be the worst part about you, Sana. That and your tits."

"Guess he just loves all the worst parts," Sana quips, rolling her eyes, "and every time you call it into question I fall in love with him a little more."

She's got one foot up now on the seat of the chair and she's running her fingers, delicate and teasing, around the press of her panties. It's not a voyeuristic thing, she's told you, it's less about watching Miyeon get fucked than it is about knowing exactly what it looks like when she herself gets spread out beneath you. She watches you and Miyeon, she watches her best friend and you, and she touches herself and it's perfect. There's a few seconds, long and warm, before she lifts her fingers away, then sucks them into her mouth with a grin. Just the slightest taste.

"But seriously," she says to Miyeon. "If you're gonna do something - then do it. Don't be a tease. We both know the answer, anyway."

Miyeon swallows. You hear her. You watch her lips wrap around the head of your cock and pop off, wet and shining, and her head rests in the curve of your palm.

"I’m working on it," Miyeon allows, lowly - she pumps her fist again around you, careful with the motion; this little twisting tug. "Fuck, it's not even the fact that it's fucking huge, or. Like, it’s not because I’m dying to get stuffed by this, or because I’m sitting here thinking: oh my fuck, I’m gonna feel so full with this thing inside me."

You have her hand under her chin, thumb stroking gently against her cheek. Her eyes return to yours when you put a little more pressure in your grip. She’s fantastically pretty, and the gleam of lust and want in her irises has you probably too eager to play along.

“So then, what could it possibly be?”

"It's-" Her cheeks darken pink beneath her blush, stumbling through a mouthful of ums and uhs as her eyes make tiny departures back to your waist until she finally gives up and just stares again.

Sana sits up a little in her chair.

"Look, this is the prettiest cock I've ever seen.”

You and Sana almost snort in unison.

“I’m serious.” Miyeon rubs a semi-circle over the head with her thumb, glancing up at you beneath her mascara, and then to the base, back up. It jerks, almost like reflex, in her grasp; she huffs in delight. "It’s, like, perfect in every way. And, god, everytime- I’d just about do anything to feel it inside me."

“You’d beg?” Sana asks, eyebrow raised.

“I’m about to get down on my knees and grovel, honey.”

"Should've just said," Sana laughs - Miyeon chews her lip, half-exasperated, and drops a kiss to the tip that makes Sana's expression simper - "you’re halfway there. Want him to cum in that sweet mouth?"

"Want him to tell me what he's going to do," says Miyeon, frilly. "Every last detail."

Lips stretching open, fingers splaying, curling around the weight - she dips her head to rest her cheek on your thigh and kisses the underside of your shaft. She’s practically like liquid. Flowing and easy and gorgeous, always gorgeous, too far gone to form a full thought. That much is obvious. And why shouldn't it be - your hand's already snagged up, your thumb's already wiping the hair out of her eyes. She turns to let it sit against the edge of her cheekbone. "You really need an incentive? Want you to fill me up so I can-"

"Swallow," you supply, simply. “Swallow everything.”

"Yeah," Miyeon presses into the curve of your cock. She doesn't wink, not really; she doesn’t need to. "I like you. You always know exactly what to say."

Her hair brushes a feather-light caress up the skin of your thigh, mouth a vision of sin and pretty red lipstick. "Open," you command, quietly, and she follows your orders exactly - mouth dropping, head tilting, eyes drifting closed - her lips glisten with saliva and you could shove your cock into that mouth, easy. Just push in and wreck the inside of her - spit on her chin, feel her throat clench up as she gags and struggles around your cock. God, if that isn't a thought that can do a number on the base of your spine.

"Easy," Sana supplies, like she can read your mind. That wouldn’t really surprise you. “Leave some of her make-up for me.”

There's the quick hiss of an inhale, Miyeon's mouth stretching open. Her jaw going slack. You feel the long, wet suck of skin and spit, and her eyelids flutter as she settles in. She slides her tongue and adjusts, makes soft, raspy, throaty noises while her lips slide down the first few inches of your cock. It’s funny - Sana had made the same sound earlier in the day - and it's really not like it's an awful comparison. They both let on gorgeous little noises when they're sucking cock and it makes sense because it's the same cock. Same skin. Same person.

You're not, however, about to do something so pedestrian as compare notes. Not on them. Not in the fucking slightest.

And Sana, god - Sana doesn't just watch. She knows better. She's not even the one taking your cock in her mouth but there's the insistent presence of her: a fingertip diving down past the crotch of her skirt, a quiet moan, her wrist jolting in a repetition of short, sharp strokes, the kind she likes to use on herself: precise. Deliberate.

"Miyeon," you whisper. "God, just - it's your fucking mouth, you-"

The hand on her face strokes the side of her head - a push-pull. A chance to break off - she doesn't - so she ends up with a rougher grip tangling through her hair and you guiding her head further down the length of your shaft.

Miyeon loves the pressure on her throat. You know that. And, yeah, she fucking hates choking on it but somehow in her mind, they're different. Opposites. Because with the way she's going, a little cough will burst free in a few seconds time. That’s your signal, you’ve learned, that she'll let you slide yourself to the hilt. Just keep the wet tip lodged there until she starts gasping around it. It'd only take a minute.

Two tops.

And well, that's the compromise: your patience for a throat fuck is infinite. She's staring up at you with upturned brows and that pretty-please pout on her slick-wet lips. She's making her best effort but, christ. Fuck.

Her eyelids flicker once.

Then close.

"There," you breathe down to her, your knuckles finding her cheek, smoothing over the sharp curve of bone there. Your cock is slotted right in her hot little mouth and you're starting to feel like maybe you really did hang the moon and stars in the sky after all. Her lips press around you. Sink, up, down. "Such a good girl, sucking my cock, looking up at me- god, all dolled up, it's not even fair, Miyeon."

Miyeon can be many things, and presently among them: a filthy, obedient angel.

She pulls up. "I try," Miyeon breathes right at the tip. Her tongue darts out. She swirls, and swirls, until it’s back under the tip of your cock again, soft.

You're too predictable, or you're too forthcoming, or here’s the thing about a woman's intuition; Miyeon wants to tell you something more, she wants to let you know how fucking unbelievably hard you are in her hands right now; she wants to laugh at you for getting caught up and dumb but she's not letting your cock slide free. This suckle of her lips, right at the crest where you're most sensitive and leaking precum right into her mouth - this press and pull is as close to conversation as she can get. So what. You love it. She loves it: the reward is in the ricochet. You look at her and her cheeks hollow and the flash of her pink tongue gets wet and warm under your head, the slit of her mouth stretching to take every ‘totally fucking perfect’ inch of your cock.

And then her lips tighten and she just-

"Christ, Miyeon-" You whimper it right down to her, your voice lost in the shiver of her throat, all tight and wet around your cock. It's like your vocal cords have been stolen right along with the air in your lungs and everything feels floaty, warped and red and blanketing you with Miyeon's hard-worked rhythm:

The scissoring flick of her tongue as she strokes the base with a firm fist. The other hand resting on your hip, feeling your hips jerk. She wants this, the part where you let go and stop thinking. The part where she opens her throat, lets her saliva flood to pool against her palm, and wet the tip of your cockhead before letting it slide right back in her throat. Your shaft flexing into her heat, the sound of those gags.

She just-

She just goes on like that, sucking your cock while the flat of her palm skates a little tighter. Up, up, down - up-

"Miyeon," Sana says, now on her feet and shadowing in closer, leaning. And that's it. Sana knows too. She kneels down next to her, gets a finger under her chin, and delivers in a uniquely cold tone: "hands behind your back, sweetheart. I want him to cum in your gorgeous little mouth."

You nearly choke, ironically. You're already grabbing so much of her hair: all those smooth silky strands threaded through your fingers.

You thrust and pull. She gags. She fucking chokes.

Spit collects, rolls down the corners of her mouth and gathers on her chin. You can see the mascara threaten to run tracks along her pretty cheeks, the way the makeup smudges so dangerously close to her bottom lid. "Yeah?" you say, so softly, but you can't - can't seem to look anywhere else, or take anything back - so, what, her jaw's just gonna go on being that perfect little shape, and she's gonna be a brat for it. Okay. That works. She looks good choking. You can see the slick glint of her pink mouth stretching taut on your cock, your cock jerking and bobbing on the pad of her tongue; it's not real - no, this is completely real. The ball of your foot slips along the floor.

It's instinct. You can't help yourself; a groan spills out of you, half-sighed

Sana's whispering right in her ear; not that you can make anything out of it over the noises from her mouth, her fist all wet, pumping. The tick-tock bob of her hair. Sana's hand is on the back of her head and then - pushing the last inch down, and down, her nose buries right into your skin.

“Mnnph.” Miyeon, gurgling: your cock pressed all the way down the line.

"Fuck," you spit, holding her jaw in place. "Fuck, Miyeon-"

She looks up at you, her eyebrows cinched, the graceful lines in her picture-perfect-face pulling around you - blissed out. She stutters in place while you dump a hot load of cum into her mouth.

And she adds a cough as you pump everything directly onto her fucking tongue. It’s more than she anticipated, judging by the leak. How your cum rolls down from the corner of her mouth.

Sana drops a kiss onto her temple as she takes you in and out of her mouth again, until she presses her lips firm and hollows her cheeks. Miyeon's fingers caress your balls like there's some part of you that isn't giving her fucking everything already.

"Come on, princess," says Sana, kissing her way along Miyeon's neck, the tops of her shoulders. There is not an angle to Miyeon's elegant features that she could take that could possibly be anything short of priceless. "Show him how you swallow."

The image is obscene, for one thing. The utter filth in that satiated hum; there’s another.

It's your white-hot cum dribbling past her swollen, fucked mouth. Miyeon swallows like the good girl she is - takes a breath, stares, and then finishes, a gulp, an extra breath, her whole face now a shade more flushed. Sana kisses her on the cheek and suddenly it's perfect: they're both staring right at you. Your throat has to unclench, reboot and the air in the room just tastes so good and your chest is heaving; you just- fuck, you can't breathe-

"Shit," you exhale. It comes out like a small explosion. "Uh-"

The side of Sana's mouth slants and then Miyeon grins: it's her cheek, dimple; that crescent moon thing and oh, this is the point. Sana slides a hand over the gentle curve of her stomach, then sets her open mouth over Miyeon's still-lips, slipping in close and - kissing. Their mouths melt together like it's the most practiced thing, tongues a second later, and Sana is stroking your cock in her fingers; the expectations clear in every little coaxing flick of her slim wrist.

"Do you have any idea," Sana sighs against her lips. The two of them, blinking up at you, like good little things - sweet enough. "How fucking wet you both have me?"

And Miyeon, shameless as she is disastrously pretty, reads right between the lines. "Where do you want it?" Her mouth tilts up to the side. A wicked smile. "He can cum all over us, no? And I have this skirt with an awfully short, pretty lace. We don't even have to take our clothes off, really, I can just-"

Sana gets an eyeful - Miyeon - before cutting her off, silencing with the wet press of her mouth, and suddenly their kiss goes frantic and quick. They're rolling apart: hands tearing up their clothes. Off. Off. Off.

Your cock stirs. It throbs. Fuck. Sana’s barely intelligible in the space between their tongues. "I could lay flat,” she’s saying, “with my legs open, and-"

"-with him on top of you, pressing inside you - so he could hold me down, and then pull all the way back out, to leave a thick load on your clit-"

"-and when he has to pull out-"

"-probably cum all over you too, the best view-"

"-or all over the rest of me, while I touch myself-"

"-maybe-"

"-and you just have to imagine how good that'll feel, while my thighs shake and we ride it out, you and I-"

Their faces - both flushed and dampened with the strain, both breathtaking. Their eyes are hooded, lashes a-flutter. They'd made their own decision, didn't even bother with yours. A mutual vote of two-to-one: you're going to fuck them in turns. You’re going to fuck them together. You're going to edge yourself in one cunt and fill the other. They're both going to take it, and wear it, and then use each other to make you cum again. Good. Okay, any questions - and they want it rough?

The answer’s a two-part chorus. Yes.

Not even an hour later, Miyeon is playing, of all fucking things, Candy Crush, legs draped lazily across Sana's lap, both of them kicked back on the couch, dressed again like the best girls you've ever seen. "The amount of money they make on this app-" Miyeon complains, waving a lazy hand. A long strand of blonde brushes against the corner of her mouth before she swipes it away again with an irritated sigh. She's just sitting there, knees folded, blithely bitching about a game of match three on her phone. "And they send these fucking blocks just to mess with me," - another swipe. Her hair sticks against the fresh gloss coating her lips. "It's literally just a waste of human-fucking-potential."

"It's a game for children," you offer.

"Then why is it marketed at adults, hm?" She's absolutely serious. "Sana plays it too."

"Mhmm," Sana agrees, not really agreeing at all. Her eyes are closed; you're sitting next to her, and she's taken up your leg as a makeshift pillow, lying down with her arm resting on her forehead, so casually disinterested in anything other than the quiet thrumming of your presence by her side.

It's insane that they're like this: like they're not constantly checking their phones for texts, like you don't all have lives. You're almost - dare you think - having a semi-regular conversation. Now If for a moment you could ignore how they both look like the human embodiment of sin-

"Miyeonie," Sana says.

"Sana," Miyeon returns, flat.

There's not even a movie playing on the living room TV - just the netflix menu; it's volume is at a sort of white noise. A subtle buzz clicks on in the air conditioner.

"You know how you're supposed to go out with that guy next weekend."

"You mean the date you set me up with." Miyeon pauses, tongue caught between her teeth. "Where I have to put on a pretty little dress. And smile. And laugh at all his jokes."

"You know the one."

Miyeon jumps on Sana's train of thought. "You want me to send you some pictures when it's over."

Sana turns it over in her head a few times. “Maybe,” she says, finally.

A genuine exchange perhaps. No fighting, no bullshit, no riptide of pure unbridled sexual frustration.

"Or," Sana adds, simply, "you skip the part where you sabotage the small talk and come back to our apartment." She blinks. "End up getting us both."

“You’re suggesting I’ve been ruining dates on purpose?” Miyeon, incredulous, runs her fingers through the hair at the top of her head, gentle, almost like an admission of guilt. "You're out of your mind. Why would I do that?"

The fragile peace never does last long. Sana looks at you again. Holds onto the eye roll. "Why, indeed."

"I don't follow," Miyeon says; something, a tic, a tell, causes the muscle in her brow to stutter.

"She's suggesting that you'd rather be in bed between us than on a date with some guy whose face we've only seen once," you cut in. Sana looks over. "It's come up a few times."

"Okay, so what?" Miyeon takes a breath. Her mouth a rictus twist. "You're trying to get me to admit it out loud? That I like to get fucked by my gorgeous bestfriend and her pinterest-board-of-a-boyfriend more than I'd like going to a mediocre concert downtown with some dipshit who just wants to see if I'll stick out this 'goddess' routine for a month or two and then bounce for someone else. Wow. Sherlock and Watson, coming through for the killshot. Take me straight to jail."

"We never got around to those cuffs," is what you make mention of. It's not particularly helpful.

"Don't pretend," Sana says instead, "you don’t like to play both sides. Or that the trad-wife fantasy of yours is somehow subtle."

“There's nothing shameful about knowing exactly who you are, or wanting something," Miyeon insists. She tilts her head towards the two of you. A different angle. Her words come out sharp and hot: "some of us have the decency to let our friends know exactly what they want."

“Okay.” You laugh out loud, half out of nervous habit. "Well obviously there’s some sort of rhythm here - I’m just not dumb enough to think I can put a finger on the pulse."

"Then this is, what, some sort of elaborate plot for my heart?" Miyeon's chuckling to herself, but in the space of a blink her voice is more tender. Her arms folding in close. "Is that the plan, finally catching me-"

"Next week." Sana sits up. "There's a trip coming up, something kind of international." She picks at the hem of her sweater, and looks at you.

“What the hell, exactly” - you card your hand through Sana’s hair - “does ‘kind of’ international entail?”

"Ms. Prada has a modeling campaign to attend," Miyeon intones. "She also needs someone to take care of the jetlag, is what I assume this is about."

Sana waves her hand in the air. "I'm saying we book you an extra ticket. Rent a room at a nice hotel. No work. No phones. Just us three, and the best sex you've ever had."

“I wasn’t even aware I was going to that,” you say - almost as an aside.

“You weren’t.” Sana leans more of herself into you. "You are now."

"Is this how you're going to woo me? The grand design?" Miyeon's hands are fiddling in her lap. Sana’s pressing in. Closer. "All the sex and leisure I could ever ask for?"

“It sounds ridiculous when you say out loud,” Sana answers, curling into her. “But, yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

Miyeon laughs like it’s a lost cause. Genuine, throaty - like music.

“Simplicity doesn’t have to be a bad thing, Miyeon.” Sana kisses her, slow. Quietly, "you could even pack a swimsuit," and there's this beat, the rise and fall of Miyeon's breathing that might lead anywhere: "though I doubt we touch the beach at all."

“You’re pulling on all my heartstrings, Sana.”

And there you are - etching your names onto the calendar. Reservations and bookings and promises of everything and anything and exactly where you all want to be.

It's Miyeon that finally admits, "you know part of me can’t resist the idea."

"Then, this weekend." Sana's fingertips trace circles on your hip, the tensing pull of muscle. You're aching and exhausted and content: drifting in the tide, a catch of the day, some soft, dreamy wave of consciousness, nothing specific, just the moment passing through all three of you.

But you do get it. There's this obvious snag in your heartbeat, too.

Because Sana is grinning; her fingertips, tapping. Your stomach's fluttering too. A little ghostly clutch of hope in your chest and it's such an embarrassing notion. You're getting swept away - pulled under - and it's Miyeon, splaying out beside Sana, her hand reaching out to you with her palm turned up. It's a promise, and the force of her can - and has - moved mountains.

"I pick the hotel," Miyeon's voice is deeply firm and sure. She’s got a fistful of Sana’s pajamas. "You two can sort out the lingerie."

Sana's mouth curves a perfect grin. She's kissing her again: wet. Heavy. It's not a no, if she was ever expecting one.

So that's your reality: what used to be two dalliances - separate but not distinct - now share one headspace, and there's enough rapport just in the group chat alone. You've all been messaging back-and-forth for weeks; Miyeon playing the game where she's the steady one in your life, the knot you're going to tie down when you can finally afford it (and in every way she can imagine). You find it entertaining. Sana seems mildly amused. And Miyeon will call you on the phone, sometimes. A chat-off. About nothing and everything. What you should bring on the trip. Where she's going to eat dinner before you meet her at the airport. Et cetera. Et cetera.

// Miyeon 1:21 AM > hey. I'm all finished packing. how's the bedroom looking?

// 1:26 AM > absolutely wrecked. no survivors

// Sana 1:27 AM > It’s fine. We stripped the sheets, got the box from the closet. Have the video you wanted as well. Call the laundry service in the morning and get the floor washed too. You know. So, nothing comes out of the security deposit.

// Miyeon 1:29 AM > a threesome that destroyed an apartment? say it isn't so

// Sana 1:34 AM > didn't hear you complain during.

// 1:38 AM > strict instructions, right?

And then sometimes, during those conversations, Miyeon will send an aside just for you:

// Miyeon 1:40 AM > strict? please. do whatever. I'm like so good at following instructions

That's Miyeon. The paradox of being submissive - you never, ever treat her gently. She never really wants you to. Sana's mid-reach over your chest to turn off the lights when she glances down at Miyeon's text, then promptly scoffs. The two of them don't always have the most conventional dialogue.

"She's one hundred percent serious by the way." Sana rolls on her side, away, but the nightlight beside the bed just manages to illuminate the slope of her ass - curved in the silk nightie she'd thrown on before bed. You want to crawl between the fabric.

"I never really doubted that. She's got a very specific... demeanor.”

“You’ve noticed.”

“Um,” you say. Sana’s turned over her shoulder to blink at you. “Kind of a dark streak. Like something in her is craving-"

"To be broken to pieces? Oh, it's fucking bliss for her when she's vulnerable and the tension cracks."

“I was going to phrase it a little more indirectly than that, but yes, I suppose that’s the gist of it.”

Sana shrugs.

"The girl lives to be chased is what it is.

It's just Sana and her perfect legs and smooth, creamy thighs right there, ready for you to touch, ready for you to fall apart over. They brush your calf, your thigh - so you are kind of distracted.

“And she feels most wanted when she's choking, getting used, right at the point she can't decide if another inch is gonna kill her or drive her up the wall. No air in her lungs, nothing under her own control." Sana flops, presses against your side, one leg tossed on top, arms curled around your neck. "Pretty obvious, all things considered."

"Sounds a bit familiar, no?" you tease, and reach back to draw her against the front of your body.

She curves, twists into your embrace. Her hair is half up, half down - wide eyed like a fantasy made manifest. You're always gonna give in, even when Sana doesn't deserve it.

"You get me. It’s the best. Please, go nuts with the idea."

“Huh, birds of a feather.”

“Sure, whatever,” Sana brushes a kiss against your cheek, presses back into your hips to feel your hard length strain between your boxers and her ass, softening only because, god, she's a real human fucking treasure, "so maybe Miyeon and I have a certain… similar temperment to us, maybe that's true."

"Yeah," you breathe. Your arms wrap around her, the heat in her core now evident from the outside. "That's what I've been saying."

Sana doesn't respond to that, not directly; her palms drag, smooth, over your fingers. "Fuck me to sleep," she suggests instead. "We've got an early flight."

And so you do. You'd pulled your cock from your shorts the second she pressed her ass into your waist and claimed her place as your other half, the little spoon. There's a few beats, a few breaths, where you'd rocked against her clumsily, lining yourself up, and she'd braced the two of you:

She'd arched her back, got an arm over her head to tangle a hand into your hair and keep you right where you were - your lips against her neck. Until it's just this soft-rhythm, all easy thrusts; one arm underneath her, the other around her hip, finding and spreading and - easily - gliding into her cunt.

Sana sighs a lovely sound right next to your ear: your name, some hushed curse. Her hand is wrenched back into whatever group of muscles she can find. And you listen to the gorgeous little tritone of oh shit, oh god, oh fuck when you make her cum. The displays of indulgent affection in her throat, then the ruddy mess of you working her to a wreck of pleasured exhaustion until she collapses into a hot-faced, sleepy daze. All cozy between the sheets, the duvet - you’d fucked her from the outside in; made her relieved and relaxed, all loose and calm. Sana curls into you with her moans still staining the cool side of her pillow and the snugness of her cunt wrapped around your cock.

You drift off just like that, snug inside her. Sana is, as always, impossibly warm.

On your phone, there are some choice text messages:

// Miyeon 2:18 AM > jesus

// Miyeon 2:18 AM > can you guys like please

// Miyeon 2:18 AM > PLEASE

// Miyeon 2:18 AM > fuck any quieter

Okay, so it's not perfect. But you're about ninety-percent sure Miyeon had used every fiber of her willpower not to float across the hall and take her spot between the both of you. And it's probably for the best. You feel pretty rough when the alarm starts blaring as it is.

The room Miyeon picks out isn’t exactly small, nor was she minding the purse strings. There's a wide expanse of living area, a massive bed in the back; the ensuite and bath beyond that has a walk-in shower large enough for all three of you and room left over. On the walls is gentrification-colored paint, a gray laminate flooring to match; there is not one speck of dust. It feels every bit the palace it is on the outside - the gables and mansard roofs and the Juliette balconies - gothic, or neoclassical. Something vaguely European, with all its rich furnishings and pristine fixtures to boot.

Sana and Miyeon step into the space with all the familiarity of royalty.

"Warm in here," says Sana, appraising; her black chiffon, nearly translucent, fans about her hips with each tiny sway. In her white pumps, she's already a perfect tease and she hasn't even touched herself yet. "Smells good, though."

Miyeon's heels echo behind her like gunshots against the floor, and it's really not ever fair the way a skirt wears her. "The listing said something about a hospitality kit, and essential oils - there should be a basket of things. Do you want me to start the water?"

"Let's settle in a little first," Sana suggests, and without any fanfare, the first thing she does is draw the gauzy curtain closed.

There's an itinerary; it's an ongoing event. Technically it all started in the airport terminal when Sana slung her arm around Miyeon's waist and her hand went straight down to her ass. She just gave it a little squeeze. In the moment, nothing terribly remarkable, but then again, Miyeon didn't tell her not to. They walked through security like that and picked out drinks together from a terminal cafe before doing a circuit, fingers linked. The way Sana looks at her now - Miyeon sees - is how she's always looked at her. That is maybe, the whole point.

"Come here."

Sana's tone is smooth as silk, her mouth an inviting pucker, gloss-dewy and delicious. The bow is even tied at the back: Sana's collar is fitted snug. It sits tight at the base of her neck with the silvery cord loose across her shoulder, knotted down near the apex of her spine. It's simple, classic. All soft fabric and no frill, with an absence that invites eyes and wandering fingertips: she hasn't worn a bra. No strap lines. Her body has the sweetest outline and the warmest curves and god, the skin she's not showing is as good as what she is.

"So," you say out loud. It hits you: there's no cameras, no urgency. No obligations. "We came all the way here just so Sana could have sex, huh."

It's really always about the two of them.

"Good sex," Sana corrects. The table next to her catches the flat of her palm as she settles herself against the surface, one leg crossing in front. The slit in her dress rises in the movement: enough of a hint at the soft thigh underneath. You see her do this every once in a while and her body doesn't lie; this is an implicit act of seduction. But when she looks back up, her smile goes shy and her voice follows suit: "I promised our princess that we'd spoil her a little."

You say, "she's right there," at the same time Sana adds- "which is kind of impossible when she's still wearing her clothes."

Miyeon makes a big, showy production of crossing her arms in a huff. You could do anything; flip a switch; knock her flat against the wall, and Sana would hold her down with a hand at her throat and a kiss her like fire and gasoline on her tongue and no one would have a single word to say to complain.

You could have. Would have. But Miyeon finds her fingertips on the ridge of her clavicle, the barest swipe. She pulls at the top button of her shirt and the seam unlatches: a single reveal, a gradual, fluid movement in the dip and fall of a one inch gap. Just enough skin to make you and Sana swallow.

"Oh?" Miyeon grins. She stares at you with that coy smirk, biting her lip; an invitation for a kiss. For a fuck. You cross the gap, with every intention of making good on it; only, Sana slips in behind her - stops her midway in undoing the next button - and places a hand on the nape of Miyeon's neck, cool.

"She really can be a brat, can't she."

"Only because she gets rewarded for it," you admit, and as soon as Sana touches her, Miyeon is looking up with that same face she gives you when she gets on her knees, ready to be just your little pet, your desperate, whimpering thing.

Sana leans into her ear: "maybe because she knows she can't stop thinking about you bending her over, every chance she gets. Isn’t that right, pretty girl?"

They've always been like this, you think. Growing up with money and cars and ski vacations in the Alps: that sort of thing. It's been a long, slow, build-up and this was always the payoff. It is, without a doubt, just the slightest taste of luxury. Sana pushes, and Miyeon turns up to her mouth with a slow, dangerous whisper. "Isn't it kinder to say it as it is, instead of dancing around it for weeks-"

"For months," corrects Sana, and then sliding into a far more generous tone, "mouths, fingers- or his cock?"

"Maybe," Miyeon lifts her chin like she's readying to kiss, "all three."

Her voice drips - purses her lips, and you're there again: at that fateful exchange. Everything about Miyeon has the power to sink its claws deep. Those heels on her dainty little feet, the stockings climbing along her thighs. Everything.

"Miyeon." That comes out harsher than you'd have thought.

"What can I say? I'm not a patient person." She's got that wild, starry-eyed look to her. You could tame her. You could dominate her - your throat is so dry. The room has the faint scent of citrus, like lemon rind and verbena - a kind of lightheadedness settling over you all. "So, why don't you..." She's blushing, holding her arm up as she skims a finger down this slow path along your torso, finally hooking it into the top of your pants. And now, it's very, very clear she isn't wearing a bra either. "Make things a bit easier."

There's an entire lexicon of everything you'd like to do, so it's best, maybe, that you settle for: "Sana, be a doll."

"Anything," she says; she doesn't hesitate. You like the easy give.

And it's kind of amazing. All three of you together and, sure, the way her fingertips tighten, sliding under the curve of Miyeon's chin and then pulling the linen shirt down from the backs of her shoulders - this is a choice you can all agree on. One that pulls on the elastic band hugging the cut of Miyeon's waist, makes the material drag and ride up the front of her legs. Her belly. Sana has the gift of being able to kiss so perfectly on the back of someone's neck that you could easily forget she can get a little mean, too.

"What is it, baby." Sana asks; a challenge, not a question. "Come on, love. You know it's true. Why don't you let me show him how sweetly you moan with just a pair of fingers in your cunt."

"Please do."

"You're practically wet just saying it. You want it that much." Her voice goes thin, then deep again: a stark contrast. "Show him the mess you've made."

Miyeon's hand is in all the way in your pants; you feel hot. Like the room's air conditioning should've kicked on a lifetime ago - you're trying not to think too much on the way her slender fingers start to wrap themselves around the shape of your cock and your mouth falls open, because she can just - fuck - do that-

They turn to each other like mirror images over the slope of Miyeon’s shoulder, exchanging some secretive wordlessness in the privacy of their smiles and soft, muted laughter. Miyeon's on the toes of those pretty pumps to lean in, closer, further, and Sana lets her.

Which is exactly how it happens: Miyeon kissing you. And she really kisses you, sweet, delicate - and somehow all-consuming. It sets off this chain reaction, a wildfire of unbridled desire: that thread in Sana that can be almost violent, and one that Miyeon always manages to bring to the surface of her skin. Because now Miyeon's gripped and pinned, and Sana, bless her, pulls the fabric of her own dress up over her head until she's naked alongside her. Working towards a common goal. Here's two hands. Here's two more. They're helping you out of your shirt. It's pretty easy from there. You're all unraveling together, just falling apart - Sana and you, working in tandem to unclasp the pearl snap buttons trailing up and down the sides of Miyeon's sinfully short skirt, peeling back the cotton. Miyeon holds the swell of your cock tight in one hand, pumping, while Sana rakes her nails over Miyeon's breasts; both girls taking off the final scraps until every article of clothing is tossed to the floor.

And Miyeon here is simply unbelievable. Your hands are all over her. Her razor-fine waist, her thighs. Her lips. Those soft tits, and that cute mole above her nipple. Because even her imperfections deserve the same lavish attention.

You kiss her, and kiss her, and you can't help thinking how filthy it feels. This wet mouth and tongue, everything you could want in the slide of her mouth - just, messy-perfect and a bit sloppy; how her whimpers leak out in soft, a tight inhale. You cup the side of her jaw as your hips grind into her and a low, uneven sound escapes you. Sana's small fingers wrap her ribs to grip a breast, knead the supple curve and supply her thumb to the indent. It's really, so soft, and warm, and then wet: your precum dribbling over her knuckles, rolling down. Miyeon has her head tilted to let her jaw lean into your palm - she smiles, and laughs like it's nothing - like you're not there, towering over her lithe little frame. Like the head of your cock isn't brushing into her bottom rib under all the twists and jerks of her wrist.

"Your cock is so hard," Miyeon threads into a sigh, in that throaty, almost melodic voice. And then she laughs because she knows exactly what it’ll fucking do to her. "And fucking heavy. I thought I was going to get a real good look earlier in the airport," she confesses.

"Let me guess." Sana presses a kiss to her temple from behind; a lull in the scene. You fuck yourself gently into the curl of her fist. "You've been thinking about it this whole time. About getting him inside you. With that naughty little mind of yours running at a million miles an hour. God, that must've been such a tease, getting stuck with just the thought while we sat through lunch, and the flight-"

"Don’t forget right now-" Miyeon presses in. Her breath is hot against your neck. "While we're talking."

"Princess," Sana says into her ear, and it makes her tip her head - until she’s revealing the pale skin of her neck. God, yeah; maybe she really is nobility. "I'd be hard-pressed to leave you wanting. Your body's all wound up for us."

"She's fucking soaked," you confirm, like you aren't pointing out the most obvious thing in the room.

Miyeon bites her lip; you're gripping your shaft, urging her wrist to go faster. "This is the part where you turn me inside-out, no?" Miyeon is a walking fucking cliche and she knows it, smiling all slyly with her teeth. She says it so damn casually: "so why isn’t my pussy getting any attention, really. I wonder, I wonder-"

"Trust me, neither of us are interested in teasing," Sana assures her. "We're going to fuck you until you can't remember your own name. And then we'll fuck you some more."

You push down hard on her collarbone, and in that same instant Sana drops her free hand below and runs the flats of her fingertips along the plane of Miyeon’s tummy - until Miyeon tilts her hips - everything else still, almost lazy. Her feet leave the floor and then come back down again. The momentum of the fall ends up being enough to jostle the three of you towards the nearest wall where Sana's back is kissing the cold drywall. And you're already there - pressed into both: Miyeon's palms flat against your chest as you haul her thighs around your waist.

Hoisted, lifted, cradled between you and your girlfriend - who by the way is inching two fingertips under the top of a lacy-banded thong, slipping beneath the white trim, to finally (oh, god) pull her hand away and slip it into Miyeon's parted mouth. "Look at you." A hum in her chest. "The most beautiful, perfect-"

(You push your cock into her, and hand to god, you swear Miyeon's voice breaks like a bottle over pavement.)

"And all for us- your slutty little pussy is already so wet- Miyeonie, we've barely even started.”

Just think. The code word system you've been employing for months - "We were actually thinking... if you're not doing anything else... what's the harm in the two of us getting more familiar with you." - has proved exceptionally reliable in getting Miyeon out of her clothes and into your lap, but here's where it all vanishes into thin air. Sana's mouth is hovering over Miyeon's shoulder; her body, caught between the two of you. And she's trading in on the implied permission to tell you more directly:

"She needs to cum all over that cock, babe. Fuck her pussy until she’s creaming, won't you."

"Right." You groan in tacit approval, hands holding firm onto the firm swell of her hips - that round little ass, the dimples you can feel the dip of, just under your thumbs. She's already thrown her arms up around the back of your neck when your cock slips inside her, to tug you in; this wordless begging: need, need, need.

It's not even a totally new sensation. Nor is it even the first you've ever been inside her, but god - Miyeon takes one deep breath, and on the second inhale, you sink another thick inch of your cock into her slippery slit: she's completely, gloriously bare, just this slick heat that only opens more and more and more. You draw back, thrust in, and there's this sopping sound, all wet press, into the soft muscle - you don't even remember pulling her panties to the side. But they're bunched into the crease of her thigh and that's rather convenient.

Her breath hitches as she slots down onto your shaft, again - in rhythm - like a total dream. "Fuck, that's so tight," she grates, her voice rough and gutted; something like, 'I cannot believe you feel this good.'

-and they groan in unison when you pick up speed. All of it. Together.

Because it's not just Miyeon's perfect cunt wrapping you up tight, squeezing and pulsing, even better on the backstroke - but it's the way Sana is catching your lips in the space over Miyeon’s shoulder. That you three can play each other with the promise that every last moan or gasp or the single, resounding thrill of pleasure will find a perfect partner: one for your mouth and one for Sana's fingers at Miyeon's collar bone, a tickle along her hip, pressing an insistent fingertip around and around in small circles, dipping into the give.

Her body's shaking so much through every push and pull. Fuck. She's so small - and you're the one filling her. Fucking her. Breaking her. Pressing two girls into the wall like you've earned the right. You're splitting Miyeon apart so that Sana can fill the spaces you leave empty and vice versa: and she's so, so desperate, the little noises she's making, "Please," like it hurts. "Fuck," like it's the best feeling. "Keep going, please, fuck- don't stop."

"See, baby? It feels better when you just give up, doesn't it?" Sana's got her fingers down further between Miyeon's thighs; you can see her swipe upwards. Hear the wet sound. She says, "there," into her ear. "Nice and slow, while he fucks that cunt, and I rub you like this, we want to keep making you feel good. So take what you need, hm. I don't hear you-"

"Oh my god," Miyeon moans. And she means it - feels herself dripping all over you. "I need it. I need it, I-"

"Come on, darling," Sana chuckles, soft and low in her ear.

"N-need," Miyeon chokes.

And what kind of idiot wouldn't take their palm off her breast, or undig their fingers from the round of her ass for even a second. It's having her in the palm of your hand. With one foot dangling against your thigh and the other tangled up above you, the stretch in Miyeon's body is entirely for the convenience of letting you fuck her to pieces.

"There it is," Sana is murmuring into your mouth again, and that’s a reward of its own, her wet, full kiss at the junction between Miyeon’s neck and shoulder as her thumb digs deeper into the curve of the girl’s thigh. You listen to Miyeon moan your own name, uttered like it was written by god and meant to form on her lips as it tumbles down through the ragged mess of pants and gasps.

“Fuck, baby-” You press harder. “Your pussy feels incredible- how you suck me right up like you're the good girl you love to pretend you are- like a perfect toy," you breathe, "-all nice and hot. Licking, swallowing around my cock, getting dicked out for my enjoyment-"

"Yeah, yes," she pants out, the total capitulation. "It feels so fucking good."

You feel the mindless, blissful roll. A rhythm in the give of her thighs as you slide home again and again. There's a clink from the bracelets on her wrists; her hair falling into her eyes; there's the sheer ecstasy written all over her pretty face when Sana reaches one hand to start drawing slow circles on her clit.

"You're just fucking me so god-damn-good." She’s breathless; you’re taking everything from her. The poise, the finesse, the dignity.

"Of course we are," Sana supplies, and it's fitting. You're both holding her up. You'll be the ones tearing her down.

Miyeon's arms tighten around the back of your head, arching, squeezing, and there's that feeling that always accompanies Miyeon: like she's completely melting you to her core and turning your brains into fucking mush. Everything from her tight little pussy to her breathtakingly pretty eyes to the way her spine flexes to meet the pitch of her voice - it's fucking ridiculous, that she's even real in the first place - let alone that your cock is buried so deep in her cunt you think you can hear her sob. Or that all five-foot-two of her is making these tiny desperate noises as you use the width of her hips to bounce her harder onto your cock.

Sana's long fingers slip and press - they're not touching anything except the swell of her pussy, just this ghostly brush of a light, almost chaste graze. It's enough: a touch like that, and fuck, another-

Miyeon cries out.

“I'm going to cum-"

"Say it again," Sana's whispering, "tell us what you need," and in a sort of coup-de-grace-style-of-climax, she bites at the skin over the top of Miyeon's jaw and slips a fingertip right onto her aching clit. Presses down. "You're such a fucking slut, Miyeon, such a gorgeous cocksleeve-"

"I-"

She's actually whimpering, the poor thing. Eyes squeezed shut, toes clenching; everything is trembling, tense with release. You’re fucking her into a puddle of a person, and she’s holding her lip between her teeth like it might do a goddamn thing. It makes sense; the tightness, and wet and heat is what she knows.

"Go on," Sana answers her, and it's like her words slice the voice in Miyeon’s throat to shreds, "cum all over his cock. So. Fucking. Good, baby," a hard push through every syllable as her teeth snag into the shell of her ear. She rides the boundary of degradation and downright debasement because she knows that’s how Miyeon will absolutely cum for her. For you, for both of you. "Do what you're fucking made for, and just take it, pretty, lovely, you can’t live a second without having his fat cock and my fingers in you, can you? You look like a filthy little angel like this, I swear."

You’re both on the same page, telling her over and over - shh, shh, you take that cock so well, feel that cock fuck you apart, baby, and all you have to do is cum - only, you’re paying homage to the title: you call her princess. Sana takes the opposite approach. Tells her, "you want everyone to know, don't you, what a goddamn fucking slut you are. You filthy, dirty little thing-"

It works. They both work, and so does everything else.

Your blood has gone totally hot. Like molten lava. Boiling over and about to spill.

The last thing Miyeon says: "Oh god - I'll be good, I'll do anything, I'll be your slut - Sana - anything-"

And it's one of the best lines to ever leave her mouth.

"-for this beautiful cock and these fucking perfect fingers, shit - fuck! Right there, right there, right-fucking-there-"

You fuck deeper, harder. The orgasm ripping through her muscles lets you leave marks and bruises you’ll be coming back to all weekend. Miyeon's face falls against the crook of your neck, mouth pressed there - you can feel every gasping inhale, the open-mouthed warmth of her body. It's you that whispers a shudder, half-voweled - "Miyeon," and she’s already there, so ready - it's kind of crazy how everything about this girl works so intricately and precise, like her very design was to take you to the hilt and melt all over your cock, because Miyeon's response comes as a mind-blanking:

"You can," a muffled whine in her throat. "Do it. Cum inside me. I want to-"

Sana’s eyes flare like she can feel that cable snapping, too. How your mind is all white noise. The torque of blood rushing through your head. You're thrusting deep into her well-fucked cunt with all the strength you can muster, your hips stuttering in the follow-through. When you catch the smile in her lips - the curl in her lips like she knows you’re about to spill everything, like the perfect siren’s call- you hear Sana over her shoulder: "fuck her. Use her. I think she wants to feel it in her fucking stomach - you know, the whole reason we’re here-"

You cum inside her - there’s no question - filling her tight hole up. Shit. You actually cum all over her too.

In fact, you manage to drag yourself all the way out from Miyeon, the wet quivers and hot aftershocks, all so Sana can get a good visual of how you’re fucking ruining her: the loose rope of white that streaks up her tummy, splaying out beneath her breasts. The absolute debauchery; it’s even more pornographic when your fist pumps another splatter of cum right onto the swollen lips of her pussy. Miyeon moaning on impact.

Sana supplies her own soft gasp, scraping the air past her teeth, tension hanging in the silence - and then you bury the rest of your load back inside her cunt.

And here's a feeling that's going to stick with you for a while. Beyond the fireworks in your pulse - the shake-ripple that leaves you with nothing, no muscles, no brain matter - you slide your cock through her cunt again, and again - just to feel how your cum pushes back out. And she's watching, she’s letting you watch: how messy she's become. Her tits. Her sweat-dewed thighs. How every second seems to bring its own unique ache.

Really, you’re left only with a near mental blank. “God, Miyeon-”

You have just the barest capacity to consider the way Miyeon's trembling frame clings hard - pulling her ass cheeks down flush against your hips - your thick cock completely seated, stuffing her fucking cunt as she goes weak and submissive. You hold her there, suspended as your orgasm softens inside her and Sana hums along your lips, the soft coos spilling into Miyeon's ear: "what a messy, nasty girl. Princess needs to be full and leaking everywhere, doesn't she. How many creampies do you think you're going to ask for?” Sana laughs. “How many will ever be enough? I hope he gave you something worth begging for."

It's not really surprising how a feeling can hook its teeth into you when you're cumming like that. Subjugating the deepest reach of her sopping cunt to fulfill your own filthy fantasy.

And look: Miyeon is soaked - soaked and wrecked and pliant. You kiss her and kiss her, and Sana kisses you, kisses her too, all of it muddled up - and your mouths are a mess. Your hands go into her hair, onto her ass; there's cum down her thighs and all over the floor. The smell of you three: her slicked arousal and your sweat and Sana's expensive perfume.

Here, come come - Sana is a flurry of activity; she's helping Miyeon out of her second heel after you'd fucked the first one off her foot without bothering to get the strap unhooked. There's her careful proclamation of, "thank god the walls aren't paper," as you practically carry Miyeon to the edge of the sofa, this dreamy vision of messy hair and a royally-befit-blush. In the whole world, not once has Miyeon looked like anything less than nobility.

And now's no different, really.

You sink down onto the plush, tufted fabric - a chair whose shape might confuse you if Sana hadn’t told you earlier it was explicitly built for fucking, or whatever it is you're doing. She's smiling at you, settling her face right onto your shoulder and peering up.

"Sana," she says wistfully, but looks right at you. "My legs are still a noodly-mess. Could you turn on the jets in the tub?"

"And leave the two of you unsupervised?" She jokes. "Never."

Miyeon sticks out her lip. Pouts, almost: "it'd just be a second."

"She's only asking for a minute," you add in.

Sana rolls her eyes. "And since you've suddenly turned into two hopeless idiots, it can't be trusted. If I'm drawing a bath," a flick of the gaze, "the least you can do is join me. A chance to recover if nothing else."

Miyeon, being Miyeon, has already dropped her face down to your lap, curling up with your cock at her lips. When she gets her first, tantalizing, almost chaste little swipe at the tip, she smiles all impressed with herself. With those big brown eyes, her fingertips skating delicately along your stomach, and her dark lashes beating slow - all of Miyeon, right now, is on purpose, calculated. Precise.

Her voice is even worse: "she wants her own go first, don't you think?"

Sana watches where your fingers thread into the ends of Miyeon's silky hair, just the gentlest twist and tug. How you have her mouth ready and open, waiting; how Miyeon glances over for approval.

"Well," Sana turns a cheek, "he's already so worked up." Her dark eyes look towards you - a mock frown. "I don't know if we can convince him otherwise."

Miyeon's throat clicks - she's not choking yet, but left to her own devices, she will be. Her expression melts into an almost-gasp as your cock fills the empty space in her mouth. There's that plush little gag as she opens, lips wet. You rock your hips, and then you get to watch her nose kiss the trail leading up the smooth plane of your belly.

"I could go for a soak," you admit, with Miyeon drooling on your cock.

Because Sana's doing that thing where she turns around, has the smug look over her shoulder. Makes a slow, teasing movement that leads your eyes from her pretty face all the way down the cut of her back, until finally she's pushing the soft waves of her hair into one hand so that her ass is perfectly presented-

And jesus, sure: the sloping hips, the inviting lines - the sharp points and soft edges, where she is and isn't; her cupped fingers come up to her own chest, just to show off the heft of her tits, hanging heavy. Everything is sensually posed. You're only a little bit mesmerized. Her figure has always had the cut of a pinup model. Curves like a siren. Her waist to hip ratio is - oh-fucking-kay, maybe you could do it right now - bend her in half - get her fucking sobbing until you kiss her quiet and cum so deep in her cunt it's all she can think about for days-

You realize then you're pulling too hard on Miyeon’s hair.

Not meaning to, or maybe too eager.

Hey, you have a pretty girl sucking life back into your cock and one more giving you bedroom eyes from across the room all ready to sit on it; you never said you weren't trying your best.

"Careful, honey. I'm getting impatient." Sana's hand traces the wallpaper trim in the hall, a sweeping path; a vague reminder as she disappears down and around the corner. You hear the squeak of the faucet and then the sound of her light footsteps. And then it's just an echoey and unapologetic, "one day I might not let you have all the fun," followed by, "my goodness-"

Sana, appraising her reflection in all likelihood. All bright smiles

You turn back to find a second set of eyes staring back, full of hunger, as a wet, messy heat wraps around the base of your shaft and follows to the top with the flutter of her tongue - and then all the way to the back of that tempting throat. Miyeon's moving at the tempo you'd put her at. You appreciate that. But you lift her jaw and hold the side of her face so she's looking straight at you - and as soon as you pop yourself out from between her lips, you say, "you'll let me taste Sana, too, won't you, baby?"

(Miyeon's never been good at saying no - to anything. That doesn't change here in the slightest.)

The way you laugh is easy and sweet. You kiss the space over her temple. "We've always been in this together, Miyeon," a soft tease. "Go ask her nicely, and I bet she lets you clean me up," before adding, "maybe, after you lick all the cum out of my girlfriend's tight ass."

And Miyeon simply grins. The promise of that sloppy fucking mess. She's ruined herself time and time again over far less.

"Oh," she says, "you know how good I look with cum dripping down my chin.”

It's kind of impressive how shameless she can be. So fucking blase - what are friends for, anyway.

“Shall we?"

You scoop Miyeon right up into your arms and, upon standing, swing her little body around in front of you. And she knows that's the sort of thing she shouldn't enjoy: being manhandled, told what to do, having someone lift the choice off her shoulders like that - but that doesn't stop her from tangling herself up around your neck and tilting her hips back into you in that playful-fake, overly innocent-cute mien - where she says in this tiny whisper, "are we, you think?"

Your mouth lands on her ear, nips the softness there, "behave yourself, sweetheart."

And then a low, breathless laugh escapes her: "when's the last time that was even an option."

(For the record, the answer is never, and you're probably actually so fucked - it's kind of hilarious to look back at it, and think, because how could any two people who have spent as many weeks (months) as you, putting all the right pieces into the right places, get all the stars align at once? The idea that the three of you are hooking up and nobody's getting hurt, murdered or hung out to dry is statistically improbable; and the likelihood that anyone in this presidential suite will survive the weekend without breaking at least four limbs in various places is rapidly dropping with each passing hour. You've been taking the old adage and clutching it against your chest -

It can't be a sin, if it makes you happy.)

Past the door, the first thing you notice is that Sana's hair is all pinned up. Always pretty like that.

However it doesn't change the picture a whole lot. A few inches more bare skin isn't exactly a big difference when there's the whole, naked, porcelain expanse that spans the soft length of her shoulders, along her hips and waist, and runs to her feet. It's still kind of incredible. The hourglass shaped silhouette. All the natural curves finding relief in the right places. Model-esque, that sort of thing. And, yes: her tits, the absolute heaven-sent frame of her ass and those amazing legs.

It goes without saying.

She's there with her back arched, an arm perched on the granite of the counter. So relaxed. An elegance only afforded to the very lucky or the very rich. She lets her head fall back, the fine curve of her chin canting above a neck that you would've been biting kisses into just moments ago if she hadn't put herself in full profile to take your breath away.

"Show off," Miyeon mumbles, and then whispers to you, "sorry. My body can't do that, like-" she indicates - with a weird wobbly hand gesture, about the height of Sana's pelvis. "Whatever that is."

Sana tilts her head forward and meets the glance you give her reflection.

"Hmm," is her eloquent contribution to the airy room, woven into the pitter-patter of bathwater, lapping at the surface. "Now why am I left to wonder why there's no one making good on my requests, huh."

You cross the space; get close. And Miyeon stays curled up against you, doesn't let you slip away as you walk over, doesn't let go. She kisses the front of your shoulder, hums softly.

"My bad," You say. It's very believable. You sound a bit winded; kind of a wreck, but your sincerity shines through in that sort of 'I'll fuck it better' kind of way.

"Excuses, excuses." A dismissive shrug. "The water's perfect. But if you insist," and the sultry drop of Sana's eyelashes is deliberate, an invitation. Her breath is caught as your mouth finds the space between her neck and shoulder blade - the place where she's gone all pink, "I'd hardly pass up the chance for you both to eat my pussy first."

And look: it's not a lie, per se, but the natural instinct for Miyeon-logic is just to provide the justification, "the faster we get you a cumming, squirming, desperate mess-" her hand slips to cup the junction of her jaw and the crook of her throat. "-the sooner it'll be 'til he fucks me senseless again."

"We have a long way to go to get even, sweetie," argues Sana. "Last time, you were both pretty self-absorbed."

"We'd never ignore you on purpose," you whisper into the crook of her neck, and Sana turns to let you follow that deep, velvety mouth as the kiss flows across her lips. "You're absolutely necessary."

"Only by accident, then. That's a little bit worse," snarks Sana. The reprimand dies down into something soft as Miyeon lets her tongue trail flat over a nipple. She shudders.

"If I keep going, maybe you can forgive us?" You watch her eyelids flutter open, a haze of ecstasy passing behind her eyes. You keep an arm at her hip, wrap around and press flat until her whole flat tummy is pinned against your cock.

"Mmm," Sana hums. It's that sultry note she likes to let trail from the very end of her throat. "Ask me again after you get me off. But slowly: I want to savor every detail."

Miyeon traces kisses across Sana's rib until your girlfriend presses two wet fingers to her mouth. Easy.

"Then you should probably do something about her," you say, and - as if in agreement - Sana twists her hand into the cascades of her Miyeon's hair. You lean into her shoulder. She sighs; exhales, deeply, while her back is shimmying further backwards into the countertop.

"And you should help her make it up to me," Sana chimes, her voice clear and melodic, every inflection playing right at home in her vocal cords. "Two mouths are better than one, and I have so many other places you should be kissing."

Sana has a verifiable gravitas, for one, and when she's not hiding in plain sight behind the bubbly-bright act she likes to put on, it's nearly impossible not to fall in line behind her. This isn't to say you couldn't win her over either; it's a pretty small crowd here. But you choose one direction and watch her skin pink up and turn to red; you grab a wrist and it goes cold and white. Every last part of her is so damn expressive. The point is that she doesn't need you to make a fool out of yourself to know you're into her - or vice versa.

(Or. You're such a goddamn sucker, as Miyeon likes to remind you with a scoff, a little eye-roll, and then her hands on your belt. At least, before everything else: the knowing smirk, the dangerous suggestion).

You let your fingers find the backs of Sana's thighs as she spreads her knees apart, and there, you're reminded of the one thing. That of all the ways these two girls are identical, you've never found a comparison that really works. Not by any useful measure.

Miyeon has all the softer features: a bit dainty, the doe eyes and the lone dimple, like a doll with an aw-so-cute factor, whereas Sana is all sharp, clean angles; the sculpted muscle in her calves and thighs, the firmness and muscle underneath - which, yeah, definitely not the worst trade off. Don't get it confused, both girls crave your approval; both prefer when things get rough and sloppy. Describing either as anything but the most submissive holy-shit-take-me-now-I-need-you type, when put under the slightest pressure is laughable.

Not when Miyeon lets you use her like a toy. Or when Sana tells you exactly what you need to do to fuck a baby into her (hypothetically speaking; she gets a little silly and dumb around the edges whenever she's about to cum and her brain starts tripping over her tongue). Neither will hesitate when given the option of having your hand on the side of their throat, pinning their wrists to the headboard or the shower wall, fucking them until they go liquid and collapse in your arms, shivering, whimpering and begging, their pussies pulsing around your cock. In fact, there's really no hard or fast rule at all. But here, you recognize, is a great point of difference -

"Baby," you murmur into the inside of Sana's thigh. You leave a mark with your lips that you’ll come back to. "So. Fucking. Gorgeous-" right as Miyeon starts pressing her mouth against her cunt. "Aren't you, baby? The most beautiful girl. And all of this is just mine?"

Listen - the praise kink your girl has is actually pretty textbook: Sana wants to be called sweet, she wants to be complimented, rewarded, and all that good stuff; she wants you to talk to her the way everyone who sees a flash of her skin or a sway of her hips wants to - the best parts of adulation, arousal, love, without any of the side-eye of it being totally obscured in a crowded venue.

Direct.

To the point.

She wants to hear each and every you're sexy, you look hot, your ass drives me crazy. She wants it on the gruff in your voice, how it gets a little rough at the edges. Tell me you're mine. You make me so hard. This is just the very essence of who Sana is, and you have learned that you need to give as well as take: feed her a tiny ego boosting here and there, and she will completely throw herself at you in return.

Miyeon watches you run your tongue over her cunt like she’s taking notes, and it’s clear you’re more than prepared to give it all up to her. There's always been this veneration, this reverence for every inch of her, a pull towards her - her eyes, her mouth, her wrists, her long beautiful legs, the place where the skin of her thighs meets - you've always had this insane fascination with Sana, this need to know what she'd taste like or sound like. At any given moment.

"Oh," Sana pushes Miyeon closer, moaning. "Yours. So yours, baby."

The moment you both have your tongues working at her - tasting, the sweetness of her dripping down onto both of your faces, making you lick your lips and kiss each other so Sana gets to watch - Miyeon hums approvingly. Lets out this very performative, "isn't she just the best?"

And it isn’t that you can't find the right word - divine, wonderful, heaven, incredible, without any flaw - there just isn't much room to read into the fact that you and Miyeon are both sunk to your knees on the bathmat, kneeling in worship, in adoration - sucking on Sana's clit. The imagery sells itself.

"We'd never forget the important things," Miyeon continues, dreamily.

She's trading with you the folds of Sana's dripping pussy and the outline of her lips for her thigh. You pick up where she leaves off, and that earns you Sana's hand raking through the back of your hair, pressing you so close you can hear her heartbeat in her pulse; her blood burning through the very spot.

“That's how you make me feel, baby: so fucking good. Amazing." You taste it. You chase it. There is nothing like her cum filling your mouth. "Pretty. Mine. All mine."

“Yeah, okay - sure - that feels really fucking good.”

Sana's orgasms always start slow; a slight adjustment of her hips, the rub of one calf against the other, she's never been the quiet type but there's not quite the screaming or yelling just yet. Her jaw is set.

"You're, uh-," she adds, failing at anything else.

Miyeon tries for it. That edge of danger; not in pain or frustration, but, "there you go, sweetie: you sound so fucking pretty when you're worked up. Just tell us - the words, we need the words to make it good, baby."

"Fine," says Sana, tilting her head down, breathing deeply, and she makes a sound that's neither a whimper nor a laugh, but a crossroads of both. "Right there, oh my god, you are so fucking dangerous, holy shit. Oh, please. Please. You two- just, please, don't you dare- just a little bit - mmm. Why do you have to be so good at that?"

"Right?" Miyeon laughs out loud - like you're the one missing a vital point, like it's your fault your face is buried in her folds. “I used to think guys just didn’t like doing it. And then, well-"

And you drag your tongue flat and up over her pussy, right through that whole slicked up slit, your fingers still pumping in and out, and then you flick it just hard enough to-

"-yeah," she huffs, panting.

Miyeon presses her thumb into the mess of Sana's cunt, and it causes Sana's whole body to shudder apart - you lift your face to breathe, or to promise, "we can go for hours if you want, taking turns making you cum," before pressing into her again, and Sana's only got so much patience and stamina when you're two steps ahead of the curve, because her legs are practically going to wobble off her body.

"Poor, pretty baby," Miyeon murmurs against her, and she's talking like she’s taken all the control now. Operating in that cycle of push and pull.

And to her point: Sana is whining, gasping - every bit as hot and bothered and needy. She's whispering please and not giving up her requests.

"Fuck. Okay, sorry-” she apologizes. For some reason.

Your nose keeps getting bumped, her cunt is grinding down into your chin. That is fine. If it keeps on like this, your whole face will be soaking wet.

"I'm going to just- going to go ahead and cum, I think- so fucking. Yeah, keep on going just like, shit, please: my pussy is fucking throbbing."

This is the easy part, if you've read the rest right. If the hours and the minutes, and all the passing days: you know which direction the pieces are about to fall.

Sana arches her spine, rolls her hips into your face, and when you swirl your tongue all over the wet heat at her core, the sound she makes is music: low, throaty and delicate. Your mouth is attached to her clit still when you look up over the hand you have steadying each tremble in her diaphragm. And possibly as a sort of vengeful maneuver, Miyeon is shoving two fingers under your jaw and far enough into Sana's pussy that each curl of a knuckle is all that’s left to find Sana cumming right onto your mouth, your chin.

She wants to scream, to cry out, but her mouth joins her face, in that frozen expression of anguish, of an absolute that perfect pleasure.

"Shh, shh, it's okay," Miyeon consoles, standing up, leaning in - close, really, impossibly close; she presses their foreheads together, murmuring against Sana's ear, whispering what-do-you-need, there you go. Baby, that was perfect. They each know the song and dance. They can shamelessly recite each other's lines. Miyeon slides an arm to the small of Sana's back, one across her shoulders, and Sana leans against her with this gorgeous look of a perfect, mind-numbing orgasm on her face, her eyes bright, her lashes fluttering - a sheen of sweat across her forehead; your stomach falls and bottoms out; you can't not be fucking attracted to these two. Miyeon smooths down her hair, reassuring her. Her hand reaches lower, wraps around her, pulls.

The bath is well filled at this point, water near overflowing, and Sana is equally fucking soaked. This storm of wet and hot beneath your lips. You clean her off with the broad stroke of your tongue and don't spill a drop, because the noise she's making - it sounds like rapture, ecstasy. She's half-delirious, panting, with her hands gripping the sides of your head.

"Where," she gasps, trying her damnedest. You have the best girls in the world, you really fucking do. Miyeon rubs the heel of her palm against the soaked, red hood of her cunt. Sana lets out a sound halfway between a gasp and a groan; the arch of her hips chasing Miyeon's touch; "you, are you two - god damn, if I hadn't already-"

"Shhh. My poor girl. You're not thinking about his cock just yet," and those are Miyeon's slender fingers coaxing your jaw free from Sana's cunt, prying her free from you so she can sit alone at her throne. "They always keep lube in these kind of places," Miyeon reaches into a drawer, fumbling about. It takes a moment for it to register that she's actually talking to you. "It usually looks like some body oil, you know the nice massage kind, in these tiny bottles. Help me look, will you?"

It does not take long - hotel management understands what these rooms are for. The scandal and the romance and everything in between. Because Miyeon finds what she’s looking for in the next drawer down: a sample-sized container of massage oil, something slippery and organic. It smells vaguely of lavender.

"Look at me," Miyeon tells you, and Sana is absolutely listening along too. It's all very seamless: Sana and then Miyeon. All the synchronized parts. Their signals have some sort of feedback even if you're not always actively aware of the things they pass back and forth.

Miyeon guides Sana onto her shaky legs, turns her toward you - So you swallow, hard, and run your thumbs into the crease of her ass - you're kneeling, still, still totally naked and wet all around the jaw. "Eat her ass, and I'll keep her cumming until she can't feel anything else."

You shift your weight and run a kiss along the tender skin at the back of Sana’s thigh. The contact has her bracing a hand on the counter for support.

“And then-” Miyeon says, with a gleam in her eyes like she knows what the fuck she wants. She slides back down to the floor until Sana is pinned between a rock and a hard place. Her two favorite people in the world: namely, your hands gripping Sana's hips, and Miyeon's tongue all over the aching little clit you'd just had your mouth wrapped around moments ago.

"And then?" you provide, hovering a kiss onto the beautiful round of Sana's ass. Her fucking cheek. You have to slap it. Just a little. And when you watch it ripple back and forth with your handprint there, a spot of pink already blooming, well, she has to be giving you a sultry look that demands to know when it is exactly that you are going to stick your cock inside of her, and it is absolutely just impossible to look anywhere else.

"And then," Miyeon supplies, "we're going get that beautiful cock in her ass so you can fuck her brains to mush."

"Thanks I guess, for the explicit permission," you scoff, and here you drop your lips, trail them into the crack of Sana's ass, up and down, teasing the taut stretch of her hole with the tip of your tongue.

"Someone has to take responsibility for-," she pulls on Sana's leg and stretches it forward, repositions her ever so slightly. She sucks Sana's clit into her mouth with an exaggerated sort of satisfaction.

You wait for Miyeon to continue, and then realize with the unshakeable notion: she isn't going to, because it's too damn much trouble. There is no reason to pull apart the premise and not the girl straddled between your faces. The only option is to follow her lead, and to worship Sana. To trace every crevice of her, lick between her ass and the sensitive, clenching heat of her pussy.

"Can we, like, take a timeout-" Sana's mouth is slurring into the skin of her forearm. Her upper thighs are quaking, quivering as you sink your teeth in. Her head's gone all heavy as a slutty little moan rings out and straight down her lungs.

And maybe the realization is setting in. You and Miyeon are going to fuck her until you all can't think - until you're nothing but primal urges, nothing but bodies with beating, pounding hearts; and every thought in Sana's head will be to the two of you; to Miyeon, whose hand finds the front of Sana's stomach and guides her pelvis into rolling forward and grinding into her mouth, to you, with your tongue lathering and lapping at her asshole, and running your hands around her hips until her whole body's shaking, "oh fuck, my god-"

(The writing is on the wall. You and Miyeon are going to fuck her until none of you know where you end, where the other begins.)

Sana tries again, and the question ends in a deep, rumbling, "don't you want, Miyeon, wouldn't you rather just really, fucking love, having his thick cock stretch you apart," - she swallows - and when she glances behind her back and finds you watching her, there is just pure, unadulterated arousal burning through her eyelashes, over the flare of her ass.

You catch the fucking bow of her lower lip wobbling as she adds, a little more pointed and a lot more determined, "when you're, fuck, begging and screaming for his load? To be his cumdump, his little bitch," it's like she's got her heart set, and her mouth can't stop moving fast enough, and "to do whatever he wants just because it makes you look and feel so damn hot?"

You can hear Miyeon's mouth smacking with the way it works, the way she is swallowing, gasping. You can hear the sound she makes when her mouth goes loose, and says, agreeing, "you're going to love it Sana, every god-damn-inch, you always do" and Sana is falling apart again into your grip, moaning, and then "it's so much better. All the stretch, that tightness. But she needs your fingers first.

You can hear Sana gasping too, dripping a mess into the place where her pussy and ass meet. Miyeon licks a wide strip from her core all the way up and kisses it. Lick. Kiss, lick - her hands pulling Sana closer by the hip - kiss, kiss, lick - pulling her mouth around your girl's clit. So close to the place in Sana's bubbly cheeks, where your mouth supplies long sucks and soft kisses - so close you can practically taste the scented flavor in Miyeon's lip gloss.

"I can't- shit. Hold on, guys," Sana whispers. It's her nails scraping against the granite. "You need to-" and then the loud, dull thwap of her knee knocking into the cabinet.

She's cumming again - this time, loud and guttural, but another really beautiful sound - her cunt pulsing hard into nothing while the air hangs in limbo, Miyeon's tongue circling her clit, your palms around Sana's beautiful, round ass. You're half convinced they'd be fine with being locked away in some tower. Forget the world and its obligations. Or, rather: let the world stop spinning; leave only this.

There is not much talking from then on.

Mostly whining, whimpers and pleas to: not stop, yes, there, yes, please, fuck, and Miyeon wraps her fingers around you - almost the same thing she did when you were pumping your cum into her quivering cunt earlier, asking, please, may I-?

Sana bends herself over the counter, like something instinctual. The perfect bend and arch in her spine, the bow of her knees and the press of her thighs. Inviting, pleading. You can feel the tingle, the stiff tension in the muscles, when you reach out and lift her ass; it gives so easily to your touch. Your palm, her cheeks. There's a beautiful flush as the pink starts to run, fade, and reappear along her back, and - fuck, okay, seriously-

Miyeon's there, kneeling next to you: stroking her fingers up your length. She’s kissing you too. It’s hard to think.

But the sound of the cap coming off the bottle comes like an alarm clock, pulling you out of a dream.

Miyeon sits on her heels, smiling into the press of your lips as the bottle she procured tips out. Clear, viscous and smooth into her palm. When it becomes a lot of dripping; she swirls it against your cock - her knuckles wrapped around you, running and twisting into every curve, sliding her whole grip with long, calculated strokes.

"I don't think she's in any condition to keep a tally," Miyeon announces, "so, why don't you decide?"

"Meaning?" you're panting; your brain keeps working to formulate complete thoughts.

"Meaning," she slips her tongue against yours, slides her teeth and draws into your lower lip, "you should totally pound her gorgeously tight little ass" - another kiss, mostly on your lower lip; almost a bite - "and then you should dump that massive load of yours" - a shudder rolls through her shoulder and leaves a whisper in her wake - "right inside mine."

There are about eight thousand words in the English language but what you say is, "fuck."

Because she's right: Sana is blathering the moment you stand up and let your hands reach around, grab hold of her full, rounded hips. She’s not in any state to protest or complain about matters of equality or correspondence. Her lips and tongue are barely even fit to say anything but yes-yes-please-anything, oh god.

Which, okay, whatever: of course, whatever the fuck she needs - whatever they need - you pull at her hips until it's there, your cock sandwiched between those full, warm ass-cheeks, the perfect amount of pressure to get you so fucking hot, and Sana's not shy about rolling her hips to keep you pressed to the surface, rocking into your balls until her cunt's making slick, wet, hungry noises and she's just one endless, groaning moan.

"Love feeling your cock," Sana mutters; and there is a, "please, fuck me, baby- please?" thrown in for good measure.

"Please do, you're like - you're like ridiculously gifted," Miyeon adds, always the right touch of caustic.

"-please."

Sana's eloquence is short lived, because the second you give her ass a squeeze and Miyeon presses her thumb against Sana's cunt, her voice catches on her throat.

She sounds perfectly winded, completely out of breath, a tiny, sexed-up growl running through the notes as she speaks to her reflection in the mirror. Miyeon laughs. She can hardly get her own shit together when you lean up and grab a breast in hand, or start leaving slow-but-steady bite marks along the back of her shoulder blades; like it's all-too funny when you pin Sana to the counter until she starts to beg in that please, please, please tone: when every syllable and gasp is hitched and short.

"She doesn't want gentle," Miyeon tuts, finding her place next to Sana, holding her chin in her hands and catching the expression on her face. She presses a thumb into Sana's mouth for no reason other than: they're so soft. Wet. Pink and full, parted around her fingertip. "Isn't that right, baby?"

Your gaze follows their hips, swaying. And from this angle: identical. The hair, the jawline, the arch of the throat and shoulders, the elegant twist and fold of their limbs, the eyes, the blush, the smile, and the legs. They don't have to look exactly the same: their presence is near identical - Miyeon's the cuter one, sure. It's been established, but fuck, the look on Sana's face as you spread her asshole with just a finger is fucking dangerous. You're going to lose your mind. Both the flat tummies and the beautiful breasts and their matching hard nipples - and the fucking two best asses the world has ever seen. A line up over the counter: Miyeon and Sana, side by side; their reflections looking at you in tandem, wearing these same expressions. The eyes begging, asking and insisting, the pouting lower-lip and the glassy sheen of their eyelashes.

You tell them: "how am I supposed to" - you run the thick-glistening head of your cock along the pucker of Sana’s tight ass, grind your hips into the friction - "focus when you two look at me like that?”

"Um, just give up," says Miyeon, grinning; and then, when your jaw snaps closed and there's the obvious shift of your hips as your length strains through your body's need and pulls you closer to that incredible, tight, dark hole: "god, there you go. That is so fucking hot."

So, it's just like this:

They watch each other. The mirror is right there; every want, every motion.

And then, yeah, a low and throaty, "is that it?" - Sana nods into Miyeon's hand and smiles, with just the slightest hint of something that could resemble a blush - "why we always come back to him? Because, really-"

"Mmm." Sana hums agreement, dazed and drunk in her words, the slow breath of air you push out of her chest as your cock starts to sink in; the deeper the intrusion, the lower your names become - just murmurs and sighs and sounds: "god, yes, god-"

Her pussy starts to drip onto the tiles, her slick collecting at Miyeon's knees as Sana takes you all the way: and you hold, once you're all the way in; once that gorgeous little puckered rim has stretched around your entire width; there's just the smell of the room; lavender and rose and citrus - Sana's endless arousal - and you hold, and hold on tight - and your muscles shiver as Sana draws the first rocking motion of her hips.

The smallest, lightest grind.

"Jesus fucking christ," you curse, because the heat around your cock is excruciatingly tight. A slow-burning, tingling-aching pleasure as the flesh inside Sana's ass moves up and down the length, drawing out inch by inch of skin - until your entire cock is nearly pulled out.

You're the one that drives all the way back in.

Sana gasps. She runs her hand through her hair. She tries her damndest to remember what words are, clearly coming up empty.

"Baby." Miyeon is kissing her forehead, her nose, her lips, and coos praises in her ear. She sinks her fingers into the curve of Sana's immaculate ass, pulling on the soft cheek, showing-

You are speechless. It's just: that next stroke. And another. Your cock slipping in and out with each pass, so easy once Sana sighs, licks her lips and leans into your rhythm, there, all at once and then faster. And she looks in the mirror, because of course; of course she watches Miyeon run her hand all over her front, the perfect tits and a pretty stomach - your thrusting keeps up until every thrust has her hips rolling forward and snapping back, chasing her own momentum; chasing that thick, hard, stretch of cock and that beautiful pleasure-pain as the force and pace rocks her, pounds her so her entire body has to curl against Miyeon's chest for support, so that she's going a little weak in the knees.

"How is he?" Miyeon's tone gets wicked in these situations, a lot less innocent. She gets excited, giddy. "Pretty, handsome, stupidly attractive," her voice picks up a playful lilt, and she gets you grinning - it's only the start. "And he's all yours. But how's the cock, huh? He's gaping your ass so pretty. Your hole is so fucking open around him. It looks incredible, doesn't it?"

Sana reaches for the side of her ass, presses her fingertips to her skin: pulls and splits a fingernail into the tender flesh where her ass and thigh meet - right above her cunt. You snap your hips into hers and watch your cock disappear. Every motion gives, slurps and sucks until you're hilted inside her.

"Feels, mmmm - fuck." Her chest is fluttering, every part of her so fucking flushed, her blood running beneath the surface so every single inch of her skin is saturated with her own need, her want.

"Feels so good," you growl, your vision gone dark around the edges. Miyeon's there, vaguely, smirking into Sana's jaw, licking at the sweat, scraping her teeth along the skin to bite down, pull- "she's so fucking tight. Gripping the hell out of my cock. Like, it feels unbelievable, you know."

"Babe," she cries, though you give her no respite - you use that little sliver of slack and pull out far enough that she'll know it when your cock is hammering into her ass, a little more aggressive, and you start with quick, hard pumps that echo throughout the room - not for your pleasure or hers: just to hear it, listen, you're driving up so far into that perfect, gorgeous ass that it sends her tits rocking and rolling with every bounce of her chest; her moans, her babbling incoherence, are, again - it's like a drug - and Miyeon's smiling. And also, getting herself off.

"So pretty," Miyeon says into her temple, "with his cock fucking open your ass." And she has her fingers swirling, swirling, in little patterns around her cunt, grazing over a wet clit, like the way you're pounding Sana's ass and dismantling her whole consciousness is absolutely the most arousing thing ever, like Miyeon could stay and watch forever, like Sana's the most beautiful person in the world, and Miyeon would be right here with her every second - whispering praise in her ears - "god, babe, if I could, I would never pull his cock out. You take him so well, don't you? You're just made for it. He could stretch you out over and over and we could, you know - be fucked silly - no thinking - for, like, forever. All day long."

Sana's fingers claw, gripping at the bowl of the sink, while Miyeon has her hand glued to her clit, playing herself.

Miyeon doesn't wait - but she asks anyway - and of course: she's leaning up, in, nuzzling Sana and saying: "yes?"

"So," is all Sana gets out before gasping, because the sight, it's too much to not let yourself feel a little power drunk, and there is a sudden thrust that practically turns the poor girl's voice into a croak. "Yes. Fuck - fuck-"

You don't really have any clue where this is coming from but: "Miyeon, here, take this cock. Come get what's yours you fucking cocktease," and, whatever - who needs thoughts? Your girlfriend's already bent over the bathroom counter, your fingers holding the smooth curves of her ass apart, her beautiful body opened all up and pink.

Miyeon ruffles her hair as she finds the perfect angle, knees knocked up against the drawers, and she's got more oil spread onto her own puckered rim.

You know your girls: Sana is desperate for your cock, Miyeon lives to be used.

"I love how fucking cock-drunk she gets," Miyeon laughs, and then - the moment you've shifted from one gorgeous hole to the other - her mouth slackens, her eyelashes flutter: "shit. Holy - didn't really realize- oh wow."

"Kinda distracting?" you tease, knowing full well you're just going to lose your own words; watching a gorgeous ass swallow your cock; being told to keep giving and take, just as much: the warmth in your own core, your cunt, clenching hard - an aching pulse - the excitement coursing through your veins and this, this whole sensation of being connected: your bodies, all-encompassing and present, three whole units, joining at the hips, being forced back together-

"-you feel fucking, so tight. That's how the fucking joke goes, right?" Miyeon manages: to talk, still, even with a cock in her ass and your teeth and tongue painting pretty marks up the ridges of her spine.

Sana is catching her breath, brushing her fingers through her hair staring wistfully.

"Gives you two so much to talk about."

"Now don't even start- I really like it, alright."

Sana gives her ass the worst slap but your balls hit her cunt on the following thrust. Miyeon's so fucking tight you can barely breath. And her laughter tinkers off into a very pretty string of obscene moans from the way your cock spears into her, all at once: the flat, wet, throbbing sounds of a tight ass taking a thick cock without stopping, stretching and sliding with an increasing ease the longer it goes on for, until you're snapping your hips so far forward they're slapping Miyeon's ass and gripping, squeezing the round shape of her waist; until the movements are just you, the heavy weight of your balls against the hot wet skin between her legs.

And god damn it, she's got to start with:

"Forgot how much you stretch me, Jesus - baby, it is a really gorgeous cock you've got," - and that is when it hits, and her hands fist up, trying to grab at something, anything: "oh my god."

"You are such a whore," Sana laughs, but not unkind, because Miyeon can only grin in response, with your cock pounding out into the red-hot, clenched walls of her asshole. And then: a nice, hearty sigh.

You find yourself asking, almost by impulse, "isn't she, uh, tight. God."

And, fuck: you were thinking how insane it is you two ever managed without the third party. How now, not fucking Sana and Miyeon's glorious, matching asses side-by-side would drive you fucking crazy, and maybe that's why it's really the best news. How when your cock slips out of one ass, and slowly nuzzles into the other - how when you all three watch the pretty faces in the mirror twist and turn into a look of such pure fucking bliss - you just sort of-

"Oh."

That's Sana: with Miyeon pressed chest-first over the marble counter, Miyeon's cheek and nose flush against her face, their arms twisted, bodies crossed at the wrist and wrist - their skin shiny-red with exertion. They're the closest possible position: mirror images of the other, and - with the slightest push -

And it's pretty. It's fucking, you know.

"Perfect," you groan. "This is it. Look at you, the both of you - god - it's like. It's not normal to be as beautiful as the two of you are. Right. So, you know-"

"Hey," Sana is a little faster on the uptake when you're fucking Miyeon and her ass within an inch of dying, "your face. You look like you're close, are you close baby?"

The blood's starting to sing in your ears. Miyeon's forehead keeps bouncing into Sana's - their sweat, mixing, her skin peppered and blotchy pink from where she's gotten a little bit lost in her own head, her hips moving of their own accord, her body tensing, relaxing. You can read all of her movements, recognize her signals: the way she moans louder than usual, the way her cunt trembles against you, the way her ass squeezes, holds, lets go-

You pull out. Just to keep yourself from blowing, just to pull on your balls, to look and watch the perfect view. And Sana reaches back - a warm hand wrapped around you.

You feel her palm wrap around your cock, coaxing another serving of oil - like she knows just how rough it's going to be to start again.

"Just," she pants, leaning into Miyeon so you have to rut around to find your way back, "until the end."

There's something so pleasantly mind-numbing about the moment when you ease your cock into the sweet-soft ring of muscles again and she's just stretching and pulsing and grabbing all around you. The way you keep going: she's holding herself, giving her asshole a squeeze, a stretch - her lips kiss a sound onto the side of Miyeon's shoulder and she nods, gasps, breathes out heavy and pained, like the rest: a total fucking rush.

You watch Miyeon lean further, a beautiful shift of balance between the two. Her hands clamp around the sides of Sana's thighs for support, and the longer you pound into her, the deeper your cock sinks, the closer the pressure becomes as their heads turn in, looking to the same place, their foreheads knocking, and-

"Knees," you growl. You're holding your cock in your first - demanding: "Get on your fucking knees."

Sana smiles first. Then Miyeon. And when the lipstick smears against their cheeks, you don't have it in you anymore to think clearly. The line between your imagination and your fantasy is so blurred: you want their mouths moaning into eachother. You want Miyeon to clean the taste from Sana's lips. You want those cunts grinding, their clits making contact, and for one of them - fuck-

So: "I need the both of you."

And it's your name falling off of Sana's tongue when the tops of her shins hit the tile floor - she's kneeling, she's pulling Miyeon by her waist until the three of you have converged into this beautiful, glistening, open-mouthed trio. Sana kisses Miyeon hard while you cum all over the image: the contrast of their soft, wet, hot tongues against one another while your harsh grip pumps along your slick, throbbing length. It feels like a knot unraveling, a tension snapping loose, your cum landing on their cheekbones, their temples, between their lips - It's a long, slow roll through the valley of your abs - Miyeon licking into Sana's panting mouth and swiping through the streak of white you just pumped out into her fucking hair; the messy collision of lips, swallows, tongues; the faint, slow sounds, the slickness-

"Look," she breathes. You can hear the way their words hitch when their fingers hook eachother, guiding through the mess across their skin, dipping through the sticky cum, circling the plush pout of their bottom lips; and it's Sana that grabs Miyeon by the wrist, bringing her hand forward; sucking, running her mouth in a lazy path all across the width, "that's all, fuck, I need to. Wanna taste all of it."

You just groan.

Miyeon is slumped into the lacework of Sana's limbs, swapping the tastes between her tongue and the space of their breath; while her own thumb caresses the raw, stretched opening of her ass. Sana whispers things, incoherencies, into Miyeon's hair: kisses at her temple, strokes the muscles of Miyeon's back. Feeling how they shiver, they heave, they fall - exhausted and flushed in the heat of one-another's embrace. She licks the words across Miyeon's cheek and follows with her nose trailing Miyeon's jaw, and your cum's smearing a streak onto Miyeon's bottom lip, before their tongues have tangled themselves into another messy, well-fucked kind of collision.

"Good girls," you mumble, kissing Miyeon's knuckles, and helping Sana to her feet.

Your legs are a lot less shaky than either the two of theirs, but it's okay, you pick Miyeon up and set her on the sink; and then turn on the tap for the both of them, since they'd need a wash and some salve.

"Now, what?" says Sana. She's smiling; a washcloth at the ready; some dribble of soap from the bottle.

Miyeon gives her a smirk from over her shoulder, turning away just enough to flip her hair; the ends brush across her jaw. It's a cute little quirk of the eyebrow; the upward twinge to the corner of the lip; it's a motion that knows every muscle, every detail.

"Depends," says Miyeon, sharpening up her tone just the littlest bit, "the bath looks like a tight fit for all three of us but," and there it is - the mischievous glint; the curve in her hips, her mouth, and, of course - you notice the way her eyes drop to the stiffness of your cock. The way her voice purrs, all light, but a lot more intent: "Did you see the shower? It's absolutely gigantic."

"I saw the detachable head," Sana throws out. A teasing little comment, one you remember - that sends a pretty deep shudder down your stomach and thighs. Your cock twitches, hard and - okay, good thing Miyeon booked the room for a week and then some. The view is pretty great: watching your cock get rock-solid in under five seconds. Watching them kiss the same knowing look, sharing the private joke. Watching their hips swing, watching them slide the glass door: Miyeon in front and Sana from behind.

It's in unison that they both turn over their shoulder and ask, "won't you help us test it out?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be right there." You shake your head, "so thirsty," even though, you know you're equally to blame.

It's that tiny whisper of "don't look at me like you don't have cum in weird places either, hm?" that Sana gives you, while Miyeon is washing her hair, rubbing and sliding along the locks. "I'll help you with the spots that are hard to reach, come here."

It's that little, meaningful, mischievous curl in Miyeon's lip when the water's pouring, and your breath falls across her skin. The way her hands reach out for you, even when Sana takes her chin and plants a firm, messy kiss across her mouth. It's the same gesture Miyeon's making, using Sana's forearm for support. How she runs the palm of her other hand along the back of Sana's thighs, slipping and pressing forward to guide, nudge. She pulls Sana onto her toes, aligning their bodies. It's in the little laughs they share, the wet smacks of lips, the soft little hums they make when tongues slip over, into the open.

It's here too, that you first ever get them confused, just a momentary slip up of "Sana, could you grab the towel-" or some equivalent, when you glance away at the perfect wrong moment and you're left just a little puzzled, still mostly entranced by the sight of the steam on the glass and their fingertips drawing patterns into it as they lean in for another kiss, or a moan-

"Oh," Miyeon says, delighted, "I'm supposed to be her, right?"

They're fucking-

Sana is less enthused. "Stop. I do not. Am not."

- identical.

"Look, I didn't mean-"

Miyeon laughs to cut you off and skips the argument. She winks, and somehow that makes it worse.

It's there too, the look of regret when your fingertips curl into the skin of her breast, your thumbs a tease against the rigid nubs of her nipples and the texture of her pretty stomach. They don't realize how much you really love their matching expressions. So, they don't mind the mixup, and besides: you just follow Sana's guiding hands and let your lips ghost-kiss, so gently across Miyeon's thigh. It's impossible to imagine a version that isn't one and the other, the two of them, here, with you: sharing kisses, offering the gentlest, slowest exploration, teasing and tugging a gasp of a response.

"Hey," Miyeon muses, "does that mean you'll keep your cock warm in me once we go to bed and feed me a steady stream of ice cubes between all the sessions, mm?"

Sana raises her head in faux offense and drops back into the comfort of Miyeon's thighs. "Jeez-us christ," Sana huffs; "one day with him and she thinks she's me. Have mercy."

"She isn't?" you ask.

Sana sighs. "Um. Not even close."

Miyeon beams at the both of you. She even runs her fingers through Sana's hair, doting - affectionate. "She'll come around to the idea eventually, don't worry. Until then I'm more than happy to take on the role. It can't be that hard, yeah? Just to be all - naughty-sexy-sweet-oh, look, a surprise, i’m actually ready to get fucked six ways to sunday-"

-you get an eyeful of whatever they are doing, this time just, fucking-

Sana only says, "it'll have to take an exceptional amount of patience on both your parts."

-gorgeous, lewd, completely fucking filthy.

"I got a lot, babe."

The second Sana opens her mouth, it's followed with: "pfffht."

It's just, who wouldn't give them whatever they want? Whatever they ask? There's a list out there: no doubt the both of them, gagging. Throat-deep. In their little skirts. Panties. Naked and straddled, just, across their hands. One, maybe. Or both all the same, or still a different preference. One behind the other and taking turns. Something - and this is important, here:

"Look," they say, eyes wide up at you and blinking - on the same fucking beat no less, "you can trust us, okay?"

(Gentleman and distinguished scholars: the list, by the way, only ever gets longer.)

#sana smut #miyeon smut #twice smut #gidle smut #male reader smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

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xxbimbobunnyxx · 7 months

Text

Cat and Mouse

(Perv!Eddie Munson x Perv!Fem Reader)

Summary: Eddie thinks you are innocent and oblivious to all the pervy things he does behind your back, but what he doesn’t know is that you’re fully aware. Not only that, but you like it, and you just might be a bit of a perv yourself. WK: 8k (idk what happened)

Warnings: Where do I even begin? This is filthy guys… Panty stealing, honestly just Eddie and Reader both taking things of each others without asking (and using them to pleasure themselves), Maybe a tiny bit of angst? Idk there’s like a second where they’re both doubting themselves but it’s solved quickly. SMUTTTT!!! Unprotected P in V, Oral (M and F receiving), overstimulation(on R), hair pulling, slightly sub!Eddie? Idk he’s just really down bad(but so is R), dirty talk but like dirty dirty. Idk what to tell y’all they’re pervs, they’re gross, this is feral. If I missed anything pls lmk!! 18+MNDI!!

A/N: Listen… idk what came over me with this one… a horny demon possessed me and wrote this.. It was fueled by my feral period brain and all the perv Eddie fics I’ve seen where Reader is innocent, which is still very hot and I love it but I’m a whore so I wanted to write something where maybe she wasn’t as innocent as Eddie thought. That’s it, that’s all I have to say, pls enjoy the filth. 😌 (also shout out to @take-everything-you-can for mentioning something about taking Eddie’s shirt, I kind of took that idea and ran a mile with it.) My Masterlist

You met Eddie a few months ago, you were working at your uncle’s comic book shop when he came in looking for some dice. He came in a few more times after that, always needing something for his campaign, or looking for a comic for one of his younger friends he told you about. He would always stay and talk to you for a while, telling you things about his life, asking about yours. Eventually he asked you if you wanted to come to one of his shows and the two of you had basically been inseparable since.

You hadn’t known him long but it didn’t take long for you to pick up on a few things. Like how his eyes would always linger on your thighs when you’d cross them on his bed in your little ruffly skirts, or how they looked like they were going to pop out of his head when he noticed you hardly ever wear a bra. You noticed he always talked to you in this way that made you seem so innocent and pure, untouched. You weren’t, but noticed he liked it, so you played into it.

You started to notice things going missing, a pair of underwear that didn’t quite make it in the dirty clothes basket, a tester vile of your perfume you had left over from before you decided it was worth buying the whole bottle, a picture of you from your stack of polaroids that was of you at the beach in your little red bikini.

So you started leaving things. Your dirty underwear on display, always at the very top of your laundry basket. A nearly empty bottle of your favorite lotion sitting next to the trash, ready to be thrown out. A picture of your tits with your forearm just barely covering your nipples at the top of the stack of Polaroids.

Each time they would be gone, and you weren’t sure at this point if he was just playing along or if he was the one that was really that naive.

•

The first time Eddie saw you he was convinced you were an angel. Standing behind the counter at the comic shop downtown in your little white sweater and pink skirt. When he walked up to look at the dice in the glass underneath the register he could see your white thigh high socks. You had this cute ribbon in your hair and when you spoke your voice sounded like sugarcane. You asked him if there where any sets that stood out to him, and then you surprised the hell out of him by asking if they were for D&D. You had never played, but your cousins and your uncle did, so you knew the basics.

He couldn’t stop himself from coming in after that, finding any excuse to make a trip to see his favorite girl. Maybe he would decide he needed a new mini for an NPC or offer to go get a new release of a comic for Dustin while he was at school. He always spent a while standing there talking to you, getting to know you, ogling you because he just couldn’t help himself. How could he? When you would lean over the counter giving him a perfect view of your tits through your thin shirts and hardly ever wore a bra? When you would ask him to hold the ladder steady so you could get something up high and he would get a perfect view up your skirt of whatever panties you wore that day? You were irresistible.

He learned that you weren’t only beautiful but actually really cool. You knew a lot about comics, you had read Tolkien, you loved horror movies possibly more than he did, and you were down to give any music a chance.

You also had this innocence about you, like you almost didn’t realize how much he wanted you. It just made him want you more. You’d look at him with those big round eyes and pouty lips whenever he would tease you about something. When he would compliment you outright you always made this little squeaky noise and he would notice you squirm or press your thighs together.

But once you started hanging out with him outside of work that’s when he really lost control. The first time he was at your house he saw a pair of your panties next to your laundry basket. Clearly dirty by the way he could see your juices left behind on the crotch of them. You were in the bathroom changing and he just couldn’t resist. He picked them up off the ground and held them up to his nose, inhaling your scent. He felt slightly sick but he had already gone this far so he figured he might as well just have a little taste. He licked the patch where your pussy was, and even though they had mostly dried you still tasted divine. His head spun and his cock hardened as he imagined what you would really taste like. He heard the bathroom door across the hall creak open so he quickly shoved the panties into his back pocket and sat down on your bed, one leg bent at the knee crossed over the other to try and hide the very prominent bulge in his pants.

Then there was the time you had to run down to the mailboxes to check your mail, he already had been subtly staring at the small vial of your perfume after you proudly announced to him that you decided it was your signature scent now, showing him the larger bottle. He figured you wouldn’t need the small one anymore, it was almost gone anyways. So he did what he’s been finding himself doing more and more often when he’s in your room, he pocketed it. That night he sprayed it on his pillow, holding it to his face while he had your panties wrapped around his cock. Bucking into his hand with reckless abandon, imaging what yours might feel like instead.

Then there was the day he was at your apartment before you were supposed to meet up with some of his friends for a movie night and you wanted to shower after work. He was bored, snooping around a little like he usually does when he gets a moment alone in your room, and he came across a stack of Polaroids. His heart warmed when the top one was a photo of you and him at a metal show you went to with him and the guys a few towns away.

You were always surprising him and that night was no exception, banging your head until your little ribbon was about to fall out of your hair. He fixed it for you, of course. He kept looking through the stack of photos, seeing images of you and your friends back home, some of you and your cousins, and tons of you here in Hawkins. Mostly of you and him, some with his friends that were now yours too. But when he got almost to the bottom of the stack he saw a photo of you and your friends at the beach, all smiling wide at the camera. He could only see your neck and shoulders but he could tell you were wearing a little red bikini of some kind. He eagerly flipped to the next photo, hoping there might be one that proved him right, and he was not disappointed.

This picture was just you, laying on the beach with your legs outstretched in front of you, your hands were buried in the sand and just like he thought you were wearing a bright red bikini.

The way you were leaning back on your hands was making your chest stick out and the way one of your legs was slightly bent made it so he could just see the curve of your ass from the side. Your skin glistened with what he assumed was a mixture of sunscreen and sweat and he wanted to lick it off. Your eyes were adorned with heart shaped sunglasses that matched the red of your swimsuit and if he looked close enough he could tell even your toes matched.

He felt his cock harden immediately, licking his lips at the sight. Without even really thinking he shoved the photo in the back pocket of his jeans, hoping you wouldn’t notice it missing.

You tempted him twice that day, it was just too easy when you threw your clothes on top of the basket after your shower and walked into the kitchen to get a snack. Your panties were directly on top, the crotch side up, and he could see a fresh wet patch there. He couldn’t help it, he pocketed them and excused himself to the bathroom, running his tongue along the cloth where your juices had collected. His eyes rolled in the back of his head and he felt like he was going to pass out. It only took a few tugs of his cock before he was spilling cum all over his hand and exiting the bathroom with his pockets full of treasures like nothing ever happened.

•

About two weeks into this cat and mouse game you still weren’t sure you were just playing with yourself, you were alone in Eddie’s room. He ran out to his van to check for the tape he was looking for and you were sitting on his bed and one of his shirts was thrown haphazardly near his pillows like he had taken it off right before going to sleep. The thought came to you and before you could question it you were grabbing it and holding it up to your nose. It smelled good but not like you were expecting. You were expecting the scent of weed mixed with tobacco, apple shampoo and the aftershave you got for him after you told him the smell of the one he was using smelled like a 60 year old man’s wife picked it out for him.

It smelled like those things, but it also smelled like… you, your perfume. But there was something else. When you picked it up it felt slightly dry and maybe a little bit crunchy and upon closer inspection you noticed that it was dried cum. Did he spray your perfume onto his cum shirt? Was he smelling it while he stroked his cock? Thinking of you? The thought made your pussy pulse and your head spin, but it wasn’t what you wanted. Plus, he would definitely notice this missing. So when you heard the trailer door swing open you acted fast. Grabbing one of his discarded shirts that was on the ground near his bed and shoving it into your bag.

That night you did something you would’ve felt ashamed of if you weren’t positive Eddie’s done something similar, maybe even dirtier from the looks and smells of that shirt you found.

You wrapped Eddie’s shirt around your pillow and rode it until you came three times. As you drifted off to sleep still holding onto the pillow you wondered how much longer you could go without actually having the real thing.

•

Eddie was starting to wonder if you were doing this on purpose, his first indication of that being what he was currently holding in his hands. You were in the kitchen making lunch for the both of you and he was snooping around, as one does. But something caught his eye when he was walking by your shelf, something that wasn’t there before. Right on top of the stack of Polaroids he had found the bikini photo in was a picture of your tits. Your nipples were covered by your forearm, but your tits nonetheless. He was absolutely positive this hadn’t been there before, he definitely would have noticed.

Did you notice that he took the bikini photo and leave this here on purpose so he would see it? Did you take this for someone else? The thought of that made him sick to his stomach. His thoughts were bouncing around in his head like a ping pong ball trying to decide if he was reading into it, if he should take the photo or leave it. If he took it would you be mad? Would you be offended if he didn’t?

Before he could contemplate his decision further he heard your steps coming down the hall so he made a snap judgment and shoved it in his pocket. Practically launching himself onto your bed, he grabbed one of your cute frilly pillows, threw it on his lap and hoped it wouldn’t come off as suspicious.

You were walking down the hall with two bowls of Mac and cheese when you heard a shuffling sound and then the creaking of your mattress like someone just jumped on it. You smirk to yourself, wondering if Eddie saw the gift you left him.

When you open your bedroom door he’s sitting on your bed with a pillow in his lap, he flashes you a smile that is almost believable but you could see the slight flush in his cheeks. You set his bowl down on top of the pillow, and smile back.

“There you go Eds, one gourmet bowl of Kraft, as promised.” You mock curtsied, setting your own bowl down on your nightstand before walking over to your dresser under the guise of grabbing some socks. Making sure to glance as subtlety as possible at your shelf, and just as you thought, the photo was gone.

“Why thank you madam” Eddie held the spoon in his hand with his pinky out as he dramatically took a bite.

You giggled at his antics, as you grabbed the socks out of your top drawer you saw an opportunity to tease him further. You had already seen Eddie eyeing you in your little house shorts and your tank top so you pulled out your white thigh thighs, the soft fuzzy ones that you only really wore at home and made a show of putting them on.

You kept your back to him, bending over extra as you slid them slowly up your legs. You make sure to pull them up as high as they go. Leaving only a small section of skin between the top of the socks and the bottom of your shorts.

Eddie was pretty sure he was going to pass out and he thanked his past self for putting this pillow where it is right now. He watched as you pulled on your socks wondering how something as mundane as putting on fucking socks could be this sexy. When you snapped each one in place it made the meat of your thighs slightly giggle and the way they were sitting just under the curve of your ass was making it look extra juicy. He wanted to bite into it before he made his way between your thighs and spent the rest of his god damn life there.

“Fuck” He swore under his breath and hoped to god you didn’t hear him.

“Hmm? Eddie, you okay?”

You turn around and look at him with that fucking look you always gave him, like you didn’t know how sexy you were, like you didn’t know you drive him fucking crazy.

“Uh - Yeah! I was just saying fuck this is really good, I forgot how much some good ol’ kraft hits the spot.” He smiled and hoped his excuse was convincing enough, taking a large bite for good measure.

“Right? It’ll always be my favorite no matter how many homemade or restaurant kinds I’ve eaten, nothing beats it.”

You crawl onto your bed, making sure he can see down your shirt and plop down next to him on the pillows, leaning over to grab your bowl off your nightstand. Eddie can see your ass even more when your shorts ride up and he suddenly feels like he’s got to get out of here before he says or does something totally humiliating.

“I - uh - I just remembered I have to help Wayne! I told him I’d help him move his stuff into my old room since he has been so tired and hasn’t done it! So I’m - I gotta go!” He stood up swiftly, turning away from you and throwing the pillow down behind him. He didn’t turn around, just kept marching towards your door with his bowl still in hand. Only when he was practically out of your bedroom door did he turn his head to the side and address you.

“Thank you for lunch! I’ll leave the bowl in the sink! I’ll um - I’ll see you later!”

He didn’t even give you a chance to respond, ditching the bowl in the sink, grabbing his shoes not even bothering to put them on as he ran out the door to his van in only his socks.

You sat there with your mouth hanging open, eyes wide as you stared at your bedroom door wondering what the fuck just happened. Did you go too far? Were you making him uncomfortable? Maybe he changed his mind about you… Or maybe… maybe he ran home to jerk off… maybe you did go too far but not in a bad way. That’s what you hoped at least.

You bit your lip and clenched your thighs as you entertained that possibility. Was he going to go home and jerk off to your photo? Maybe with your panties held to his nose or wrapped around his cock? At least that’s what you liked to imagine he did with them, you could be wrong.

•

You were wrong, but not about that. Eddie normally used your panties exactly how you imagined. But not right now, no. He didn’t even make it home, hell, he barely made it out of your apartment building before he was pulling off into some trees and furiously tugging at his cock while he practically dripped drool on your photo. He made sure not to though, he couldn’t taint it like that. It had to remain in perfect condition in case this was his only chance to see your tits.

He grunted and whined, spitting down onto his cock and rubbing it around his tip with his thumb. His pace increased as he imagined it was your hand, or even better, your tits. He imagined sliding his spit slick cock between them while you sucked and licked at the head, he imagined covering your face and tits with his cum.

“FUCK!” He throws his head back against the seat, his eyes cross and he practically bites through his bottom lip as he cums all over his hand, his pants, even some on his shirt.

After he came down from his high, the reality of what he did hit him. He not only probably confused the hell out of you by running off like that without barely saying goodbye, he just jerked off in his fucking van to a photo he took from your bedroom. This was getting out of hand. He had to get himself under control, maybe some distance would help.

•

You hadn’t seen Eddie all week, ever since he ran out of your room like a bat out of hell and that was unusual. You guys usually saw each other a few times during the week, even if it was one of you bringing the other lunch while you were at work.

You called him a few times, either getting his voicemail or only having a brief conversation before he came up with an excuse to get off the phone. You started to wonder if you were reading things wrong after all. But that just didn’t make sense, why would he take all those things if he didn’t like you? If he didn’t want you in the desperate way you wanted him? You almost felt like you needed him.

So you decided to make a last ditch effort, no beating around the bush this time you were going to be straight forward. You grab Eddie’s shirt, your Polaroid, and your white lacy thigh highs with the little pink bows that he bashfully complimented one day.

You wrap the shirt around your pillow like you have done so many times now you’re almost ashamed. You take off your shirt and shorts before pulling on the thigh highs, leaving you in just your little white lace panties and socks.

The first photo you take is a shot from above of your tits, you can see your thong and the very top of your lace adorned thighs.

The second features your face, your eyes wide in that way you know he loves, your middle and pointer finger shoved down your throat with your lips wrapped around them. If you look close enough you can see a bit of drool dripping down between your boobs.

The third photo is a full nude, your legs spread and pussy on full display for him.

The next one is the one you’re most excited for, the one that sparked this entire plan. It’s an upshot of you from the neck down, you’re straddling the pillow that’s wrapped in Eddie’s shirt in just your socks, your free hand grabbing onto one of your tits.

The last photo is you in the same position but it’s from below, you have your fingers on your pussy, opening yourself up for him against the material of his shirt.

Satisfied with the spread, you gather them up, grab your discarded thong and remove the shirt from your pillow. You fold the panties and the photos into the shirt like they’re a gift to be unwrapped and put them in a little box. Then you write out a note.

Eddie,

if you wanted my panties… all you had to do was ask. You’ve taken all my cutest ones now. But that’s okay because I took something of yours too, I thought you might want it back.

Xoxo - Your angel.

You sign the note with the nickname he had awarded you and fold it in half, putting it on top of the shirt and then you put the lid on the box. Now all you had to do was give it to him, everyone had planned to meet at Gareth’s for a movie night tomorrow and he was supposed to pick you up. You could give it to him in the car before you get there and tell him not to open it until he gets home. It was the perfect plan. Hopefully.

•

Eddie was nervous on his way to pick you up for movie night, he had managed to avoid you the entire week, much to his dismay. He felt pathetic but he missed you, and even though he was still feeling guilty he was excited to see you.

He pulled into a guest parking spot in front of your building and was surprised to see you already standing there. He usually had to come in while you finished getting ready because you were perpetually running late. But you were standing there in a little white dress and a soft looking pink knit sweater, holding a little box in your arms. He figured it was some kind of baked goods, you pretty much always brought treats to every get together.

You saw him pull in and waved as you walked over, he jumped out of the car so he could come around and open the door for you.

“Hi Eddie, this is for you. But don’t open it now, open it when you get home. Okay? Promise me?”

You sounded nervous, hell, you looked nervous. What was in that box? He doesn’t know how he’s going to get through the night not knowing.

“A gift? For me? Angel, you shouldn’t have.” He tried to play it cool, even though he was feeling anything but.

“I didn’t spend any money on it or anything… but I’m not giving it to you unless you promise you won’t open it until you get home later.”

“Yeah, I promise.” He smiled at you reassuringly.

You handed it to him nervously, and he took it with glee, immediately shaking it like a Christmas present.

“EDDIE!! Don’t do that, you’re never going to guess what it is so just wait, please!”

You were looking at him with this pouty look on your face and he literally would’ve said yes to murder at that moment so he agreed. You let out a breath of relief as you got into the car, now all you had to do is wait.

•

Movie night wasn’t awkward like you feared it might be. When Eddie picked you up he acted totally normal, like he hadn’t been ignoring you all week and you couldn’t tell if that annoyed you or not. Maybe a little. You wanted to ask him about it but you also didn’t want to make things awkward by bringing it up so you tried to act as normal as you could.

That little box in the back of Eddie’s van was in the back of your mind all night though, you couldn’t stop overthinking and second guessing your decision. You even almost went out to his van at one point to take everything out and shove it in your bag but you talked yourself out of it.

Eddie was in a similar boat, he was having fun, he was engaging and acting as normal as he could but all he could think about was what possibly could be in that box. He knows you made him promise but there are several times where he has to physically stop himself from just going out to his van to look in it.

When the last movie ends you and Eddie were both quick to gather your things and leave. Him wanting to get home as fast as possible to see what was in the box and you wanting the looming thoughts of how he might react to just be over with.

Your goodbyes were chaste, neither of you bringing up the gift you had given him. He walked you to the door like he always did but he didn’t ask to come inside and the hug he gave was much faster than the usual bear hugs he would normally give you.

•

Eddie sped home, he lived in a studio apartment a few miles from yours and the drive had never felt so long. He pulled into his parking spot with a screech, grabbed the box from the back and rushed inside.

He didn’t even bother to take his shoes off, throwing his jacket across the back of the couch before plopping down on one of the cushions with the box in his lap.

He took a deep breath before opening it. At the top was a note, he unfolded it and as he read it he swore all the blood from his body went directly to his cock.

Underneath the note was his shirt, his favorite Iron Maiden one he hadn’t been able to find for a few weeks.

It was folded neatly so he gently took it out of the box, it felt heavier than it should and when it was fully in his grasp he could feel that there was something inside it.

He sets it down in front of him on his coffee table so he can unfold it and his jaw drops when he sees what’s inside. A pair of your panties, a little white lace thong is sitting under a stack of Polaroids.

His hand shakes as he reaches for the photos, when he sees the first one he actually moans, and then they somehow just keep getting better. But he stops dead in his tracks when he sees the second to last one.

You have his shirt wrapped around your pillow and you’re straddling it in nothing but those fucking socks, and he’s seriously going to lose his mind, especially when he sees the last photo of you in the same position, spread open for him.

It took him a second to get past the fog of lust to realize what this means. You knew. You always knew what he was doing. It all makes sense now. The way your panties were always so easy to steal, how he always happened to have the perfect view of your tits and ass, the photo. Also you took his shirt, you didn’t just take it, you put it on your fucking pillow and humped it. He hopes you did it more than once. He picks up the shirt again and he really looks at it this time, there’s little white streaks all over it, from you. He brings it to his nose and it’s the best thing he’s ever smelled. Both of your scents mixed together, topped off with the sweet smell of your pussy.

His initial thought was to rip his pants off and stroke his cock until it was raw but he realized he could do better than that. He could have the real thing. He needed to see you. Now.

He didn’t even think twice about shoving everything back in the box and walking back out the door to his van. Speeding off in the direction towards your house.

•

You were laying in your bed trying not to let your anxiety consume you when you heard banging on your door. Your heart pounded and your mouth went dry, you knew who it was, there was no way it could be anyone but him.

You opened the door and there he was, looking absolutely feral if you might add. His eyes were wide, pupils blown out, he was breathing like he ran a mile, and his hair was all over the place. You wanted to eat him alive.

“You knew?” He held up the box you had given him earlier the night, his hands shaking.

“Yeah…” You bit your lip as you nodded. “I knew the whole time… from when you took that first pair of panties, I knew.”

“And you didn’t say anything?” He looked at you, his eyes filled with lust and confusion.

You shake your head, a smirk forming across your lips.

“Why not?” He was still panting, hands grasped tightly on the box.

“It was fun, I thought for a while there that you knew I was doing it on purpose, and then when I realized you didn’t it was almost hotter to me for some reason… I’m sorry if that’s weird.” You suddenly felt super self conscious, was he mad you didn’t say anything?

“I stole your panties, multiple pairs might I add, and you’re asking me if it’s weird that you left them out for me?” He laughed, bringing his hand up to your cheek and rubbing his thumb across it.

“I could never think you were weird angel, do you know how sexy that is? And these photos…” He groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. “Did you really…”

“Fuck my pillow with your shirt on it? Yeah.” You nodded, your face nuzzling into his palm.

“Jesus fucking christ… that’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life, shit.”

He used the hand cradling your face to pull you closer, clashing your lips together in a hungry kiss. You immediately buried your fingers in his hair, like you did in all your fantasies. You wanted him closer but the box was still in between you so you broke the kiss long enough to pull him inside and discard it on your kitchen counter.

You pulled his mouth back down to yours by the collar of his shirt, running your tongue along his bottom lip and he immediately granted you access. Your hands made their way back into his hair and he gripped your hips pulling you tightly against him.

“God Eddie, I want you so fucking bad.” You moaned against his lips.

“Angel, I’ll give you anything you want after all these sweet gifts you’ve been leaving me without me even knowing… you really thought I knew?” He took your face in both your hands, running his hands down your neck and rubbing his thumbs along your jaw.

“For a while there, yeah… That’s why I left you that first picture, but then when I came back in my room and you were acting all nervous I realized you definitely didn’t know. I thought for a second I might’ve made you uncomfortable but I took the chance with the photos anyway… looks like it paid off.” You looked him up and down, biting your lip.

“Fuck yeah it did.” He pulled you into another bruising kiss that you happily returned. You stood there in your kitchen making out for what could’ve been minutes or hours, tongues exploring every inch of each other's mouths and your hands mapping out each other's bodies.

You finally pulled away, breathless. You smirked at him, placing a kiss on his throat before turning around and walking towards your room. Eddie wanted to scream at the sight of your ass in your tiny little pink spandex shorts. He bit down on his fist instead, admiring you for a moment before practically running after you.

You were standing in the middle of the room with a smirk on your face that he’s never seen, one you must have been hiding from him this whole time. You looked like you wanted to eat him alive and he was going to let you.

“Tell me about your fantasies Eddie… tell me what you did with my panties, I wanna know so bad.” Your smirk turned into a little pout, giving him that fucking look. The one he knows now is all an act, but something about that just makes his dick even harder for you.

“Fuck, you really want to know? The first time I sucked on them while I jerked off and right when I was about to cum I wrapped them around my dick and came all over them.”

“Mmm… that’s what I hoped you’d do, tell me more…” You walk up to him and run your hands down his chest, hook your fingers in his front pockets and give him the look.

“I can’t believe this is happening, I - uh - I was so scared if you ever found out you’d hate me. But fuck, I never imagined you would be into it.” He put his hands on your hips and squeezed, almost like he was making sure this was real.

“Well, you better believe it honey, because I am so so into it.. please tell me more.” You lean up and press wet kisses along his neck.

“God damn.” He throws his head to the side more, granting you further access to his throat. “When I had a second pair I sucked on the newer ones and used that same pair to jerk off. Then when I got your perfume I sprayed it on my pillow so that I could smell you and taste you.”

“Mmm Eddie, that’s so hot.” You bite into his throat causing him to let out the cutest little yelp, sucking the skin into your mouth, wanting to mark him as your own.

“Then once I had the bikini photo I was able to see you too, so it was like I was surrounded by you in every way possible.”

His hands snake down your hips to grab onto your ass, the material of your shorts and the feeling of your soft skin contrasting with the calluses on his fingers.

“That day when I found that picture of your tits… and then you somehow found a way to make putting socks on one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen and you topped it off by bending over in those little shorts with your ass practically in my face? I barely made it out of your building before I pulled over and jerked off in my van like a depraved psycho.”

You moaned at that, pulling back from his neck to look him in the eyes.

“If you’re depraved… so am I.” You pull your tank top over your head and throw it on the ground behind you somewhere, followed by your shorts. Eddie seriously thinks he’s in love with you at this point because you’re not wearing a bra or panties but you are of course wearing white thigh highs. You’re standing there like every fantasy he’s ever had about you come true, but better.

“Angel, those pictures have nothing on the real thing” He grabbed onto your tits, twisting your nipples between his fingers. Using his nose to brush your hair away so he can whisper in your ear. “I need to taste you so bad, like, so bad. I need to know what the real thing tastes like.”

“Mmm fuck, yes, want that so bad.”

You lay back on your bed and spread your legs, showing him how wet you are for him. Eddie doesn’t think twice before dropping to his knees in front of your bed and throwing your legs over his shoulders. He wishes he had it in him to kiss every inch of you before tasting you but it was like someone offered him the nectar of the gods and he needed it now.

He parted your lips with his fingers before running his tongue along your slit, licking up and down with a flat tongue before shoving it as far as it could go inside you.

“Ho- holy shit! Eddie!! Fuck, your mouth is so good.” Your fingers found his hair again, tugging and the groan he lets out sends vibrations through your pussy.

“I thought your panties tasted sweet but nothing will ever taste sweeter than the real thing, oh my god baby.”

His tongue comes up to circle your clit, wrapping his lips around it and sucking. You feel his fingers circle your entrance before he’s inserting his pointer and middle finger deep inside you. He curls his fingers in just the right way, he’s still sucking your clit while he runs circles around it with his tongue and you feel yourself getting close.

“I’m gonna - I’m gonna - fuckinnng cum - I’m gonna cum.” You pull his hair again and start rocking your hips against his face. You watch his eyes roll back and feel him moan into you again, knowing he’s enjoying this as much as you is what sends you over the edge. Your hips rising off the bed and your hands falling from his hair to grasp the sheets. Eddie brings his free hand down on your abdomen to hold you down as he fucks you through your high.

You try to push him off once it becomes too much but you hear, or more so feel him let out an “Uh-Uh” into your pussy. His hand that’s pinning you down doesn’t move and his fingers stay buried inside you. He’s licking and sucking on your clit like a man starved and you immediately feel another orgasm crash over you. Your entire body shakes and you let out noises you didn’t even know you can make.

When he feels you push at his head this time he lets you, looking up at you with a grin on his face, his chin and mouth covered in your juices.

“Sorry… you just tasted so good and when you came it was so hot I didn’t want to stop.” He looked awfully bashful for someone who was just eating you out like it was his fucking job.

“You’re sorry? Holy shit Eddie, I’ve never cum that hard in my entire life.”

He smiled triumphantly, you’d think just told him he won the lottery. He came up and covered his body with yours, kissing you without wiping his face. The taste of you on his tongue was intoxicating so you pulled away from the kiss and licked his lips, then his chin, and down his neck.

“Fuck, we taste so good together.” You moan.

“Holy fucking shit, you’re my dream girl.”

“Let me return the favor, I wanna taste you too, also you are wearing way too many clothes right now.” You pull at the hem of his shirt and he puts his arm behind his head to pull it off.

You’ve never seen him shirtless before and you needed a better view. You push on his shoulders until he lifts himself off of you and lays back on the bed. You throw your leg over him to straddle him, looking down at him in awe.

“Wow Eddie… you’re beautiful.”

You smile at him with that devilish little smile he’s becoming addicted to as you run your soft hands along his chest before raking your nails down his torso, all the way to the waistband of his jeans. His back arches off the bed as he lets out this sound that you want to hear him make over and over again.

You grind your hips down on his, fiddling with his belt loop and looking at him with a question in your eyes.

“Please.” Now he’s the one giving you the look and you understand why he loves it much. Those big brown eyes are wide and glassy, there’s a slight pout on his lips and even though he just ate you out so good it makes you want to sit on his face.

But there’s something you want more, something you’ve been dreaming about. So you undo his belt and jeans with deft fingers, pulling on the waistband of both his pants and boxers. He lifts his hips so you can pull them down and when his cock pops out and hits his stomach your jaw actually drops.

You always figured Eddie was big. You caught small glimpses through his jeans when he thought he was hiding his boners better than he really was, so you had an idea. But it’s bigger than you imagined, and so so pretty. The tip red and leaking precum, each vein prominent because of how hard he was. You lick your lips and spit on your hand, wrapping your hand around his cock and pumping it a few times. He makes that sound again and you know you’re addicted to it now.

“Your cock is huge baby, I can’t wait to feel it stretching me out.” You spit on the head of his cock, circling your thumb around it before you lean down and take it in your mouth.

“Holy - fuckING - sh - shit!” Eddie instinctually jerks forward, his cock hits the back of your throat and you gag.

He’s about to apologize but you don’t pull off, just push his cock further down your throat until your nose is snug against the hair at the base. There’s tears coming out of the sides of your eyes and drool dripping down your chin but you’re moaning and so he can tell you’re enjoying it. You circle your tongue around his shaft a few times before pulling off.

Not for long though, you take him as far as you can without gagging and start bobbing your head up and down, your hand moving in time with whatever your mouth can't reach. Eddie is a moaning mess, he’s babbling your name in between curse words, switching between grabbing onto your hair, the sheets, and his own hair.

When you pull off his dick and bring your mouth to his balls, swirling your tongue all around his sack before sucking one into your mouth he’s pretty sure he’s in love with you. But he’s also positive that he wants to fuck you so he grabs you by your hair and pulls you off.

“Hey, I wasn’t done!” You look at him with a pout and you whine. Every time Eddie thinks he can’t possibly be anymore obsessed with you, you prove him wrong.

“Yeah but I was about to come and I want to fuck you so badly.” He’s the one whining now.

“Can I ride you?” You ask him like that’s even a question.

“Fuck yeah you can.”

You eagerly climb back up to straddle him, wasting no time lining him up with your entrance and sliding down on his cock. It’s still a stretch but you’re so wet it hardly hurts. You rock back and forth a few times once your hips are flush against yours and you moan in unison at the feeling.

“Oh sh- shit, your pussy is so fucking t- tight. Feels better than I could’ve ever imagined.”

“Yeah? Your cock is so fucking big, filling me up so good Eds.”

You start riding him hard and fast, your ass bouncing against his thighs, your tits on full display and you’re moaning his name over and over again like a prayer. He has one hand on your ass, grabbing it so hard you’re sure you’re going to have a bruise there tomorrow, and you honestly hope you do. He brings the thumb of his free hand up to your bottom lip and runs it across it.

“Suck.”

You do, happily, swirling your tongue around the digit and moaning at the feeling of having something in your mouth while your pussy is being filled too. He pulls it out and you’re about to mourn the loss but then he’s rubbing circles on your clit and fucking up into you to meet your thrusts.

He starts fucking you so fast that you can’t keep up, you put your hands on his chest, your nails digging into his flesh and just let him take you. He’s fucking you hard and fast, his cock hitting just the right spot while he continues to circle your clit.

“Eddie I’m c - close I-I’m close.” Your babbling and drooling, fucked out and on the brink of what you know is going to be a mind altering orgasm.

“Me too Angel, I need you to cum for me. Cum all over my cock just like you dreamed about when you were humping your little pillow.” His feet are flat on the mattress and he’s somehow fucking you harder than he was before. When you cum your vision goes white, pleasure jolts through your entire system and you aren’t even sure you’re on this planet anymore.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck I’m gonna- I’m gonna cum, where do you?”

Eddie talking brings you back to earth just enough to respond, to tell him what you want.

“Inside! Eddie please inside! I want you to cum inside me so bad!” You start to meet his thrusts, he’s still rubbing your clit and you’re so sensitive you already feel another orgasm coming on.

“Oh fuck!!!” Eddie cries out as his thrusts slow down to pumps and his cum spills inside you. The feeling sends you over the edge, cumming right along with him. Your walls squeeze him for all he’s worth.

When you come down you let yourself fall onto his chest, both of you panting, your hearts pounding. You lay like that for a while, catching your breath and enjoying the feeling of each other. Eventually your knees start to cramp and you slide off of him, settling at his side with your head on his chest.

“I’m gonna fuckin marry you someday.”

You laugh, even though he doesn’t sound like he’s joking.

“Yeah? I think I’d like that. Then my underwear will stop going missing because we will live in the same house.”

You both started cracking up at that.

“I’m serious though, can I have some of them back? You really did steal all my best ones…” You looked up at him and pouted, giving him the look.

“That’s not gonna work the same now that I know you’re just using it against me…”

“You sure about that?” You stick your bottom lip out further and make your eyes even wider.

“Ugh, no. You’re still not getting them back though, I’ll buy you new ones.” He brings his hand up to push your hair out of your face and places a kiss on your temple.

“Why? So you can just take those ones too?” You tease.

“Nah, I have the real thing now. I’d rather take them off you.”

Tagging the bbs: @the-unforgivenn @lokis-army-77 @gravedigginbbydoll @bettyfrommars @eddiemunson95 @melodymunson @bangaveragewhitewine

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #Eddie munson x reader smut #perv!eddie #perv!eddie munson #perv!eddie munson x reader #perv!eddie munson x perv!reader #Eddie munson one shot #eddie munson imagine

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uravichii · 23 days

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"best friends who kiss?"

character/s: bakugo katsuki

summary: recently, your best friend has been kissing you at random times. you have no idea why because he refuses to talk about it. either way, you're not about to let this to ruin your precious friendship.

genre & trope: fluff, best friends to lovers, angry confessions, reader is terrified of love but bakugo wants them so bad 😁, tw kind of ooc bakugo

a/n: i've been watching a lot of pride & prejudice and bridgerton scenes n i'm now obsessed angry confessions 🤩 + this is heavily inspired by that scene in little women :) ALSO i haven't posted in a year 😟 so pls be nice ik my writing's rusty in this :'D

the first time bakugou katsuki kissed you, he pretended he never did.

"what... " you brush your fingers against your bottom lip, your whole face hot. "what the hell was that for?"

"what?" bakugo shrugs, feigning innocence as he takes a swig of his soda.

you try and trace back the events that could have led to the kiss.

you said something along the lines of: "i wish i had a boyfriend. i could definitely pull a cute guy off the street."

then you heard him scoff and say: "no man's sane enough to put up with your insufferable ass." ーor something more insulting than that.

you can't remember what you said in response, and you rack your brain to figure out what prompted him to grab your face and kiss you. it's impossible when all you can think about is the unexpected supple feel of his lips, its faint ghost still lingering on yours.

"that kiss, katsuki! you violated my mouth!"

"dunno what you're talking about. you hit your head or something?"

you blink and second-guess yourself for a second.

"okay, no. you're not gonna gaslight your way out of this." you swat his arm, earning an irked glare from him. "why the hell did you kiss me?"

"you're imagining things, idiot. this stupid game's givin' ya some serious brain damage for sure."

he stands up and swings his bag over his shoulder.

"where are you going? we're not done yetー!"

and he's out of the door.

was he drunk off his soda? maybe he kissed you to mess with your head. he's not that cruel though, you think. maybe he couldn't think of any other way to shut you upー that was something he always struggled with after all.

at least the second time bakugo katsuki kissed you, he was kind enough to warn you.

after enduring the most awkward hour-long study session with him, you decide to put an end to your agony by wrapping it up. you start gathering your things when he stops you with a calloused hand on your wrist.

"what?" you turn to him, your cheeks already heating up from his touch.

there are no thoughts you could read behind those vermillion eyes, and all of a sudden, you don't know your best friend very well anymore.

he walks some tentative steps closer to you until the back of your knees hit the table. he cradles your jaw with such delicacy you didn't even know he was capable of. he slips past your awaiting lips and presses his nose on the side of your head, his warm breath kissing your flushed skin.

"punch me in the face and scram if you don't want this, got it?"

you gulp and forget to answer if not for the gentle squeeze on your wrist. "y/n, you got it?"

"s-sure."

when you two kiss, it's different from last time. it's unhurried, curious, and so intoxicating. the kiss speaks: 'i want you. i want you. i want you' but whose thoughts are these?

he groans into your lips as if to urge you to keep up with the sheer hungriness that has consumed him. you try your best to do so as he deepens the kiss with a palm on the back of your head and practically drinks you in. he doesn't pull away until he hears the tiny whine that escapes you.

"shit, sorry." he mutters, avoiding your stunned gaze.

"t's okay."

"did i hurt you?" the quiet lilt of his voice surprises you.

"no, no. i'm okay, but why'd you kiー"

"bye." he blurts out as he turns to the door and leaves, as if he didn't just invaded your mouth and permanently tainted the years of friendship you two have had. you click your tongue as the heat subsides in your cheeks.

"son of a bitch."

the third time bakugo katsuki kissed you, you let him, and he didn't stop.

you had barely escaped death when you lost your footing while sparring with todoroki. naturally, bakugo yelled the poor guy's ear off and would have murdered him if eraserhead hadn't interfered at the last second.

now, you find yourself heaving in your bed. you don't know whether your hastened pulse is from the adrenaline rush or from the fact that bakugo is all over you right now.

he's planting feather-light kisses all over youー your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, your eyelids, your hands, and your wrist, as panicked murmurs spill out of him in between kisses. 'you scared the hell out of me. you have no idea, fuck. are you okay? are you really okay? tell me you're okay, y/n.'

"i'm okayー" you barely manage to gasp before he dips his lips into yours, desperate and frantic. tremulous hands find solace in your hips as he holds you, gentle enough not to mar your injuries but snug enough to assure his restless heart that you are safe.

your head feels hazy. your limbs ache and lie motionless, and though your lips could barely move to reciprocate his kisses as much as you wanted to, bakugo didn't stop. you tried to ask him about it the next morning, but of course, he ignored you and walked away.

you don't know when he stopped kissing you that night. all you know is that there was a line that was crossed, and your friendship was never going to be the same again.

bakugo katsuki is going to kiss you again. your heart thrums incessantly. whether it's dread or anticipationー you don't know.

you think about the sensation of his lips that's become so familiar to you that you've learned to crave it. it shouldn't be familiar to you, and you sure as hell shouldn't want it. so you do what you think is necessary.

you kick him in the shin.

"motherfー!" sure enough, he's pissed. "what the hell is wrong with you?!"

"what the hell is wrong with you?!"

"i was going toー"

"no! you're not gonna kiss me again and walk away and pretend it never happened. you're messing with my head, katsuki! it's not funny!"

"wasn't trying to be funny!" he barks back.

"okay, so what exactly are you trying to do? what is this? i meanー" you stammer, struggling to find the words. "katsuki, what are we?"

he sighs and shifts his stance, his discomfort apparent. when the silence lingers on for too long, you speak.

"well, whatever it is that you want from me, we're going to stay friends. nothing more, nothing less. that's it." your breath hitches, and you don't know why you feel like crying as you speak. "... so i don't want your stinky mouth anywhere on me again."

silence weighs heavily between you. sometimes you wish you didn't know him too well, then the hurt he veils in his eyes wouldn't be so plain and vivid to you, and you would have walked away by now without an ounce of remorse.

"i like you, y/n." is all he could say when he finally speaks.

you shake your head. "no, you're just confused."

"i'm not confused. i like you."

"katsuki, you've been bitchless all your life, and i'm just the closest thing to a s/o. maybe go take a walk or something."

"i like you." he persists. "i've liked your stupid ass forー"

"stop saying that. you don't."

"i do, and you like me tooー"

"what?!" you laugh incredulously.

'who does this dumbass think he is?' is he right? surely, he's not. then what are you so afraid of in the first place? why have you been counting down the days until he kisses you again? why do you yearn for his touch as if it's something you own? why do you feel so infuriated and so tormented when he leaves the room after kissing you?

you do what is necessary again.

"you're delusional!" you yell at his face, a childish shrill that's awfully familiar to your childhood best friend.

"jesus christ." he inhales sharply in frustration. "you're a fucking pussy, y/n."

you clench your jaw and match his glare. anger surges in your chest and bleeds into your voice.

"i'm not the one who chickens out after kissing their best friend! you can't even acknowledge the fact that you kissed me because you'reー!"

"do you think i want to chicken out? why do you think i run away after kissing you?! if i stayed and confessed all this shit the first time, you would've refused to hear it like the damn coward you are!" he leans close to you, his voice lowering into a ragged snarl that quickens your pulse. "and you're just proving it right now, y/n. you're always going to shut this down and deny your feelings because you're a fucking pussy. you're terrified of relationships, and it's dumbest shit ever. pathetic, really."

you rear back from his words. if anything, you always thought it was katsuki who was afraid of love. now, you can't help but feel small and vulnerable underneath his searing gaze.

"it's not dumb..." you shuffle uncomfortably. "what, i'm supposed to ruin our friendship for a relationship that we're going to break off anyway?"

"we're not going to break it off."

"how do you know that?"

"because i'll be the best goddamn boyfriend in the world!"

"first of all, gross." you scoff. "second of all, it's never gonna work out! you're going to get sick of me in three days max."

"i've known you since we were brats, and i still want you."

"you literally said no man's sane enough to put up with my obnoxious ass."

he smirks. "i said 'insufferable ass'."

"katsuki!" you fight the urge to strangle him and punch that stupid smile off his face.

"wasn't even serious that time." he grimaces and reluctantly continues. "you know damn well you can pull any guy you want, and he'd be the luckiest bastard on earth."

if it were any other day, you'd grin at him and say 'i told you so,' but your lips remain unmoved, and your eyes stay dim. you're afraid you'll never go back to being the same katsuki and y/n again.

"this is pointless, katsuki. i mean, look! we're already fighting." you grouch and tell yourself you don't want this. "i still don't want us to happen so while this friendship is still salvable, let's agree to stay friends, and whatever sappy shit you feel for meー suck it up."

in one swift motion, he closes the distance between you, his face hovering dangerously over yours.

"suck it up?" he breathes, his face taut in frustration. "restraining myself from you is the hardest shit i've ever had to do. it takes everything in me not to kiss your stupid face!"

he shudders, weakly resting his forehead against yours as if this conversation alone has exhausted him. still, he goes on.

"and everytime i failedー everytime i kissed those lips, it was... a moment of weakness, but that's the fucking problemー you're just..." he buries his face into the crook of your neck, a desperate attempt to escape your wide-eyed gaze. "i'm weak for you, y/n. every second. and it drives me fucking insane that you keep running away from me."

he rises to meet your eyes again. the cadence of his voice changes into something weak and desperate, stripped of all the pride and anger he's ever known.

"i love youー fuck. i love you." he lets the words hang in the air, letting the words hear itself spoken because for once, you're not stopping him. "i love you, so please... let me."

after much thought and another agonizing minute of silence, you lean in to kiss bakugo katsuki.

he kisses back almost instantly and revels in the way you wrap your arms around his neck and bear your weight on him completely. he kisses back ardently, his pent-up desires and years of longing etched in the way he seeks your lips, kiss after kiss after kiss.

when you finally pull away, you're met with a devilish smirk, his begging eyes long gone. you wonder to yourself when you'll see those eyes again.

"took ya long enough." he kisses you again. he raises a brow at the way you're caging him in your arms. "jesus, no one's gonna snatch me from you."

"i'm making sure you don't run away again, dumbass."

"i won't." he says earnestly as he props his forehead against yours. "and you won't either. i'll make sure of that."

you nod your head with a giddy smile as he pecks your lips again.

"so..." you say as you exaggerate a pensive look, a cheeky grin spreading across your face. "we're best friends who occasionally kiss?"

he rolls his eyes. "you're impossible."

"recite that speech again, and i'll consider calling you my boyfriend."

"fuck off!"

TAGLIST [1/2] @uxavity @joy-the-reader @kiiraes @escapenightmare @afk-dreaminq @avocamich @theboredvee @wonderwrench @ur-local-simp @p-ol @x0xuglyh0tgrl2005xoxo @cosmonettica @melin-oe @mitzi127 @lilac-o @r2katsu @bakucumsackslut @idunnomynamesince2005 @astralwaifu @taurus852 @creepyproxies @maycat-19-142 @stella-fleurets @veenxys @devilgirlcrybabiey @drawingaddict @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @lexiv-web @angelshimaa @izukus-gf @christiansdior @homosexualjohnwayne @uwiuwi @hirugummies @cupidines @loveisningning (bold couldn't be tagged)

#bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x you #bakugo x you #bnha x reader #bnha x you #mha x reader #mha x you #bakugo katsuki drabbles #bakugo drabbles #bnha drabbles #bnha imagines #mha imagines #bakugo fluff #bakugo katsuki fluff #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons

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astaroth1357 · 3 months

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I have long wanted to write a headcanon where high demons have lesser forms, so take a walk with me on this:

Imagine that the brothers are fighting with each other and one of them takes a serious hit, like, somebody's left hook got them right in the jaw and it was brutal. They fall to the ground, stone cold, and... just. Poof into a tiny little critter. Like a verison of their familiar. And they can't retake human form until they've rested and healed their wounds.

I'm doing that.

Lucifer becomes this fat-ass, little peacock. He's like one of those rotund Chocobo from the Final Fantasy universe, you just want to pick him up and squeeze him but he's slightly too heavy for that. His feathers are black, save for the tail which have black, red, blue, and green markings. If something makes him "Poof!" then he'll hide away in the Castle because he refuses to let his brothers ever see him in that state. MC can visit him, though, and he'll coo and get all fluffy whenever they pet his tummy.

Mammon turns into a three-eyed raven, but not fat like Luci. He basically becomes a bigger verison of one of his familiars, he's about the size of an eagle. For being the second strongest he gets "Poof!-ed" rather often because he gets caught up in so many fights. Most of the time, he's just a bystander then some stray shot hits him and suddenly he's squawking everybody's ear off! Hilariously, he's arguably smarter in this form so when he's stuck as a bird, his grades actually improve (if anyone can read his actual chicken scratch penmanship).

Levi becomes a snake. Duh. He has similar markings along his back to the colorful scales on his neck in his demon form. He isn't even the length of your average scarf, so MC can drape him behind their neck easily and he doesn't get in the way. He's absolutely MISERABLE like this, though, because he has no hands to play games with. He can get extra clingy to people if he's feeling cold, but MC has to invite him to share their body heat because he's too shy to signal what he wants.

As much as Satan would love to be a cat, he becomes a little unicorn (Sorry, I didn't make the lore). He's about the size of one of those miniature horses, but don't be fooled. He will snap your kneecaps and he's at perfect height to rear-kick his brothers right in the crotch. His coat is black but his tail, mane, and the underside of his horn are all his signature green. If he every gets "Poof!-ed!" he's big mad, so he'll spend the entire time trying to kick and spear his brothers so they have to suffer along with him. He's the cause of a lot of chain "Poof!-ings."

Asmo becomes the smallest, cutest scorpion you ever did see. Well, as cute as scorpions can be. His whole body becomes hot pink and he has the biggest widdle eyes (think those jumping spiders who wear raindrops on their heads type energy). He's also venomous as all hell, so his brothers HAVE to make sure that they continously call him "small, cute, and adorable" lest they suffer a week's worth of paralytic toxin. He can fit the palm of a hand and makes MC tie a little bow around his tail so he doesn't feel too bad about being under-dressed.

Beel, unfortunately, becomes a fly. A big fly (by fly standards), but a fly nonetheless. You wouldn't even know that it's him if he weren't traffic cone orange. Literally everyone panics when he gets "Poof!-ed" because it would only take some bozo with a swatter to put an end to the sweetest brother... Belphie never lets Beel out of his sight and even has a tiny leash so he can keep track of him if they have to go out. He's a lot easier to feed like this, but everyone has to resist that automatic urge to smack him away from their dinner plates.

Belphie ironically has the largest lesser form out of his brothers. He's a cow, more specifically a bull, but there's nothing special about him aside from the navy fur. He is a full grown bull and he loves to lord it over the others if they all get "Poof-ed!" at once. Also, good luck getting him to do ANYTHING in this form. He is a bull. If he does not want to move, he will not be moving. Not even Beel can carry him like this. He's the only brother who doesn't mind getting "Poof-ed!" all that much because of it.

#couldn't think of a better verb than Poof #stuck with it #obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me crack #obey me shitpost

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margotw10bis · 5 months

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Friendly Marriage. JJK [m]

bestfriend!JK x reader

Genre: smut; romance; bestfriend!Jungkook, babydaddy/exhusband!Jungkook (non-idol Jungkook)

Words: 19k

Synopsis: No one can really understand your relationship with your best friend. You are not in love but you did get married and you did have a son. It was just a friendly marriage, wasn't it?

Warnings: unprotected sex; breeding kink; oral sex (m. & f. receiving); In The Soop 2 JK (it's a warning)

Drabble 1

You can't believe Junghee is already three. It feels like he was born yesterday and yet, the big red 'Three' decorating his birthday cake tells otherwise. You want to keep him a baby all his life because he is so freaking cute! Sometimes you wish he'd look more like you but you're actually glad he looks just like his dad: that means he'll be really, really handsome. To be true, Jungkook is the most attractive man you know with his raven hair and his doe eyes. And let's not talk about his body... so damn hot with perfect muscles and a full tattooed sleeve. However, he is your best friend, not your husband. Or not anymore to be precise.

Things with Jungkook have always been weird for other people. You have been best friends since you were eight and your parents and friends were convinced that you two could end up together. Maybe the fact that you got married sent them mixed signals... But it was just for fun, there was no love involved. No romantic love. Sure, you love Jungkook and he loves you but not like that. No one can really understand how you feel for each other because it's way more than a four letter word.

You've always felt safe with your best friend. You know that if everyone around abandons you, Jungkook won't. Ever. And you're sure that you can't love someone more than him, except your cute little son of course.

So, at twenty-two, getting married together seemed fun. You were joking around about some friends asking you for the millionth times if you were dating and then, Jungkook said 'Let's get married'. You laughed and said yes. And you got married. It was just you and him and it was perfect. You remember Jungkook saying his vows 'You are supposed to marry the person you love the most, and it's you Y/N'. You could understand what he meant because you felt just the same.

And living together was nice too. Especially because you were already roommates. Nothing really changed between you, despite the rings on your fingers. But your family and friends were completely lost: you were married but not dating. You weren't even kissing! The only time your lips touched was at your wedding and you couldn't stop laughing.

After one year of a happy friendly marriage, Jungkook asked you if you wanted to have kids. You told him that you sure wanted to but you were not sure to meet someone as loving and caring as him to be the father of your baby. And there came the other craziest idea of your best friend: having a baby together. Which meant confusing your family and friends even more.

The baby making process was so weird. It was the first time you saw each other naked, even though you got peaks of Jungkook's perfect chest and abs a lot of times. Just like your first kiss, you didn't stop laughing, resulting in Jungkook scolding you: 'Could you stop laughing? I'm trying to concentrate here!'. And you laughed even more. He did make you cum though, so it was not so bad.

And then, your beautiful baby boy arrived. You couldn't dream of a more perfect family. Jungkook is the best person you know and your kid was made out of love, even if it's an unconventional one. Jungkook and you felt in love with Junghee the very first second you saw his puffy face and tiny fingers. The fact that he looks just like Jungkook makes you happy because he is such a great father. Honestly, he is the perfect man, except he is not your man.

You decided to get divorced one year ago without a real reason. It was just about time to end the joke and to confuse your loved ones one more time. Things haven't changed so much though. Jungkook still spends most of his time with Junghee and you. Well, maybe things have changed a little since Harin, Jungkook's girlfriend. Your best friend has to split his free time now but Harin is really nice. Junghee seems to like her too so it's all what matter to you.

"Daddy!" Junghee screams when Jungkook appears in the park where your family and a few friends have gathered

Jungkook immediately takes his son into his arms and hugs him.

"Wow, you looks so big! How old are you? Twelve already?" Jungkook jokes, making Junghee proud because your son is always trying to look older — unfortunately for you

"No! Three" Junghee replies, holding two fingers up

"Where's mama?"

"With grandma, I think she is baking the cake"

Junghee hides his face in Jungkook's neck. He missed his dad. He is not used to be without him for more than three days.

"Baking the cake in the park?" Jungkook chuckles before grabbing Harin's hand, still holding his son with one arm

Jungkook's smile brightens when he sees you. The simple jeans and white top you're wearing look perfect on you. You are indeed with your mother and you do have a cake next to you, but it's already baked. His son was right about most things.

Your mother's eyes leaving you to stare at something behind you make you curious. When you turn around and witness your son in his father's arms, your heart melts. It's such a perfect picture. There is so much love between the three of you that you could cry.

"Kook!" You greet him before waving at Harin

"Hi, baby mama!" He gives you a bunny smile but it fades a little bit when he notices the picnic blanket with so many food on it already set up "You should have called me to help you"

"She shouldn't have to ask, Jungkook" Your mother replies

You give her some strong look to ask her to stop. Your parents do love Jungkook, especially because he gave you the most perfect son. But it's true that something's changed since you mentioned your best friend having a girlfriend. Maybe they don't believe you when you tell them that you weren't in love and that you're happy for him. Or maybe they're a little annoyed that Jungkook has less time for Junghee.

"It's okay, Kook, it was not very hard to do. I'm glad you two came" You reassure him

"I want to play" Your son speaks up when he notices some of his friends coming closer

Jungkook drops him down and Junghee is running so fast that some dirt flies up. You watch your son hugging his friends and you wave at one of the dads. He is actually your colleague too and your sons go to the same kindergarten. It's not rare that Yoongi and you have lunch together and talk about your children. He is a nice guy, even though he doesn't talk much — you do much of the talking. He surprises you when he walks to you. You know that he is not a social butterfly.

"Hi, Y/N, how are you?" He asks you softly

"I'm fine" You answer with a sweet smile "Do you want to stay for the cake?"

"I'd love that" He replies, a little bit embarrassed, with a slight blush on his white cheeks

"Hi" Jungkook steps in the conversation "I'm Jungkook, Junghee's father"

Your best friend reaches out for Yoongi's hand and you can't help noticing how much alike and different they are. They have the same black hair and the same natural attractive aura. But they're so different for everything else. Jungkook is taller and brawnier while Yoongi is thiner and more delicate. His skin is pure white, even more when his veiny hand is close to Jungkook's inked skin.

"Yoongi. I work with Y/N"

Jungkook seems surprised but he doesn't have time to say anything because he can feel something squeezing his other hand. He now remembers that Harin is standing next to him.

"This is Harin, my girlfriend" Jungkook explains and Yoongi nods

Your colleague and you exchange a well intended look. You've talked about Harin before. You didn't say anything bad about her, of course, but you did mention that she was pretty and a little younger than you. In Yoongi's head, he just can't understand how Jungkook could prefer Harin to you. You're kind, smart and funny. You're a great mother. Yes, he just can't understand... But he is glad though.

"Daddy! Come push me" Seung asks Yoongi

"Mama, me too" Your son steps in

You chuckle and start walking to the swings. Yoongi and you make sure to bring your sons high in order to hear more of their happy cheers.

"Jungkook seems to be a nice guy. Good handshake, too" Yoongi says

"Sorry" You wince, clearly understanding that your best friend might have crashed your colleague's hand "He is just protective. But he is great. I hope you'll get to know each other"

You look into Yoongi's intense and dark eyes and you both know what your words mean. Yoongi is a great guy and spending time with him made you develop a little crush on him. You know he is not married and that the relationship with his ex-wife is a little complicated — not everyone has the chance to have Jungkook as an ex — so you don't want to make things harder for him. But you do hope that things evolve between you. You haven't been with a man since before you got married and it's been a long time since you felt those butterflies in your stomach.

"Me too" He replies simply, no other words are necessary to say what you want to say

A few hours later, everyone is around your son to sing the Happy Birthday song. He claps his tiny hands with enthusiasm and laughs. It makes you so happy to see Junghee happy. You love your son so, so much that your eyes water. He is growing up so fast and you're scared to miss some moments of it.

"Don't cry, mama" Jungkook teases you, pulling you to his side, and then whispers into your ear "We can have another baby if you want"

You gasp and smack his buff chest.

"Let's take a photo" He says "Yoongi, right? Can you?"

Your best friend hands his phone to your colleague and you grab Junghee into your arms. You three pose next to the cake. You absolutely love taking photos of your family, it brings so many memories when you look at them later. Jungkook brings you closer and looks straight. Not into the camera but into Yoongi's eyes. He paints a genuine smile on his face but his eyes are sparkling with challenge.

✧˖°⋆˚ ✿˖°

"You look so pretty, mama"

"Aw, thanks baby" Your heart melts at the compliment

You apply at last layer of gloss on your lips and turn around to hug your son. You feel a little stressed: it's the first date you have in almost five years. And you're not used to wear such elegant clothes. But you really wanted to feel like a woman tonight and not only a mom. So you chose a tight but not too short black dress. The square cleavage and the thin straps makes it simple enough to feel comfortable.

You take a last look in the mirror to fix a strand of hair that managed to escape your low ponytail. You look like an adult and it feels weird. However, you do like how you look.

"I'm home!" A well-known voice comes from the entrance door

Junghee jumps off your bed and rushes to hug his dad. You follow him and you notice that Jungkook's jaw almost falls on the ground. You chuckle and make a turn.

"What do you think?" You ask Jungkook with redden cheeks

"You're beautiful"

Jungkook's deep voice makes you shiver. You try to look into his doe eyes to detect any sign of teasing but there is not. There is only sincerity in them.

"So, you're going out with Yoongi?" Jungkook asks, a little tensed

"Yeah. We'll see. I haven't been on a date for ages" You joke and bite on your lower lip

"It's gonna be fine, Y/N" Your best friend reassures you "You're gonna have fun and you can call me if you need anything"

One of the reasons you love Jungkook so much is because of how supportive he is. You know he is as stressed as you are and that he is super protective toward you but he also roots for you. You give him a tender smile while your son is almost climbing on you because he wants to be held.

"So, what's up for you guys?" You ask, kissing Junghee's chubby cheek and leaving a stain of gloss

"There is a water show at Banpo Bridge so we'll have fun too, right buddy?" Jungkook cheers with his big bunny grin and scrunched noise

Your son mimics him without even meaning to and suddenly you feel bad to miss a nice moment with your family. The truth is that you're never happier than when you see your son smiling and having fun with his mom and dad.

"Hey, don't make that face" Jungkook tells you, rubbing your bare shoulder with his big and rough hand due to his boxing "We can go back another day with you"

You nod, appreciating how well your best friend knows you. With heavy heart, you hug Junghee and kiss Jungkook on the cheek, and finally leave your apartment to meet Yoongi.

Yoongi has chosen a fancy restaurant with a very sophisticated atmosphere. The place is really nice and the food is delicious. Yet, all you can think about is sitting on the grass on the Han River banks and watching a water show from a bridge. Yoongi's hand patting yours brings you back to reality.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry, I was thinking about Junghee. I'm not used to be away from him" You reply, head down in embarrassment

Yoongi is very thoughtful and he is great company. You feel bad to make it look like he is not.

"Don't apologize. I know how you feel. I miss Seung every time he is staying at his mom's" He reassures you "If you want to go, I won't be mad"

You smile at him. God, he is such a great guy. He is the kind of guy you want, the kind who would never blame you for putting your son first because he would do the same for Seung. The thought drives you a little crazy and you begin to fantasize about a future with him, Junghee and Seung. A house full of laughs from your boys. It's a beautiful dream and it deserves a shot. Yoongi deserves a shot.

"I'm sure he is fine for the night" You say with a shy smile, squeezing Yoongi's hand a little and appreciating his cute gummy smile

"I miss mama" Junghee tells his father with watery eyes

Jungkook brings him on his lap to soothe him. Actually, your best friend misses you too but you deserve to be taken on a date. You deserve the flowers, the fancy wine and all the attentions a man should have on a date with you. And Jungkook is happy for you. Ever since Junghee's birth, all you have done was taking care of him. You're a great mother but sometimes Jungkook is afraid that you give up on other parts of your identity.

"I know, buddy" He gives his son a peck on his head "But look at show! Isn't it great? Don't you like the music and the water jets?"

Junghee looks up and even if he is young, he appreciates the beautiful night view of Seoul reflecting in Han River. The atmosphere is cheerful with the music, the blue and purple spots illuminating Banpo Bridge. And Junghee loves water too so he does find the water jets cool. But it doesn't prevent him from crying. Jungkook is trying to comfort him but your son just repeats that he wants you. Desperate, Jungkook pulls off his phone and dials your number.

You answer at the first tone, worried.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, Junghee just wants to talk to you"

Jungkook feels bad for ruining your date — well, only a little bad. He gives his phone to his son and a shaky voice reaches your ear.

"I miss you mama"

Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. Will you ever be able to spend a night without your son and not feel guilty? Especially now that you hear his cry.

"Oh, honey, I miss you too. I promise I'll be there soon. And I'll read you a story, okay?" You can't see it but Junghee nods, wiping his big rounded tears from his cheeks "Try to enjoy the show with daddy, okay?" Once again, your son nods

You hung up and look at Yoongi with sorry eyes.

"It's okay, Y/N. I told I wouldn't be mad" Yoongi gives you a sweet smile and it makes you even more sorry

"Well, if you are really not mad, maybe we could do that again another time?" You attempt, shyness painting your cheeks red

"That would be great"

Your last bold move of the night is a peck on Yoongi's cheek, right before you jump in your car and drive to Banpo Bridge. You spot Jungkook and Junghee almost immediately. Well, it's not very hard, you just have to follow the little whisperings of women who are commenting how hot your best friend looks, especially with a toddler in his arms. And you can only agree. His black oversized clothes, his eyebrow piercing and his tattoos make him look like a bad boy but the tenderness he is giving to Junghee is a dangerous weapon for hearts, including your weak one.

You try to approach as discreetly as possible and jump in front of them while shouting 'Surprise!'. Junghee chuckles and hugs you, so happy to finally see you. Jungkook's big dark eyes seem to be illuminated with all the stars of the galaxy and his bunny smile is wide and genuine.

"What are you doing here?" Jungkook asks, happily surprised, making some room for you next to him on the blanket

"I missed my boys" You simply answer

You shiver a little because of the light breeze and your best friend notices it. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you against his chest. You hum at his warmth. You are feeling so happy right now: Junghee is happy, Jungkook is happy and you are together. You can't dream about something more perfect than that.

✧˖°⋆˚ ✿˖°

Jungkook has just opened his eyes that he knows it's going to be a long day. Not because he has a lot of things to do for his boxing school but because Harin has dropped a bomb and the conversation can only end badly.

"Would you want to get married?" She asked

And now, Jungkook doesn't know how to answer. He means, they've only been dating for a few months. Isn't it way too soon for this kind of commitment? Does he even want this kind of commitment, at all?

"I don't think I'm ready" Jungkook chooses to settle with

"But you already got married" Harin argues, crossing her arms on her chest, which makes Jungkook wince

"Yeah but it was like a joke"

He doesn't add that the joke doesn't mean it wasn't serious or it didn't involve love. He can't say that, no one but you can understand what he means. It's just like he said in his vows: you marry the person you love the most in the whole word and this person is you. He knows he can't love someone more than you because you're not his lover, you're his best friend. The person who knows him better than anyone, the person who knows all his flaws and still wants him. And god, he loves you even more since you give birth to Junghee. You gave Jungkook the most beautiful thing in the whole world and nothing could overcomes that.

"You had a kid, Jungkook" Harin spurs, reproach in her voice

And once again, it was serious. Junghee is truly a baby you wanted both and you conceived with love, maybe the purest love that exists. But he still can't say that to Harin. All his girlfriend sees is the fact that you've slept together and pretend you're not attracted to each other. Your best friend sighs, running his hand into his raven locks. God, it's going to be a long day...

"Listen, I got married with Y/N because we were young and foolish. I don't think I'm husband material"

Harin scoffs. She knows damn well how good of a husband he was to you. All your friends talk about it when Jungkook and her are hanging out with them. Except that you were married only on paper and that what made Jungkook a good husband was that he was actually your best friend and not your husband.

"Listen, babe" Jungkook tries to ease the tension "It's just too soon and Junghee is still going through the whole process of me being in a relationship. And now, his mom is also setting into a relationship so I guess he is a little bit lo—" He is cut off by Harin sudden bright eyes

"Wait! Y/N is dating?" She oddly sounds happy about it

"Uhm... Yes? I think, I don't know. But it's not the point, the point is—"

"It's okay!" Harin kisses him on the cheek "You're right, we have time to think about marriage and kids"

With that, she jumps off the bed, leaving Jungkook completely lost. When did they pass from marriage to having children? This is not good for Jungkook. He doesn't even want to talk about that. Not with Harin, anyway. She is fun and cute but Jungkook doesn't love her that much. He growls and puts a pillow upon his face wondering when his life went wrong.

✧˖°⋆˚ ✿˖°

Junghee is drawing on your coffee table while you're taking care of your laundry. It's a very hot day and you're so glad that Jungkook has insisted in setting an air conditioner at your place. Speaking of the devil, the door opens and lets appearing a very handsome black-haired man. A smile grows naturally on your face. Your best friends walks to Junghee to rub his hair and then comes to you.

"Wow, is it Hot Moms Day?" He teases you, pecking your cheek

Jungkook actually only half-jokes because he's always had a soft spot for you wearing large loungewear pants and styling your hair in a bun secured with a hair grip. Maybe Jungkook has some kind of housewife or baby mama kink but he's not sure because it only makes him horny when it's you. Watching you taking care of Junghee makes him hard someway. Maybe it's because the only time he fucked you was when you conceived your son. Not to mention that you were gorgeous when you were pregnant and seeing your big belly full of his baby provided a great feeling of pride in Jungkook's chest.

"Don't you have boxing classes today, baby daddy?" You tease back

"Nope so..." Your best friend makes a dramatic pause to enhance your natural curiosity and it works, according to your questioning eye "I was thinking we could go to Busan. We could go to the beach and crash at my parent's. Junghee hasn't seen them in a long time"

"Yah!" Your son cheers, already running to you

You have no doubt that the word 'beach' attracted him. You're kind of worry because Busan is far away but the smile on your son face is enough to convince you. Jungkook takes Junghee in his arms and you know damn well what they are trying to do. They are looking at you with their big doe eyes to charm you and it works every single time.

"So, what do you say, baby mama?"

"Okay, let's go" You sigh, just for the appearance because deep down you feel pretty excited too

After packing some clothes for the weekend, you three took Jungkook's car and drove to Busan. Jungkook and Junghee sang so loud that you had to put your hands on your ears but you were actually happy.

Despite your best friend's exhaustion, he is cheerful while dining with his parents and you. It's been a long time since you saw them and they are like your second parents. Moreover, Junghee is really excited. Especially since his grandparents spoil him with so many toys you're not sure they'll fit in the car. It just feels good to be around your family and spending simple moments that mean everything.

Junghee is already asleep in Jungkook's old room between you and his dad. Your best friend is looking at you in the dark while you're patting your son's black hair. It's as smooth as his dad's.

"Are you happy?" He asks quietly

"Yes, I am. Kook, I'm always happy when I'm with you and Junghee"

Jungkook rubs your cheek with his thumb. The softness of his gesture makes you hum and you grab his hand to kiss it.

"I won't ever love someone more than you. You and Junghee will always mean everything to me" He confesses

"You're not really a good boyfriend" You joke, referring to Harin who obviously doesn't have a lot of room in Jungkook's life

"I'm not" Jungkook agrees with a sigh "I'm too busy being a dad and your best friend. And before you argue, I don't want to change that"

✧˖°⋆˚ ✿˖°

The next day, you go to Haeundae Beach with Jungkook and Junghee. As you has anticipated, you're not the only one who wanted to enjoy the ocean on this hot weather. The beach is full of families, groups of friends or couples and your little family blends perfectly in the landscape. Your son has his bunny smile on his chubby face, which makes him so damn cute. Jungkook settles your beach towels and parasol while you're applying sunscreen on Junghee. It doesn't take long for him to beg Jungkook for a swim. You watch in awe your two men walking hand in hand towards the water. Your son looks so small next to Jungkook's muscular body. However, you grow a little bitter when you notice some women looking at them too. You know damn well how hot your best friend is, especially at the beach where his brawny chest is at full display along with his sexy tattooed arm. But it makes you uneasy when women try to flirt with him in front of you.

It's a weird feeling. You're jealous but an odd type of jealous. Jungkook is your best friend, but also the father of your son. When you think about him having another child with someone else, it really bothers you. However, you're not fool enough to deny the possibility of it. And you have no doubt that Jungkook will always be there for Junghee but you can't help wondering 'what about me?'. Things won't be the same if he gets married or has a child. You love your little family and, as selfish as it might be, you don't want it to change, even if you won't ever admit it out loud...

You sigh and decide to occupy your brain by applying sunscreen on your own body this time. When you look up, you see two black-haired boys close to the shore, building sandcastles. A tender smile appears naturally and grows wider when your son lifts up his head and waves at you. You wave back and pull out your phone to snap a photo. Jungkook notices it and waves at you too.

"Isn't mama so pretty?" He asks his son and Junghee vigorously nods

"I love mama"

"I love mama too" Jungkook chuckles before bringing his attention back to his sand creation

Your smile disappears in no time when a — you hate to say it — hot woman approaches Jungkook and Junghee. An unpleasant, yet familiar feeling fills up your chest: possessiveness. If you didn't have to take care of your belongings, you would already be running towards them. You watch the woman shamelessly flirting with your best friend in front of your son! You scoff and roll your eyes.

Jungkook, on the other hand, tries to be polite but he doesn't really acknowledge the stranger's beauty. For him, no one can compare to you. So he says a few words but his tone makes it clear that he is not interested. However, the young woman doesn't seem to get the message so Jungkook, not so subtly, mentions you as his wife. God, he wishes he'd kept his ring... To hide the fact, he carefully keeps his left hand buried in the wet sand. Thankfully, the woman decides to leave and Jungkook releases a relieved sigh. Junghee is cheerfully clapping at his castle and Jungkook smiles at him with tender eyes. His son is growing up so fast. Maybe he should have another baby, just like he teased you on Junghee's birthday.

"I want to drink apple juice" Junghee states with a confident voice, just like if he has make a life-changing decision

He doesn't wait for any respond and runs to you. You giggle at your son clumsily heading in your direction. He jumps on you, almost kicking the air out of your lungs: he is getting a little too big to jump on you without hurting you but you can't care because the gesture is just full of love. Even more when he pecks your cheek. Jungkook loves witnessing these scenes. He joins you and grabs a brick of juice for your son before settling down on his own towel.

"I'll go for a swim" You notify them

As you're mindlessly walking to the ocean, Jungkook's fists clench a little when he sees some men eyeing at your perfect ass. Fuck, he knows how hot you are but he doesn't like the way strangers are looking at you. How ironic that he is in the same place you were a few minutes ago. He strategically lays on his stomach to hide his boner. You look good in your navy bikini. Your bare thighs look inviting and your swinging butt is to die for. He quite praises himself for your full breasts because you took an extra bra cup after your son's birth. Your whole body looks delicious with sexy curves. The thought of you being his baby mama clearly makes him horny. He loves being the one who got you pregnant — geez, him and his fucking weird kinks when it comes to you... Jungkook wishes he could mark your bare skin to keep men away but he knows he can't.

"Daddy, what does 'slutty' mean?" Junghee asks with his big innocent eyes

Your best friend almost chokes on his spit. What the hell?!

"Where did you hear that?" He tries to shirk

"The man next to us said that mama was slutty" Your son explains, unaware of the anger building in his dad

"Which one?" He asks with gritted teeth

Junghee points with his little finger a man, probably about the same age as Jungkook, hanging out with his friends, a beer in his hand. Jungkook pokes his tongue on his cheek before standing up and asking his son to stay here.

"Having fun?" Jungkook asks with a harsh tone that matches his dark eyes

The group of men lifts up their heads, quite surprised.

"Yeah, it's a nice day" The little fucker who called you 'slutty' answers with a proud smirk

"Checking out hot chicks?" Jungkook hoaxes

"Yeah, why?" The same one replies, growing frustrated

"You see the one with the navy swimsuit over there?" Jungkook points towards you with a head motion but doesn't wait for any respond "That's my wife. If you call her slutty again or anything at all, I can guarantee that you'll not have fun anymore. You don't talk about her, you don't even look at her, is that clear?" He adds with a threatening tone, trying not to think about the fact that he has lied twice today by calling you his wife — in his defense, you actually were not so long ago

If the other men nod, the one who seems to be dumb has a big ego. He is not going to let someone speak to him like that. He stands up and gives a harsh eye to Jungkook.

"What can I say? Your wife is slutty" He snaps back with a smirk, full of provocation

Well, the provocation doesn't set well with Jungkook since his fist meets the man's face in no time. However, the stranger fights back and the mess going around catches people's attention. On your way back, you see some people looking and gasping at something. You step closer and gasp when you see your best friend, panting, with bruised knuckles and death stare. He looks down at a man with a bloody face laying on the floor and growling of pain.

You quickly check on your son before joining your baby daddy.

"You need to stop, you could lose your boxing licence" You whisper in his ear

Jungkook is looking at you and it takes him a few seconds to get rid off his harsh dark eyes as the anger slowly decreases. He nods and steps back, not without wrapping an arm around your waist in a protective and possessive manner. Jungkook is angry and maybe he is afraid of loosing you in someway so he needs to feel you close to him. You grab an ice block from your cooler and pull it on Jungkook's hand.

"What happened?" You ask

You see Jungkook avoiding your eyes and you frown.

"The man called you slutty, but I don't know what it means" Your son answers

Your mouth snaps open out of shock. Did Jungkook punch a guy for your honor? You don't know if you want to yell at him or to hug him.

"Kook! You shouldn't have said anything!" You scold him

"I can't do that!" Jungkook defends himself "I can't stay here when someone is disrespecting you. Wouldn't you do the same if you were in my shoes?"

You look into his doe eyes and you find nothing to reply because it's true: you would react if someone said horrible things about your best friend.

"No more fighting, please. I don't want you to get hurt" You end up saying

"He didn't punch me" Your best friend replies with a stupid cocky grin and you slap his shoulder

"Daddy is like superman!" Junghee shouts, which makes you sigh

Now, you'll have to explain to your three-year son that he cannot beat people like his dad.

✧˖°⋆˚ ✿˖°

In front of his parents' house, Jungkook kneels in front of his son who is looking at him with a question mark in his big doe eyes.

"Look, buddy, how about you keep secret about what happened at the beach? I don't want grandpa and grandma Jeon to worry" He says, embarrassed

You can only smile at this big and strong man being afraid to get scolded by his parents. But you understand. Jungkook's parents are not big fan of their son's job and being a mother yourself, you perfectly get how worry it makes them. You often wonder if Junghee will want to fight for a living and the thought of him getting hurt squeezes your heart in a painful way.

"Okay!" Your son replies, not really understanding why his dad doesn't want to say he is a hero "Pinky promise!"

"Pinky promise" Your best friend repeats with a sweet voice, wrapping his finger around Junghee's tiny one

As you are applying a thin layer of mascara to get ready for diner in the backyard of Jungkook's parents, your best friend enters his childhood bedroom. You're surprised to see him wearing a black shirt, looking well dressed up for a casual diner at home.

"Going somewhere?" You ask with a lifted eyebrow

"Indeed, with you" He answers with a playful grin "It's been a long time since we've spent time together, I mean just you and me. So, I asked my parents to watch out for Junghee and I booked at table for us" Jungkook proudly announces

You are amazed by the place your best friend has chosen. It's fancy yet cozy but above all, you really appreciate spending time with him. You've missed those moments with your best friend. You sip on your wine while chatting with Jungkook. As usual, the talk goes smoothly and it seems like you never run out of topics. However, Jungkook's next line makes you freeze.

"I would like another baby"

You gulp with difficulty. You didn't know that Harin and him were already at this stage. A weight is crushing on your chest and it's hard to pretend like you're not broken at the idea. Yes, you're happy for your best friend and you know he'll be a great dad for this second child but like you explained, things won't be the same between the two of you. You'll need time to get at the idea.

"Oh" Is all you manage to respond

You don't even know what to say to him.

"I know it's quite sudden but Junghee is already three and this afternoon he asked me about a sibling... I don't think it's completely unimaginable" Jungkook explains

He is looking into your eyes to get an hint of your thoughts but you can't understand them yourself.

"So, what do you think?" He asks, stress making his heart beating fast in his chest

"I-I think it's great" You lie with a chocked throat that spurs you to finish your glass "It'll definitely take your relationship with Harin on another level"

Jungkook frowns immediately.

"No, I meant having another baby together, Y/N" He clarifies, gesturing between you and him

"Oh!" You say, once again, surprise more than noticeable on your features

"I already told you, I can't imagine having a family with someone other than you"

Your cheeks take a light pinkish color and you bite your lower lip. You also have thought about having another baby recently. And you can't imagine someone other than Jungkook for the father but what about your friendship? Being a mom is the most beautiful gift in the world for you and to be honest, you miss being pregnant. You miss feeling your baby moving in your belly. You miss feeling Jungkook inside y— Wait, what? No, you don't! You shake your head to get rid off this ridiculous thought.

"I think I need time to think about it" You whisper, eyes down in shame of your filthy ideas

"Sure, take your time. Don't pressure yourself, it's okay if you don't want to, I won't be less happy with Junghee and you" Jungkook reassures you, grabbing your hand

You are still a little bit lost when Jungkook parks his car in his parents' garage. You wonder how your life would be if you decide to have a new little member in your family. You'd surely be beyond happy but how would be things with Jungkook? You had the feeling that your relationship was a little confusing when you were married and when you decided to have Junghee in someway. Now, you're divorced, parents but still best friends. Things got back to normal. Having another child might rattle everything...

If you stopped lying to yourself for one second, you'll admit that it's not having another baby that scares you. It's being intimate with Jungkook again. He is so perfect, so caring. It's quite hard to not fall for him. So far, you manage to avoid it by clearly delimited your relationship as friends. Things almost got out of control when you conceived Junghee and you can't deny that your heart was doing some weird tricks in your chest for a few months — which you easily convinced yourself that it was the hormones talking. But now, there is no hormones and your heart does it again...

"Hey, are you okay?" Jungkook softly asks you, cupping your face with one of his big and warm palm "You've been quiet all along"

"Yeah, I'm okay. I guess I was just deep in thoughts" You confess in a whisper

"Like I said, don't pressure yourself. It was just an idea" Your best friend reassures you

God, he looks so handsome right now in the dimmed light, the room only lightens by the pale moon coming from the window. He looks unreal. His eyes are as shiny as ever, his cute bubble nose makes you smile and his lips... You should stop looking at them. It's bad. It's really bad. Jungkook is your best friend, he has a girlfriend and you have Yoongi — even though your relationship is quite undetermined — and most of all, he is Junghee's father! Only bad things would follow if you let your desires control you.

Wait a minute.

What desires? You don't have desire for Jungkook! You don't! Impossible. That's completely ridiculous and crazy and impossible. Not to mention impossible. Have you already say impossible? Because it is impossible for god's sake.

So why are you scooting closer to him and kiss him? Your brain is not responding to any of your pleas and your lips press deeper against Jungkook's ones. It gets even crazier when he kisses you back! What in the world is happening? You can't really think about it because it feels too good.

The kiss is passionate, your hands making a mess in Jungkook's black hair and his tongue is entering your mouth. Your moans are swallowed by him and your panties get soaked. It's the first time you two share such an amazing kiss. The most amazing kiss ever.

You clumsily reach his seat to sit on his lap. The lack of room makes the position quite awkward and you have no choice but to press your boobs against his firm chest. Your hands caress his biceps through the fabric of his shirt and your pussy clenches around nothing when you feel his muscles flexing underneath your touch. Jungkook's hands don't stay steady either: one goes up to grab your hair and pushes you deeper against his lips while the other one squeezes your ass through your dress.

When he leaves your swollen lips to drift away to your throat, your hips start to grin on his crotch and you can feel his boner despite the layers of clothing. Your moans intensify and you have to secure your arm around Jungkook's head not to fall into the abyss of pleasure. The friction applied on your covered clit is great but you need more. A sneaky hand finds its way between your bodies and starts unzipping his jeans. You whimper when you feel your best friend hard in his underwear. You caress him as well as you can despite the uneasy position and Jungkook lifts up your dress to get access at your bare ass skin. He growls when he roughly grabs your juicy flesh, sending a wave of arousal to your already wet cunt.

You finally free him from his briefs and manage to push aside your soaked panties. You grab his thick length at the base and impaled yourself on his cock. Your wetness and his pre cum make it easy to enter, even with your tightness. You hide your face on his neck to mutter your loud moans caused by the stretching. Fuck, he is big. Especially since you haven't had sex for years! But you're too high on arousal to care about the slight pain and start riding him like a freak. Maybe the man from the beach was right, you are slutty with Jungkook right now. You don't even recognize yourself. It's even the first time you fuck somewhere other than a bed!

Jungkook helps you by placing his hands under your ass. The whole car is filled with moans from both sides. You kiss Jungkook's throat messily, leaving wet stains of saliva on his thin skin. He runs one of his hands up and settles it in the back of your neck to make you take him deeper and harder. He is so deep inside you that you swear you can feel him in your stomach. Animalistic growls escape his lips and he urges you to kiss him again. Your groans mix with your tongues and salivas in a real messy and sloppy kiss.

You can feel your orgasm building up in you despite the aching feeling growing in your legs. You're out of breathe but you don't seem to be able to stop. You're completely controlled by your arousal and you wish you could fuck him all night. The way you're riding Jungkook's big cock tells enough about your desires. Your walls clench, making his dick throb inside you and you know that you are both close. A few more jumps are enough to feel his cum shots painting your walls, sending you on the edge too. His seeds mix with your juices, creating a pool of arousal between your legs.

You're both panting and you rest your sticky forehead against Jungkook's one. He is keeping you tight in his arms, gently caressing your back. You are slowly coming down from your high and your eyes snap open. What have you done?! You fucked Jungkook, your best friend! You have risked years of friendship for a quickie in his fucking car! While your son and his parents are sleeping in this very same house. Panic fills your body and you gasp at the realization.

You jump out of the car, only pulling down your dress to cover the mess between your legs and run in shame. You lock yourself in the bathroom, unable to think straight. All you can do is crying for hours, despite Jungkook gently knocking on the door and asking you to open the door — which you never do.

✧˖°⋆˚ ✿˖°

You ended up discreetly sneaking into Jungkook's bedroom late in the night, praying for him to be asleep or at least pretend to be. You didn't sleep at all and by the absence of light snoring, you know that Jungkook didn't either. You don't really know what to say to him despite you're sorry: for having sex with him and for running away right after it. If the shoe was on the other foot, you know how hurt you would be. But you're ashamed and embarrassed to face him just yet...

If Junghee is way too young to get the tensed air between his mom and dad, Jungkook's parents can clearly feel it. And it does nothing to ease you. You try to focus on your son during breakfast, doing everything you can to avoid Jungkook's eyes that you easily imagine on you. At some point, your best friend grows sick of it, sighs loudly and grabs his plate to escape the room. When his mom joins him in the kitchen, she can't hold her worry and questions her son.

"I told Y/N I wanted another child" Jungkook confesses with a low voice and a defeated look

His mom is not as surprised as he thought she would be.

"How did she react?" She asks with a comforting hand on her son's large shoulder

"She said that she needed to think about it. I mean, I understand but just look at Junghee. We have been so happy since he was born, I don't think another child would fuck things up between us" Jungkook growls in frustration, running his tattooed hand in his hair

His mother doesn't scolds him on his bad language and rather asks:

"Is that why things are tensed this morning?"

"Maybe. Actually... Something happened" Jungkook winces, embarrassed to talk about his sexual life with his mom "I didn't see the problem before Y/N ran away. And now she doesn't even look at me! I don't know what to do"

"Do you regret it?"

Your best friend takes a few seconds to think. Does he? Maybe he wishes that your second time together were in a more romantic atmosphere but he doesn't regret one bit. He missed your touch, he missed your body. He missed feeling physically connected to you. Sex with you is so different, way more powerful and emotional because he cares about you. He fucking loves you. And honestly, it breaks his heart that you shut him down after sharing a bed — or his car seat to be precise.

"No. I mean, I wanted to but I don't want to hurt her, you know?" Jungkook replies with blushed cheeks

"Y/N has always had a special place in your life, Jungkook. You've known each other for a long time. Maybe the idea of things changing between you scares her. But never doubt her love for you. She deeply cares about you and you'll always be the father of her child. I know you'll figure things out" His mom reassures him with a tender smile but a hint of worry in her eyes

A little knock on the kitchen door drives Mrs. Jeon's and Jungkook's eyes on you. Your red cheeks clearly notify how embarrassed you are. Even quite mad — against you or him or anything else because he can't quite decide —, your best friend finds you cute.

"Can I talk to you?" You shyly ask him and he nods before leading you to his bedroom for privacy

Your eye is everywhere except on him as you gather your courage to speak.

"I'm so sorry, Kook" You apologize

"For what?" His voice is a little bit cold but you can't resent him

"For everything?" You try and sigh "I think I was a little overwhelmed about what happened but I want you to know that you didn't do anything wrong, it was entirely my fault"

Your eyes water and your chin is shaking in a dangerous way. Despite his frustration, Jungkook pulls you into a hug.

"I get it. Please, don't cry. Let's put that aside for now, okay? We can talk about it when you're ready" Jungkook comforts you, pecking the top of your head

Fuck, why does your best friend have to be this great? He should be mad. You would in his shoes. But he is comforting you instead! And it makes you feel even worst. You keep repeating that you're sorry while you're crying in his arms.

✧˖°⋆˚ ✿˖°

It has been one week since your trip to Busan and things have been back to normal. In appearance only but your mind is a real mess. You blush every time your best friend gets close to you and your heart beats heretically whenever he touches you. You feel like you're going insane. You need you convince yourself that you don't love Jungkook and that it's just a side effect of your roll in the hay.

That's why you've called your mom to babysit Junghee and went on a date with Yoongi. After all, he is a fine man and he is available. You feel terrible when you think about Harin and you still don't know how you'll be able to look at her in the eyes... The thought makes you stress. You try not to think about it and concentrate on the movie you're watching with Yoongi.

Why don't you feel any butterfly anymore when he grabs your hand? It's not good for you or your heart. Yoongi is really great so why don't you love him? You kind of like him and you find him attractive but he doesn't fill your mind like Jungkook does. And it's not fair for Yoongi. He deserves to be someone's first choice, not some consolation.

At the end of the movie, you tell the truth to Yoongi and you hope not to hurt him too much. He tells you that he understands and that he is a little bit sad because you're a great woman — which makes you feel worst. You feel nothing like a great person lately, quite the opposite actually.

In another part of Seoul, Harin has brought the marriage topic on the table. Again. Maybe she feels threatened after the weekend you've spent together. And Jungkook doesn't know how to escape it because he really doesn't want to marry Harin. Or any other woman but you.

"I think it could be great to be a real family, you and me and our babies" Harin states, a dreamy smile on her face

"Sorry to remind you but I have a family" Jungkook replies with irritation in his voice

"Yeah, yeah, I know that Junghee will always be part of your life but he'll get along with our children. Oh, and for the wedding, I was thinking about..."

Harin explains her theme and everything she wants to have for her big day but Jungkook stops listening. His mind drives him back to you. He remembers your wedding and how simple and perfect it was. Full of authenticity. It was a perfect day. His second best day after Junghee's birth. Which leads him to remember it. How scared he was for you but also how impressed he was. How you grabbed and firmly squeezed his hand until hurting him — not that he cared anyway — when you were pushing. How he encouraged you and told how amazing you were. He remembers your tired yet wide smile when you held your son for the first time. He remembers how he felt when he held Junghee for the first time. His body was so small he was afraid to break it. And he remembers the promise he made to himself that day: to always protect you and your son and to love you even after his last breathe. Nothing could be stronger than the bound you share. Maybe it's cruel but Harin would never compete against you. There is no choice to make because you are the only one for him.

But judging how panicked you reacted one week ago, Jungkook doesn't think he is even an option for you. So he lets his girlfriend blather on her fantasies of wedding and children.

✧˖°⋆˚ ✿˖°

Jungkook is picking up Junghee at the kindergarten because you have a meeting for your job. While he is happy to spend time with his son, your best friend's body tenses a little when he spots Yoongi in the crowd. Should he greet him? It's so awkward because Jungkook fucked you while you are in some kind of relationship with the man. Did you tell him? Did you see him after that? Did you sleep with him? Gosh, he hopes not... He would rather get punched for having sex with you than having his heart broken for you having sex with someone else. He can't help but feel hypocrite when he had sex with Harin this week even though he didn't really want to. What reassures him a little is that he always wears condoms.

Wait a minute.

He hasn't with you. Do you take the pill? He is pretty sure you don't. Oh god, the whole situation is getting out of control. Yes, he wants a baby with you but he doesn't want to trap you into the situation. Anxiety is eating him alive and he doesn't even see Yoongi approaching until he is right in front of him.

"Hi" The man greets him

"Hi, how are you?" Jungkook tries to hide his panic and his guilt behind a smile

"Fine" Yoongi lies, his heart is still a little broken but he doesn't resent you — you can't control your feelings and he knows it damn well "Seung's birthday is next weekend and I'm checking on the parents to see who'll come at the party. Can I count Junghee in?"

"Sure, he'll be more than happy" Jungkook releases a sigh, glad that he won't be punched after all

A little boy with black hair and a bunny smile runs to him, waiting for his dad to hold him in his arms. Jungkook's heart melts at his son and he can't help but wonder if Junghee will soon have a little sister or brother. He tries not to think too much about it and walks to his car.

The drive to his boxing school doesn't take long and he mentally thanks you for that: you have insisted for him to choose a building in a district close to all kinds of educative establishments, mainly because it'd be great for his business, but also because it'd be handier when he would be a dad.

Junghee is always excited to see his dad boxing. He loves imitating him, throwing his little fists in the air. Your best friend has started giving him lessons and he loves the fact that he can deepen his relationship with his child this way. He also hopes that his son will be able to defend himself if he gets in trouble or defend you because you're way too stubborn to listen to Jungkook and take boxing lessons... On the other hand, he pretty likes being the one to save you.

Jungkook is kneeled down in front of Junghee and keeps his palms up so your son can punch them. Jungkook can't help a chuckle at the cute pout adoring the toddler's focused face. His son smiles proudly whenever Jungkook praises him. Your best friend has no doubt that you would look at them with awe eyes if you were there.

However, the little lesson has to end when some students enter for their class. It's not the first time Junghee sees them but he grows shy and hides behind his father's leg. Surely, the little group of teenagers impresses him. Your best friend smiles tenderly at Junghee and rubs his tattooed hand into the sleek hair of his child to soothe him. He tells him to sit on the bench and grabs an apple juice for him before heading to his students and giving instructions.

You rush out of the building to take your son home. You gasp when you see some teenage boys punching each others on the ring. You don't like Junghee to see violence. You know that Jungkook couldn't do otherwise but it doesn't please you. Definitely, you had a long day... You're sure Junghee will have nightmares tonight.

"Hey, can I talk to you?" Jungkook asks when he spots you

You nod, quite surprised by his embarrassment and follow him to his office. You frown when he closes the door. What's so serious?

"I need to ask you something'"Jungkook looks down a moment before returning his eyes into yours "Are you on the pill?"

Your eyes widen. You really didn't expect this question. And it's another reminder of how stupid it was to fuck your best friend.

"I am" You answer

Now, it's Jungkook's turn to be surprised. He thought you weren't. You always told him that you didn't want to intoxicated your body with unnecessary doses of hormones if you're not in a relationship. Does that mean that Yoongi and you have turned a corner? His heart is squeezing painfully in his chest.

"Oh, okay then, I was worried about nothing" Your best friend says, his hand messing his hair up

"About that..." You start, embarrassed too "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry about what happened" Jungkook opens his mouth to argue but you stop him "I shouldn't have reacted like that, especially when I'm the one who initiated things. I feel terrible towards you and towards Harin. I really hope that I didn't make things tensed between you" The idea of it makes you wince and you hide your face in your hands "God, I'm such a horrible person"

"Hey, don't say that" Jungkook grabs your hands to look at your face with affection in his doe eyes "I could have stopped you and I didn't because I wanted it too. Please, don't blame yourself. To be honest, I liked it"

Jungkook's words make you blush and you look away to prevent yourself from jumping on him once again. Your best friend pulls you to his side to hug you before letting you go. Jungkook kisses Junghee's chubby cheek to tell him goodbye and you grab you son in your arms to bring him home.

In his bed, after you've read him a book, your son surprises you. Or more like breaks your heart.

"What?" You say because maybe you haven't heard well and gosh, you wish you haven't

"Daddy and Harin are getting married" He repeats

All blood leaves your face and you feel like your heart has stopped.

"Why do you say that?" You ask with a white voice

"Harin told me"

You might be completely broken at the news but you need to know how your son feels like because it's the most important thing for you.

"What do you feel about it?"

"I'm okay. I like Harin, she makes good pancakes" Junghee replies innocently

You nod and kiss his forehead before escaping his room to cry in your bed. You made Jungkook cheat on his future wife! You're so horrible! Worst, your heart is broken while you should be happy for your best friend. Why didn't Jungkook tell you? Is it because you had sex? You knew that you've fucked things up! Now your best friend isn't confiding to you anymore, even for something as important as a fucking wedding! You feel bad. Terrible. You're the one who provoked what you absolutely wanted to avoid: things has changed between Jungkook and you.

✧˖°⋆˚ ✿˖°

Junghee is playing with the new toys his grandparents gave him in Busan. You look at him with a distracted look because your attention is set on the news channel. It's not the first time Seoul has to go through a typhoon, however, you're a little worried because the TV keeps repeating that this one is especially violent. You try to keep calm for Junghee but the dark sky and the pouring rain don't help. It's the first time you have to face such a weather condition without Jungkook. You mentally note the advises the anchors give: preparing some candles or flashlights in case of blackout, making sure to stay away from the windows and closing the blinds if possible. You sigh and join your son, innocent as usual, only caring about the little imaginary world he has created in his mind. It helps to soothe you, even though you wonder if your best friend is okay.

"Where are you going?" Harin asks with an irritated tone when she witnesses Jungkook grabbing his car key

Jungkook stops his movements and looks at his girlfriend like it was evident. They have just listened to the same news as you and Jungkook immediately reached the entry of his apartment — where Harin seems to spend more and more time each day.

"I'm worried about Junghee and Y/N" He explains

"They're fine!" Harin scoffs "And look outside, it's pouring! You can't go out"

Jungkook is growing frustrated. He is worried, he doesn't want to leave you two alone. His heart is beating so fast in his chest because of the stress. His whole body is begging him to go and make sure you're safe. Why can't Harin understand that? You're his family! Anger is starting to build inside him and he can't help but yelling at Harin because she has been acting like a crazy woman lately and Jungkook is sick of it.

"I can't leave my kid and my wife alone!"

"Your wife?!" Harin snaps "Really Jungkook?" Her voice is nothing sweet and it's full of grudge

"You know what I mean" Jungkook replies with a roll of eyes

"No, I don't actually. You are not married! And I am your girlfriend" Harin reminds him

It's true. Jungkook knows it. But he can't help feeling upset at that thought. He is still seeing himself as your husband, maybe because for him it's complicated to separate that from being Junghee's father. His instinct is always to protect you and your toddler. When he pictures his family, it's you, Junghee and him. Harin is never in the picture to be honest. What he wants is to be with you. Right now, he can't even remember why he agreed to sign those stupid divorce papers.

"I need to go" Jungkook settles to say, his voice a little softer than before

"If you pass that door, it's over" Harin says with confidence, her arms crossed on her chest

Your best friend has never liked ultimatums and this one is by far the worst. He scoffs before opening the door and leaving. He doesn't even give a last look to Harin.

The rain might be pouring, the wind might be going wild, nothing could prevent Jungkook from reaching you. Actually, the hostile weather convinces him that being with you was the right decision. He just can't imagine not being there for you while he knows that you are worried and alone with your son. He is not scared about the road but about leaving you alone. It's all he can think about while driving toward you and Junghee.

The door opening makes you jolt. The familiar face with soaked, dark hair appearing provokes a weird trick in your chest.

"Kook?" The surprise is evident on your face and in your voice but everything disappears when your best friend gives you the most tender smile ever "What are you doing here? Are you crazy? You could have had an accident!" You scold him even though you're so glad he is here

"I was worried about you" Jungkook simply replies

Your mouth mimics a silent 'Thank you' and Jungkook joins Junghee at the coffee table. Your son has given up his toys to get down on one of his favorite hobbies: drawing. He chuckles when he spots his dad and almost immediately tries to climb on him. It doesn't take long for him to use his pens on Jungkook's tattooed sleeves. From time to time, Junghee nods proudly at his art piece, filling with color some patterns of the tattoos or adding completely new drawings.

"I want to have drawings on my arm like daddy" Your son suddenly states

"Wow, not until eighteen, right mama?" Jungkook laughs, imagining his three-year old toddler with tattoos

"You mean not until at least forty" You correct him, half-joking half-panicking at your little boy covered in ink

Junghee pouts but focuses again on his pens. You and Jungkook are looking at him with love eyes. He is so cute! His doe eyes are wide open and his little mouth is slightly open. You love how immersed he gets when he is doing something. He doesn't care one bit about the weather raging outside, he is in his little bubble and he has trapped your best friend and you in it.

"Mama, come help me"

You chuckle and grab a pen yourself. You scoot closer to Jungkook, feeling the warmth of his body. While Junghee is sitting on Jungkook's lap, you're against your best friend's side. One hand rests on his shoulder to stay steady while you're drawing a little flower on his hand. Jungkook hums at your touch. It feels good. The simple moment with his son and you fills up his chest with joy, he feels like he is the happiest and luckiest man on Earth. He can't help himself and grabs your small hand in his, not caring about the pen between your fingers. You lift up your head in surprise, trying to understand why he has done that but you find yourself unable to say anything.

Jungkook's handsomeness and closeness just cut your breathe. He is so pretty and the way is looking at you, like you're the most precious thing in his life, is destabilizing. You're two seconds away from kissing his pulp lips that attract you. Thankfully, you get back to your senses, shake your head and remove your hand from his grip.

"I, uhm, I'll go take some milk for Junghee" You stutter, cheeks completely blushed

You escape as fast as you can and welcome the cold air coming from the fridge on your burning face. You need to focus. You need to stop thinking about your best friend this way. You hate how hot, handsome and caring he is right now. Last time you did something stupid, you almost ended up pregnant and destroy Jungkook's future wedding. You have to stop! You need to keep your distance with Jungkook. He is only here for Junghee.

Your baby had hidden in Jungkook's arms when the typhoon was at its climax. Thankfully, your building was far enough not to suffer from big damages and the city went back to normal only a few hours later. All the emotions of the day pushed your son in a sound sleep. You watch in awe your best friend putting Junghee in his bed. You close the door as softly as you can and you face an embarrassing silence between Jungkook and you.

"So, what's the date?" You ask after clearing your throat

You hope that bringing the wedding topic with a light tone will spur Jungkook to see that you are still his confidant. You don't want to let the incident in his car ruining your friendship. In fact, things have to be even smoother than before if you want your growing family to work.

However, Jungkook is frowning and looking at you with a confused face.

"The date for what?"

"Kook" You sigh, a little hurt that he doesn't trust you "You can tell me, it's okay. Actually, I would have rather liked hearing it from you and from our three-year old son. But I get it, things have been... strange lately. Nevertheless, I want you to know that I am sincerely happy for you and Harin" You manage to give him a small smile

"I'm sorry but I really don't know what you are talking about" Jungkook replies, working his brain out to get a clue

"Your wedding, Jungkook!" You clarify, frustration noticeable in your voice

"My what?!" Your best friend shouts, completely taken aback

"Did you think that I wouldn't know?" You ask, trying to make sense of his genuine incredulity

"Y/N, I am not getting married! Don't you think that I would tell you? Where did you get that idea?"

It's your turn to frown. What's going on?

"Junghee told me that you were getting married... Maybe he didn't get it right?"

"I've never told him anything like that, like never. I don't want to marry Harin for fuck's sake" Jungkook says

You purse your lips because what you are thinking about is way too crazy to be the truth. Did Harin lie to your son? Why? That's just horrible! It can't be...

"What?" Jungkook spurs you to speak up "What did you think about? And don't lie, I know that face"

"I don't want to create problems" You finally decide to say "Maybe... maybe you should talk to Harin and clarify the situation because I think it's just a big misunderstanding"

Jungkook is feeling his anger growing inside his bones. What did Harin do? After promising he'll be back soon, he drives back to his apartment. His fists are so tightly clenched around his wheel that his knuckles are white. He wants some explanations now. Did she dare messing up with his family? With his son? With you? Jungkook is fucking pissed. He storms in and hardly contains his wrath.

"What did you say to Junghee?"

His angry tone makes Harin jolt. Her eyes widen in fear because she has never seen him this angry.

"I-I don't know what you are talking about..." She lies

"Speak now!" Jungkook shouts, his eyes even darker than usual

"I, uhm, told him that we were talking about marriage?" She tries with a small voice and Jungkook almost looses it

"You were talking about marriage!" He rectifies "Do you have any idea of what you've done?! Are you fucking insane? He is my son! You can't tell him something like that! Don't come near me or my family ever again. Now, get the fuck out!"

Witnessing Jungkook's fury, Harin doesn't argue and leaves as fast as she can. Jungkook needs a couple of minutes to calm down. He needs to let go of his anger and there is no better way than boxing for him. For the third time of the day, he steps in his car to head to his boxing school. He doesn't even know how many hours he hits the punching bag. He can't believe that Harin almost destroyed his relationship with his son and with you! He can't imagine what was in your pretty head when you thought he was getting married while he told you hundred of times that you were the only one for him. He makes a pact with himself: he will put a ring on your and his fingers so no one will ever make you feel like you're not the love of his life.

✧˖°⋆˚ ✿˖°

It's already three am and you still haven't heard about Jungkook. You're way too worried to sleep and you're walking back and forth in your living room. You've tried to call him but gained no response. He told you he would be back but he hasn't. And he left pretty pissed off. Furious, actually. You're scared something has happened to him. Did he get into a fight with Harin? Did they make up? Did he have an accident? There are so many different scenarios possible and you don't know which one is the truth. If you didn't have to watch Junghee, you would already be in your car, looking all around Seoul for him.

When you're about to officially lose your sanity, the door opens. You run to Jungkook and hug him out of relief. Thank god, he is okay. You step back just enough to look at him: he is sweaty and tired and his clenched jaws are a clear sign of how tensed he is.

"I was so worried" You whisper, not to wake up your son "Is everything okay? Did you talk to Harin?"

Your best friend scoffs at the name. He still feels angry but less since you've hugged him. Your touch has always had some kind of magical power when it comes to soothe him.

"She told Junghee that we were getting married. I can't believe she lied to our son. You don't know how mad I am right now. I ended things with her"

You nod, trying to integrate the news. Despite being completely taken aback by Harin's actions, you feel terrible to have doubted Jungkook. He is your best friend, your baby daddy, the man you trust the most in the entire world. You should have known that he would never hide something this huge.

"I'm sorry" You tell him because they really are the words that sum up pretty much everything you want to say

"Don't be. I'm not sad because of her. But I am sad because I feel like I almost lost you" He explains with sincerity and it breaks your heart

"Kook, you will never lose me" You put a delicate hand on his jaw "I love you so much, you have no idea. I'll always be there for you. You're an amazing man. An amazing dad and the best best friend ever and I don't think you know it"

Emotion fills the air between you two. Jungkook's heart melts at your words and you can see it in his eyes becoming tenderer. He deserves the whole world. And suddenly, an idea comes to your mind and your look changes. Jungkook must misinterpret it because there is no way you're looking at him with lust right now. It must be the fatigue from his boxing.

His heart stops and he gulps loudly when he watches you kneeling down. He wishes his dick wasn't hardening by seeing you down in front of him and lifting up your pretty face to look into his eyes. The sight is sinful and he can't let his fantasies controlling him because he would do unspeakable things to your mouth. However, he doesn't have time to question you that your hands are already working on his sweatpants to take it down. You caress him through the fabric of his briefs and it makes his cock almost completely hard in no time.

"Y/N" He whispers with a chocked and raspy voice "What are you doing?"

"I want to thank you for everything you've done for me. Don't you want it?"

The innocence and insecurity in your voice mixed with the way your eyes seem bigger when you look up at him prevent him from thinking straight. He can only nod, waiting for your next move. A wave of arousal goes straight between your legs when you grab the hem of his underwear and push it down, freeing his hard cock. Your mouth waters at the sight and you realize that it's the first time you get to really admire his dick. It's thick and big and you know how much pleasure it brings. But you are a little worried at the size of it and you wonder if you'll be able to take him entirely in your mouth.

The drop of pre cum escaping his tip is way too tempting so you poke your tongue out to lick it. Both Jungkook and you moan. He tastes sweet and you want more. You rest your hand at his base while you start kissing and taking fat laps of his head. Jungkook can't take his eyes off of you because it's too good to be real. Your lips are soft against his velvet skin and the wet strains you leave with your mouth and tongue are driving him insane. He has to control himself not to fuck your throat like a maniac.

When his tip is glistening with a mix of your saliva and his pre cum, you open your mouth wide, stick your tongue out and take him in. It feels good to have Jungkook's cock filling your mouth. You have never been fond of blowjobs and yet, sucking your best friend's dick arouses you more than you want to admit. The sweet moans and growls from Jungkook spur you to fasten your pace. You take him quicker and deeper each time, creating some sloppy and sinful sounds. Your tongue caresses his vein and the sweet spot connecting his tip to his length. Your hand frees his base and heads south to cup his balls while you push deeper, making you gag when his tip hits the back of your throat.

"Oh fuck" Jungkook moans in pure ecstasy "Your mouth is so fucking good"

His praise makes you proud and you want to give him even more pleasure. Your free hand that was resting on his hip grabs his to put it in your hair. You look at him through your wet lashes and Jungkook gets the message. You're so perfect, he thinks while he intertwine his fingers with your strands. You open your mouth a little wider and lets him settle the pace and the deepness of his thrusts. You can't help a few tears when he deep-throats you but you actually love chocking on his cock. The wetness of your pussy is a clear sign of it.

"Fuck, baby" He hisses when he pushes deep and rests a little to feel your throat contracting around his dick

He pulls out to let you breathe and enjoys the line of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his member. You're so fucking hot like that. He wishes he could take a picture of you right now to keep the memory because he knows it's a once in a lifetime thing.

"Cum in my mouth" You tell him with a oh-so-sweet voice and he can't believe it's true

He rubs his soaked tip against the pillow of your lips, making a glistening mess that turns him on so bad and pushes his cock right back in. Your hand is deliciously cupping his heavy balls and Jungkook growls while throwing his head back with delight. Feeling your wet and warm mouth around him is really, really good. He fucks your mouth like there is no tomorrow, bringing more tears to your eyes. Your other hand caresses his firm abs and the flexing muscles underneath your fingertips provoke a sweet moan from you. It vibrates on Jungkook's cock and he can feel how close he is. His thrusts are not soft but you know he tries to hold himself back.

You pray for the sinful sounds not to wake up Junghee and you push your head further, your nose almost touching his pubic.

"Oh shit, I'm gonna cum'"Jungkook informs you

You hum to notify him that it's okay and you feel his grab tightening in your hair. You think that Jungkook is going to go a little wilder but he surprises you when his other hand gently settles on your cheeks to caress you with his thumb.

"Look at me" He asks but his voice is so weak that it's more like a plea

You do as he says and meet your best friend's frowning and fucked up face with a slight open mouth. He is damn hot. Your eyes are shiny because of your tears but you are so gorgeous. He can't believe how lucky he is. You're so fucking sexy and the fact that he is the one to see this side of you makes his dick throb. You're usually his very sweet baby mama — which also makes him horny to be true — but right now, you are like a goddess coming straight from his wildest sexual dreams. You are looking at each other with your usual affection eye but there is a sparkle of lust too that sends him on the edge. He is fully focused on you: your tongue, your hands on him, the sleek of your hair tangled in his fist, your soft skin underneath his thumb and your fucking beautiful eyes that he would like to look at forever. Jungkook cums on your tongue with soft growls.

Your cheeks are burning red when Jungkook steps in the bathroom to clean himself. You can't believe you've just done that. However, it's not panic that takes over you like the last time but a sweet feeling and a huge wave of arousal. It just felt right. Maybe the fact that you are both single eases you too. You sigh in content as you drop onto your couch, blushing when you replay the filthy scene that just took place in your living room.

"Shit" Jungkook curses when he drops the towel down after washing his hands

He bends over to reach it but his eyes get attracted by something in your bathroom bin. His body freezes for a second and his hand is shaky when he grabs the little box. Carefully, he opens it and pulls out the pregnancy test. It's negative.

Jungkook doesn't know if he is relieved or sad about it. But you're on the pill so did you take the test just to be sure? Did you think you were pregnant? Is it after you had sex or is it because you've slept with Yoongi too? There are so many questions in his mind right now and the only way to answer them is to ask you directly.

Your best friend finds you on the couch, a gentle smile on your face. The room is quite dark, only enlightens by the moon so you don't see that Jungkook has the test in his hand. He sits next to you and he clears his throat.

"I found this in your bin" He says as softly as he can

He doesn't want you to feel accused. He just wants to know and he knows you: you must have your reasons not to tell him.

Your eyes widen and your heart starts beating fast.

"It's negative" You say with a chocked voice

"I know. Did you think you were pregnant?" Jungkook asks and you bite your lower lip — there is no point in lying since everything is fine

"Maybe?" You reply "I wanted to be sure because, you know, we had sex" You explain with blushed cheeks

"But you're on the pill" Your best friend tries to understand

"I... I'm not. I lied because I didn't want you to panic and you were with Harin. I already felt so guilty. And then, the test came back negative so I didn't see the point of telling you. I would have had if it were positive" You explain

"Is that weird that I wish it was positive?"

You look up at Jungkook and shake your head: you have wished too in someway. You know damn well that he is confessing that because you've come clear too. He always tells you a secret when you share one of yours. He has been doing that since you were eight and you love it. There are so many things you love about him actually.

"Come here, baby daddy" You whisper, opening your arms for him to scoot closer

You rest your head on his shoulder while he wraps you into his embrace. You both enjoy the peaceful silence and you close your eyes when Jungkook gently rubs your side.

✧˖°⋆˚ ✿˖°

Jungkook is watching you getting ready for Yoongi's son birthday party. He doesn't know if he should enjoy how good you look in the dress he has bought you — an ankle-long tight black dress with long sleeves from the lounge wear collection of Skims that really pleases him because you're like the perfect hot mom — or if he should grow grumpy because you might put efforts for another man. The way the dress hugs your curves is insane: your boobs and your ass are perfectly accentuated and you are fucking sexy. Jungkook can't hold himself and hugs you from behind. Despite looking like one of your usual friend hugs, he presses his crotch a little further against your ass and you can't deny that a wave of arousal washes over you.

"You look good, baby mama" Jungkook says with a voice a little raspy

"You do too, Kook" You reply with blushed cheeks as you're eyeing his white shirt perfectly holding his buff chest and his strong thighs covered by his black jeans

You can feel your best friend's inked hand slowly rubbing your stomach before going up and stopping right under your boobs. Your breathe is cut off and all you can think about is feeling Jungkook everywhere on your body. Your eyes cling on each other through the mirror. You notice how Jungkook's eyes are even darker than usual and the way they look hungry. He tilts his head and lightly kisses the thin and sensitive skin straight below your earlobe, which makes you shiver. It's so erotic how slowly and delicately yet sensually Jungkook moves. You press your thighs against each other because your panties are more than wet now, which causes a smirk on Jungkook's face. His hand is about to finally grab your tit when a little boy jumps on your bed.

You immediately put some distance between your bodies.

"Come on, we're gonna be late!" Junghee whines

You know he has been waiting all day for his friend's birthday. You pick him up in your arms and Jungkook takes care of the present and your bag. Your best friend smiles at the scene: you're a beautiful family. A tender smile paints his face when he sees his son tightening his little arms around your neck to hug you. The amount of love he is feeling right now is indescribable.

Your son is immediately running to Seung when you arrive at the party. You're feeling a little embarrassed to face Yoongi after what happened. You have managed to avoid him at work but there is no way to escape now. Your colleague spots out and gives you a nod to which you reply with a smile. Jungkook is watching the interaction between you and he frowns. Why are you not talking to him? Why is the atmosphere tensed? He can't say that he is not happy about it because to be honest, he was a little stressed to be the fifth wheel with Yoongi and you. It would have broke his heart to witness some sweet gestures between the two of you, especially since your best friend and you have been intimate.

"What happened?" Jungkook discreetly asks in your ear, unable to keep his curiosity away any longer

"Yoongi is really great" You start with a sigh and the compliment makes Jungkook jealous "But I just think that there is not enough place for another man in my life right now"

"Well, you know I'm the only man for you" Your best friend teases you, wrapping an arm around your waist to press you into his side with possessiveness

"Actually, Junghee is the only man for me, he fills up all my dreams" You reply and stick out your tongue in a playful way

"Then we have to make a little baby girl to be even" Jungkook says lowly, squeezing your flesh a little which makes you blush

You are helping to set the food on the table while Jungkook is giving a spontaneous boxing lesson to the children after Junghee has bragged about his dad being a superhero, resulting in all the kids wanting to be one too. Your eyes are sparking with affection when you watch the scene. Jungkook is really good with kids and he is a great father to Junghee. The idea of having a baby hasn't seemed too crazy lately. Having a little girl or a little boy with him fills your chest with happiness. Maybe you should do it. The only thing that holds you back is your relationship with Jungkook. You're not sure you want to have a baby with your best friend anymore... You wish you could have a baby with your husband. You miss the ring on your finger, you miss Jungkook as your hubby.

You're not stupid enough to not have noticed that your relationship has slightly evolved recently but marriage is a big step. However, it's the twenty-first century so if you want to be married, you don't have to wait for the proposal: you can ask him yourself, for real this time. Perhaps, after all, your friends and family were right all along: you were bound to fall in love with your best friend.

You don't know when you fell in love with Jungkook. Was it after having Junghee? When you got married? Or have you actually being in love with him since you were eight? Maybe you didn't know that your love for him was actually a romantic love because it's all you've ever known. It doesn't really matter though because now you know. You love him. As your best friend, as your baby daddy and as the best man you've ever met. You just love him, as a person, all of him.

✧˖°⋆˚ ✿˖°

Your son wanted to stay for Seung's sleepover so you went back home with Jungkook only. Your heart is beating like crazy. You try to imagine how your best friend will react when you ask him to marry and the stress is filling your whole body. You can't look at him in the eyes.

"I can't believe Junghee is old enough to go to sleepovers" Jungkook jokes "He'll soon have his first girlfriend"

"Don't you think it's a little bit young for a girlfriend?" You say with a sigh because your baby can't grow up so fast

"I had my first one at three" He proudly informs you but you're too tensed to laugh

You keep avoiding his glance and you fiddle with your fingers as the anxiety directs your blood to your feet to run away.

"Is everything okay?" Jungkook asks, worried

"Yes. Can you... wait here please?" You reply, escaping the living room as fast as you can

You breath deeply before looking into your nightstand. The sliver ring is immediately noticeable with the way it shines under the light. A light smile appears on your face when you remember putting the ring on your best friend's finger a few years ago. After your divorce, you agreed on keeping Jungkook's ring and him yours. It was a way to always have a small part of each other as spouses. You are so glad to have it right now, even though you can feel the stress filling up your body. Are you really going to ask him to marry you? Yes, you are. The thought could make you giggle if the possibility of rejection didn't make you nauseous.

When you enter the living room, you find Jungkook sitting patiently on the couch. He immediately stands up because he can sense your uneasiness. He frowns and opens his mouth to speak but you stop him by showing the ring. Confusion is clear on your best friend's face.

"I know that it might sound crazy" You start, gathering all your courage for your confession and grabbing his left hand at the same time, the contact of your skins smooths you a bit "But you and I have shared so many things. I've never been happier than when we were married. It took me years to finally notice that..." You gulp, the next words being the most important yet scary words "I love you, Kook. I truly, deeply love you. So, will you marry me? Again?"

You end up your proposal with a hitch pitch tone that fakes chill while you're going crazy because you have just opened your heart and you feel vulnerable. You look at him and the few seconds of silence are killing you.

"No"

"No?" Your heart stops, breaks, burns or maybe everything at the same time

You feel stupid. It was so stupid to think that Jungkook would marry you or love you the way you do. You agreed on being friends years ago, why did you think something has changed? Because of the few loving eyes you shared? Because you had sex? Because he said you were the only one for him? You can't believe you've interpreted it all wrong. You want to cry but you fight the tears to maintain your dignity. And even if Jungkook doesn't want to marry you, it doesn't mean he doesn't love you because you know he does. Maybe just not the same as you do.

Jungkook starts to panic when he notices the hurt on your face. He steps closer and cups your face with his big palms.

"No, no, no, it's not what I wanted to say!" He adds quickly "I want to marry you!" The confession makes your heart jumps in your chest "God, you don't know how much I want it but you can't ask me to marry you" Now, you're the one confused and your heartbeats are going wild but you don't even know why "You can't ask me because I want to ask you. So your proposal is going to mess up all my plan to set up a very romantic diner with flowers and all that shit"

You can't help a giggle.

"I don't care about that, Kook. Our wedding was perfect as simple as it was and I don't need anything more than you and Junghee. So please, marry me?" You ask again, tears — of joy? — in your eyes

"Yes!" He exclaims, right before kissing you

The kiss is good. So damn good. You release all the stress you've accumulated and Jungkook's lips have never felt so sweet. It's addictive and you're not sure you can live without them anymore. You pull away just enough to put the ring on his finger and it fits perfectly. Not only because it was his ring before but because it belongs here. His hand seems empty without it and his life is not complete without you as his wife. The strong emotion of the moment brings tears to your eyes: it's so much love that it can't contain in your body.

"I love you" He whispers, his shiny doe eyes even brighter than usual

You are going to marry your best friend. Again. But this time, for real — but can you really say that the last time was not real? All these years, you were blind or maybe too afraid to notice that you actually were in love with him. It's in fact impossible not to when Jungkook is perfect. He is your family and not only because he is your baby daddy. He feels like home. His strong arms are your shelter and gosh, you love him so much.

"There is another thing I want to do with you" He announces, his voice deep and thick with emotion "I want to make love with you" Those words send delightful shivers down your spine "And I want another baby. Maybe not now if you're not ready, but someday"

"I'm ready" You softly reply "I've been thinking about it for a few months now and I don't want anyone else but you"

Jungkook's heart jumps in his chest and his euphoria takes control of his body. He wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you up. You gasp and laugh while you instinctively circles his hips with your legs. You put your lips on his again, craving for his touch everywhere on you. Butterflies fill your stomach when he walks to your bedroom. He delicately lands you on your bed and lifts up your dress to access your covered pussy. His eyes shines with lust and you bit your lower lip. He circles your clit with his thumb through the thin fabric, making your head roll back and your panties wetter. You wish he could just take if off already to feel him skin to skin.

He places himself between your open legs and slowly drag down your underwear. He is amazed by your glistening cunt, so appetizing. He kisses your inner thighs, which causes you to jolt a little so your future husband has to hold your legs open for him — thinking about Jungkook as that creates a fog of delicious delirium around your brain, or maybe it's just the way he touches you?

"Can I taste you?" He asks with eagerness and you blush hard

You nod and bit your lip with anticipation, and Jungkook doesn't waste time. He takes a fat lap of your arousal and hums at your sweet taste. He then gives a quick and tender kiss on your clit before diving into it shamelessly. His expert tongue rolls around your sensitive bud and you can't help tugging on his black hair. You moan, a harmonious melody to his ears. His mouth gets rougher, taking sinful gulps from your dripping pussy.

Jungkook notices your walls clenching around nothing and rectifies it by entering you with his tongue. It feels so fucking good, especially when his nose bumps against your clit.

"Oh god!" You moan, your cunt throbbing around his wet muscle

Your back arches because you want to feel him more. It's paradoxical because you don't know if you can take any more pleasure. He settles his inked hand flat on your lower tummy, appreciating the softness of your skin and willing to protect the place where his second child will develop — he hopes — soon, and takes it as an opportunity to rub your clit with his thumb. Your pussy is so wet with your arousal and his saliva that your fiancé's mouth is making sloppy yet so arousing sounds. Jungkook's hums echo into you, driving you completely crazy.

"I want you" You groan as you tug on his hair to bring his handsome yet ruined face to yours

You kiss him passionately and you taste yourself on his tongue. It feels so sinful yet so arousing. To be honest, you could have cummed just with his tongue but you want to do it around his big fat cock. And now that you know that you're going to spend the rest of your life with Jungkook, you know you can use his mouth on your cunt another time. Every time you want.

Your hands impatiently grab the hem of his shirt, urging Jungkook to reveal his perfect body to you. And he does. Your breathe gets cut. He is gorgeous. His bare torso is even more beautiful in the sunset light coming from your window, or maybe it's love that taints your vision. Your hand caresses his skin and you feel his muscles flexing under your touch. You run your hand on his biceps and abs and finally reach his own hand. You squeeze it tenderly and look at Jungkook in the eyes. The time seems to stop for a second. There is no words needed because you both know what you want to say: you love each other.

Jungkook brings your hand to his lips and kisses it before helping you to take off your dress and your bra. It's weird to be all naked in front of him because, even through it's only the second time, you feel comfortable. And you know it's because it's him. You feel his doe eyes traveling on your body, making you blush.

"You're beautiful" He tells you

"You're beautiful, too" You whispers back

Jungkook feels like he loves you even more. Every time he hears your sweet voice, every time he sees your face, every time he looks at Junghee, he loves you more. He wonders how it's even possible since his love for you is already endless.

He grabs a pillow and places it under your head to make you comfortable since he intends to make love to you all night long. His breathe aches when your hands unbutton his jeans. His own hands join yours to peel himself naked. Your thumb spreads a drop of pre cum on his tip, making Jungkook moans softly yet huskily.

He brings your legs to your chest to admire your pussy once again. He can't wait to enter you, especially when he sees your hole clenching. Fuck, it's so hot, it's like your cunt is craving for his cock. With two fingers, he penetrates you, just enough to gather enough of your juices to lube his hard length.

When his dick is shining with your essence, he grabs the base of it and brings it closer to your pussy. He looks at you another time, silently asking you if it's okay and you vigorously nod, owning a smirk from Jungkook. Your mouth falls open and your eyes shut close when the tip passes over your entrance. He goes slow, making you feel every single inch of his cock. It's so big that it stretches you in the best way possible. When he is entirely in you, you let go the air you were keeping in your lungs.

"Fuck, it's big" You moan, filling Jungkook's chest with pride

You might have had sex not so long along, the position and the no-rush of the situation makes you feel him more. Last time, you didn't really take time to appreciate how well he opens your cunt and how fucking good it feels.

"You're the one who makes me this hard" He teases but bends over to kiss you and soothes a little of your discomfort — which is not, it's pure pleasure

You want to move your legs but the inked man has other plans. He keeps them close to your chest by holding the back of your knees and starts humping into you. His pelvis snaps against your pussy and ass, making your head foggy with delight. You have to put a hand on your mouth to cover your loud moans but Jungkook doesn't like it. He frees your legs, which automatically wrap around his waist, and intertwines yours fingers with his, placing both hands next to your head.

"Let me hear you" He cockily says and you immediately groan louder — you can't really do otherwise when he is pounding harsher

"Oh god, Kook!"

You squeeze his hands harder to hold onto something, the pleasure way too big not to loose your sanity. Immediately, Jungkook's eyes are attracted by your bare finger and he frowns. He doesn't like it. With a swift move, he slides his own ring on your left forefinger. Despite the ring being too big for you, his chest is filled with happiness and pride. Your small hand adorned with his ring next to his tattooed skin is so beautiful and romantic and means everything to him that he wishes he could take a picture — he would if he wasn't ball deep inside you right now. It feels right yet extraordinary. Loving you was never a choice he made but if he had to, he would. A hundred times, in a hundred different lives.

"Look at me" He asks you gently, slowing his dick strokes a little

His pace is more passionate and romantic now, rolling his hips deep against you. Your eyes are drawn into his black irises full of love. You free your right hand and cup his face. Jungkook presses his cheek against your palm and slightly turns his head to settle a soft kiss on it. The gesture is sweet and attacks your heart.

"My beautiful man" You whisper, your eyes getting watery by the emotion even though it's hard to believe that Jungkook is now yours because you can't be this lucky

You can feel his tip brushing against your g-spot from time to time. Your fiancé gets a clue of it since your walls tighten around him. It's so fucking good and your bouncing boobs are like a challenge for him: he wants to fuck you harder to make them jolt more. So he does, the low and deep pace long forgotten to set a quick yet still deep rhythm. He grabs one tit and pinches your nipple quite hard.

"Kook!" You whine

"Sorry, I couldn't resist, I love your boobs" He apologies but still keeps his hand around your breasts

He digs his knees firmly into the mattress and straightens up to pound into you harder. He places one of your legs on his shoulder and wraps his strong arms around it to keep you in place. The change of angle sends his cock directly to your sweet spot.

"Oh, god, right here! I'm gonna come!" You notify Jungkook and he nods

"Go on, baby, make me see your pretty fucked face" He replies with grinned teeth due to the effort

The sound of your clapping skins is hot and all your senses are filled by Jungkook. Your room even smells like sex. And what a great sex... You've never felt this good while fucking because it's more than just the physical aspect, it's also the emotional side.

Your left hand reaches for one of his and your fiancé tenderly smiles at the silver band around your finger shining with the light. You feel real close to the edge. Your cunt becomes tight and Jungkook hisses with pleasure. He leads your hand to your pussy so he can use his thumb on your clit. It's what you needed to feel the wave of arousal washing over you. You loudly moan his name while you're cumming, creaming Jungkook's fat cock. He helps you reach your high with his poundings and the delicious circles he draws on your sensitive bud.

You're out of breathe when you come back to Earth and the tattooed man has slowed down his pace but he hasn't come yet. That's something you need to fix. You push on his pec to make him rest on his back. You're quick to sit on his lap, knees on both sides of his perfect and sexy body, especially with a thin layer of sweat and a heavily breathing chest. You hold his dick up to impale yourself on it.

Jungkook settles his hands on your hips and guides you to find the good rhythm. You take support on his strong chest and smile at the ring. You can't wait to have your own.

You ride him like a maniac despite your exhaustion. Your hair sticks to your forehead and to the back of your neck but you don't care. You take him deep, so deep that your clit brushes to his pelvis every time.

"Fuck, baby, you feel so good" He growls, his eyes set on your bouncing tits

He gives you a quick slap on his ass, provoking a squeak of surprise from you, soon replaced by arousal. There is a pool of mess between your legs and Jungkook can feel your juices dripping down his balls.

"I want to fill you so bad" He continues "I can't wait to see pregnant again"

His words make your heart jump and your pussy clench. Why does pregnancy turn you on so much?

"My gorgeous baby mama" He whispers, more to himself than to you but you hear him nonetheless

"If having a baby make you this hard, then we should have more than two kids" You tease him

"You make me hard and it's having a baby with you that makes me happy" He rectifies, your cheeks taking a darker shade of red

The butterflies coming from his confession spur you to faster your pace. Your ass slaps against his thighs, filling the room with sinful sounds. Jungkook squeezes your asscheeks and controls your moves by pulling you harsher on his cock.

"Fuck, you ride me so well, baby"

Your moan are louder as you feel another orgasm approaching. Your moves get unsteady and Jungkook takes over by lifting his hips and thrusting into your throbbing cunt. Your head rolls back, making your groans raspier and your hands fitting into fists on his chest.

"Kook.." You try to say between dick strokes "I'm close"

"Me too, baby" He growls

Your body shakes, your toes curl and you fall on his torso as you cum again. White dots paints your vision and you feel like in another world. Jungkook's arms wraps around your frame to hold you in place as he chases his own high. You settle some kisses in his sweaty neck and your hands run through his black hair.

"Cum inside me" You plea, driving your fiancé crazy

"Oh, fuck..." He moans as he releases his hot shots of seeds

You are both panting and none of you wants to move. So you stay like that, sweaty and exhausted but cuddling. You hum when he caresses your back and kisses your temple.

"I love you" You whisper, your head beyond the clouds because of your orgasms and your happiness

"I love you, too" He replies gently before jokingly adding "If that doesn't make you pregnant, I'll be happy to try again"

A tired laugh escapes your lips. You are happy. So, so happy right now in your best friend/baby daddy/fiancé's arms. All the things he is for you reflect how much he means in your life. Now, you can't wait to be married with him again and you add another baby to your family. Jungkook told you he wanted a girl and you find the idea very pleasing, even though a cute little boy like Junghee would be perfectly fine too.

✧˖°⋆˚ ✿˖°

2 years later

You are stressed. More than stressed actually but you can't show it to Junghee while he is so excited. You kneel in front of your five-year old — already — son. You make sure to fix his equipment again, not wanting him to get hurt.

"Are you sure it's not dangerous?" You ask your husband for the hundredth time, making him roll his eyes

"Babe, it's a children competition. They are not even allowed to hit each other except than on the chest protection" Jungkook tries to reassure you

You nod but you don't feel better. Why did you agree with your son taking boxing classes? Yeah, of course you remember: Junghee has begged you for it, wanting to be 'as cool as his dad'. With heavy heart, you let him join his friends and you head to the coach corner where your husband gives the last instructions to his students.

It's quite funny to see your big and strong husband talking with such seriousness to a bunch of children. Especially when he has a baby-carrier on his chest with your baby girl in it. Your 15 month-old daughter seems calm, sucking on her pacifier while looking with big eyes at her dad. Her cuteness makes you slowly lose your sanity every day. You step closer, not even caring about the questioning look Jungkook is sending you and you kiss your daughter on her chubby cheeks, which makes her giggle.

"Hum, babe, I'm trying to give important explanations here" He catches your attention and only then you realize that all the children are looking at you

"Oh, sorry" You apologies with blushed cheeks — but how could you resist your adorable baby?

You stay close to Jungkook the whole competition, cheering for his students. Your heart stops and you grab his hand when your son steps on the ring. He looks confident and the fierce in his eyes is similar to his dad's one before a fight. It's painful to watch Junghee getting hit, even if it's just on his chest and if he has a whole equipment to protect his small body.

When the bell rings and Junghee wins because he has given more hits than his opponent, you jump of joy — and relief.

"Mommy!" Junghee exclaims, running to you with a big bunny smile

You take him in your arms and kiss his cheeks, even though you're kissing his protection helmet more than his skin.

"You did so good, baby!" You praise him

"Gaaaaaw!" Your daughter shouts against Jungkook's chest

She certainly wants to congratulate her big brother.

"I won for you, Jiwon" Junghee proudly announces and your heart melts instantly

"I see, now you can protect your sister and mama, right?" Jungkook asks and his son nods

"Can we have pizzas for diner, please?"

You can't resist his big doe eyes. You can't believe Junghee is already five. You can even less believe that Jiwon was born almost a year and a half ago. It's just that happiness makes time pass quicker. You look at Jungkook and your smile grows wilder. You love the man, and you love even more the family he gave you.

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#bts jungkook #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts #jjk #jjk x reader #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bangtan sonyeondan

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