Triple Seven

triple seven

ੈ✩ megumi fushiguro x reader

ੈ✩ synopsis: megumi thought it was for the best when he ended things with you. boy, was he wrong.

ੈ✩ tags: fwb, pining, teasing, mentions of virginity loss, sub!megumi, bratty and dom!reader, masturbation, vaginal sex, riding

ੈ✩ wc: 3.8k

ੈ✩ a/n: this started out as something completely different and then i lost the plot bc i wanted to see megumi squirm. unedited. oopsie

“Megumi.”

He winces when you wave your hand in front of his face, snapping his attention back to earth. He was staring at your legs and zoned out. Again. 

“What’s with you?”

“Sleep-deprived,” he mumbles. He’s not wrong. 

Megumi has been having trouble sleeping lately and it’s only partially your fault. Most of it is pent-up energy. Sometimes his usual malaise would wax and wane, other times it would linger and grow into a different beast entirely. He felt like he was constantly on a short fuse lately, and it didn’t help that Gojo was teasing him more and more about you. 

Not to mention that the thought of you alone would keep him up. The two of you hadn’t fucked in a month — the last time  (to Megumi’s chagrin)  he had sex at all. He liked you enough to kiss you and considered you a closer friend than most. Months ago, he wanted to get the whole losing your virginity thing over with, so you volunteered. And it was good. 

Fuck, it was great. He couldn’t get you out of his head and he hated it. 

He knows it’s something more. He refuses to admit it. After his first time, he’d meditated for days over it — did you pity him? Were you just easy? Did you like him? He wasn’t sure if you had any previous relationships. Something small and shriveled inside of him wanted to disappear, hoping that he was special for getting your attention. You were the first person to take him apart wholly, the first to make him come undone. Willingly.

And you kept coming back. Two months and he was full of you, a parasite that he couldn’t get out of his system. 

His gaze fixates on the curve of your bare shoulder. Your collarbone. You’re wearing a tank top and sweatpants and he wants to curse you for it. He feels like he’s fucking sixteen.

“You should get some sleep, then,” you say with concern. “You don’t have to stay, y’know.”

“No!” he says a bit too quickly. “I’m– I’m fine. Just… distracted. Sorry.”

You narrow your eyes, sizing him up. It makes his heart skip.

“Something’s bothering you. What is it?” you tilt your head. 

He could spill his feelings into word vomit. He could. But he refuses to. He wouldn’t be able to deal with the consequences. The humiliation. You only slept with him for so long to throw him a bone — it wasn’t like you were into him. He has to keep telling himself this, to talk down the slow-cooking heat in his gut that taunts him. It made him break things off in the first place. He couldn’t take it, was averse to this odd softness that fluttered in his chest every time you smiled at him.

After a particularly intimate night, one that ended with the both of you cuddling — he wasn’t someone who cuddled, for Christ’s sake — he panicked and made a dumb, boyish excuse to break things off. I don’t want anything serious. I don’t want to lead you on. You, being an angel, were very agreeable while Megumi’s heart felt like a fucking dumpster fire. Devastatingly so.

You’re usually sincere. Blunt to a fault, but he likes that about you. He admires the fire in your eyes when you say exactly what you mean, not caring about what others think. He likes how your eyes light up when you argue about anything, even something trivial, because you know you’ll win with your wit alone. He likes —

Fuck. He likes you.

Megumi swallows a lump in his throat and it feels like an oversized pill. One for a reality check. His heart is pounding and his palms are sweating and you’re looking at him very expectantly, waiting. He doesn’t have an answer for you. 

Unbeknownst to him, you already have an idea.

“Megs,” you chuckle, punching him lightly on the shoulder. 

“Don’t call me that,” he scowls. 

He can’t help the uncontrollable blush rising on his face. He’s always hated his paleness for this reason. There are light bruises where there shouldn’t be because he doesn’t usually lose fights, but he was so distracted during his sparring match with you this afternoon that he’d humiliated himself. You pinned him down like it was nothing and he was hard as a rock all the way to the locker rooms.

“What? Megs?” 

He feels his irritation rise. 

“Yes. It’s annoying.”

You scoff. 

“You always do that,” he says, narrowing his eyes.

“Do what?”

“Scoff like that. Like you don’t take anything I say seriously.”

You frown and it makes him feel guilty. 

“I never said that. Why are you so moody all of a sudden?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. What’s wrong? Are you mad I beat you in training today?”

“No!” he grits. “And that wasn’t – you just caught me off guard!”

“Ha. Okay, asshole.”

Megumi glares at you, left eye twitching. He would always get into petty arguments like this, especially when the two of you were still fucking. It would end with him restraining you — you let him, often taunted him until he did it, because you knew he was a control freak. He hated that he could feel his pants tighten at the memories conjuring  in his mind while you sat there, brow raised and challenging him. He wanted to pin you down.

He blinks, deciding to glare at the floor instead. He shouldn’t be thinking about sex while he’s fighting with you. Was he even fighting with you? He was annoyed. Annoyed and frustrated and ready to strangle you if you pushed him further, which he sensed you were about to do just because you could.

“Seriously, what’s up with you?” you pout. “You won’t even look at me.”

“God. Shut up.”

“Thought you liked my mouth wide open,” you taunt.

That one pisses Megumi off. You were always so carefree, so crass, not bothering to care about anything that came out of your mouth whether you meant it or not. Megumi didn’t hate it, exactly, but he found it ironic that it bothered him when he’d grown up so abrasive. All jagged edges, the middle school bully. And yet, he was always quiet and stoic and calculated now. He wouldn’t dare say something so… vulgar. 

He clenches his jaw and refuses to look at you. Again, his gaze falls on your bare skin. He wants to mark it up, sink his teeth in you to show you a lesson, but he knows you’d probably like that, the brat you are. Maybe you’d let him just once – you’re goading him anyway, right?

“Are you trying to push my buttons on purpose?” he scoffs. “I’ve had a shitty day and you’re not helping.”

“Then just talk about it.”

“It’s fine,” he huffs. “Doesn’t matter anyway.”

You roll your eyes.

“What?”

“What?” you repeat innocently. He was seeing red and you knew it. It was secretly refreshing to Megumi that you never backed down from him, didn’t care that he would be mean. You could always be meaner.

“Don’t mock me.”

“Jesus. I thought we were studying. Now you’re acting like Nobara when she’s on her period.”

“I just feel… frustrated, okay?”  he says. “I don’t know.”

He braces himself for what you’ll say next. Probably roll your eyes again, call him bitch boy. 

“Haven’t found anyone else to suck your dick yet?” you mutter.

“Excuse me?”

You stare at him, your gaze descending slowly. It’s only then that Megumi realizes he’s hard. 

“Fuck you,” he replies. He doesn’t know what else to say. 

“Bet you wanna.”

“No. We’re not. We’re not doing that anymore, remember?” he says bitterly. His body is humming with need, suddenly desperate now that you’ve clocked his arousal, but he won’t let you know. 

“Yeah, but you want it,” you snort, rubbing his thigh with your hand. He shivers at the contact and curses under his breath that maybe Itadori or Gojo will demand his presence for no reason so he can get out of your room without trying.

He stares at your fingers drumming a pattern on his pant leg. Long fingers, manicured nicely from your girl trips with Kugisaki. There’s a ring on your middle finger that he won you a month ago from a claw machine. Silver-plated plastic, if he had to guess, but the signet is still shiny. Triple sevens engraved for good luck. 

“You still wear that?”

You look down at your hand. “Oh, this? Yeah. It’s probably the only ring I own.”

Megumi takes your hand and  examines the way the plastic glistens when the lamp on your bedside table hits it right. He hums, almost satisfied. 

“Why?” he blurts out.

You blink at him. “Uh, I don’t know. One of the few gifts I’ve gotten that I can wear, I guess. It’s cute.”

He exhales and nods slowly. He curls your fingers into a fist and sets your hand down.

You cough awkwardly, eyeing his crotch. “You’re, uh—”

“Shut up,” he mumbles. 

“I can help. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Megumi doesn’t realize how close he’s leaning in. He could bump noses with you if he leans in just a few inches. He could taste your breath if he wanted. He clears his throat, not protesting when your hand grazes his thigh again and moves upward.

“Fine,” he mumbles. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” he breathes.

You scan his face, looking for a sign of hesitation. When you don’t find one, you kneel on the floor, your body in between his legs as you pull down the zipper of his pants. You palm him gently and watch his reaction.

“F-Fuck,” Megumi gasps. 

“Sensitive,” you mumble, moving your head to hover against his thick length. He nearly chokes when you descend with your tongue swirling at his tip.

He blinks down at you, eyes wide at the revelation that you’re on your knees for him. He takes a fistful of your hair and tugs gently.

“Wait, wait–”

You pause. “What?”

“Um.”

“You don’t want it?”

“Of course I want it. I just don’t — I don’t wanna use you like this,” he mumbles. 

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. You don’t — you don’t have to. Really. I can deal with it myself.”

You narrow your eyes, pumping him slowly. “Yeah?”

He gasps sharply, his entire body tensing up at the sensation. 

“Fuck, don’t — I can take care of it. I’ll just — I can go,” he mutters, his voice strangled. “I don’t need – nngh –”

You let go of him. “Okay.”

He whines as you let him go, his hips suddenly bucking up in an aborted attempt to get you to touch him again. 

“No – wait,” he gasps, closing his eyes as he gets himself back under control. “Don’t… don’t do that.”

“You want to take care of it yourself, don’t you?”

He lets out a frustrated huff, the expression on his face almost pained. 

“I can’t,” he murmurs, meeting your eyes. He’s desperate, you notice. His green eyes are pleading. He’s never been like this before. “I won’t be able to do it. I’ll just end up thinking about you.”

Your eyes widen. “You still think about me?”

Megumi’s face is struck with panic, realizing his confession. He can’t take it back now, not when his cock is hard and leaking and you’re right in front of him. He gives you a withering look and grips the sheets beneath him. 

“Say it.”

He lets out a frustrated sigh and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I think about you.”

“How often?” you breathe, rubbing his thigh.

“All the time,” he strains, his eyes glued to your face. “Even when I ended things, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I felt fucking crazy. I still do.”

You swallow, leaning back onto your pillows. “I’m here now. You can look at me.”

“I don’t want to just look at you,” he grumbles. “I want — ugh.”

“You want what?”

He grits his teeth, too prideful to beg for your touch, though he knows he’s already too far gone with how much he’s given away. He needs you, aches for your fingers wrapped around his cock, for your mouth. He feels stupid for denying it and he doesn’t know how to convince you to help him without sounding like a desperate idiot.

He mumbles unintelligibly, leaning forward to reach for you, but you take his wrist and gently press it down to the mattress in rejection. His eyes flicker with worry.

“What are you doing?” he exasperates.

“Focus on yourself.”

Megumi blushes. Pink permeates his pale flesh like diluted blood.  He must sound so needy, so pathetic when he hasn’t even gauged what you want. You’d offered to take care of him, but he’s still panicking about whether you meant it. 

You were always more comfortable about sex, and it’s not like you had a crush on him. You just had more experience. It was why you bothered sleeping with him in the first place, he reminds himself. 

“I–”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” you coo, smiling softly. “I can see you’re aching. Keep going. I wanna see you.”

He almost whines as his shoulders tense up at your words. Megumi is walking on a thin tightrope and he isn’t sure if you’re there to reassure him or ready to push him off the edge. Either way, he is aching for it. For anything, for you. 

“You’re enjoying this. You’re taunting me.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

He looks at you, huffing out an exasperated breath as he contemplates what to do. He needs to relieve himself, but he wants you to do it. He doesn’t want to give in and start stroking himself despite your encouragement — it makes him feel like a stupid little doll.

“I– I want to touch you,” he mutters.

“Touch yourself first.”

He lets out a noise between a groan and a scoff. His hand wraps around his shaft, but he doesn’t move. He gasps lightly when you grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him, leaving him to pull off the fabric until he’s completely bare.

“You’re just — going to watch?” he chokes out.

“Yeah.”

“You’re crazy.”

“And yet you’re still this fucking hard,” you scoff.

He groans at your words. Your attitude had always turned him on, despite how annoying he found it. He liked you defiant, bratty. This side of you is a completely different realm entirely.

“Stop… staring at me,” he rasps as he slowly strokes himself. “It’s weird.”

“What, is my face distracting you?”

“Yes.”

You roll your eyes and begin to strip. “Fine. Don’t look at my face then.”

His breath catches as your bare skin is revealed with each pull of fabric until you’re completely nude. He’s seen you naked so many times before — he doesn’t know why it feels like the first time right now. He can’t help but watch you intently, mesmerized. 

When you smirk, he huffs and averts his eyes. “You’re the fucking worst, you know that?”

He gasps when you lean over his lap and spit on his cock. The drool coming from your lips is such a filthy sight that he could probably come just from seeing it. He shuts his eyes tightly for a second. 

“Go on, baby,” you coo. 

Megumi lets out a frustrated breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he pumps himself. 

“Why are you just watching?”

“I wanna see what you look like when you miss me.”

The grin on your face is so fucking sinister that it almost makes him nervous. Mostly it turns him on. He doesn’t even know why he’s complying – it’s not like you’ve fucking tied him up. He could stop this sick little game right now and pin you to the bed and overpower you. Maybe fuck you until you’re red all over and panting. But he can’t find it in himself to do anything other than what you want.

He’s aching and desperate. Why are you punishing him, anyway? Sure, he could be a bit of an asshole, but it’s not like he broke your heart any more than you broke his by fucking existing and looking like that —

Your hand rubs his bare thigh gently and he moans. He moans from the contact like a bitch and you laugh. 

“Damn,” you chuckle. “Someone missed me.”

“Shut up,” he mutters. “You know I – fuck – you know I missed you. I wanna touch you instead, fuck –”

“I know, baby,” you coo. Your hand is so close to where he wants it and his brain short-circuits.

“You don’t have to just watch,” he pleads without trying to sound completely pathetic, but it’s hard when he’s rigorously stroking himself, affected by your mere presence. He feels like he’s going to explode.

Your hand slowly inches towards his cock and he involuntarily bucks his hips up. He lets out a strangled groan when he realizes that he’s so, so close. Your touch feels so far away. He feels like he might start crying.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” you praise him. 

He bite backs a moan and grits his teeth. His knuckles are bone-white as he squeezes his cock. “I’m not your — ugh — sweetheart —”

“Yeah, you are,” you tease. “You’re my baby, aren’t you?”

He whines as his hand moves even faster on himself. His other hand clenches around the sheets of the bed, grasping at nothing.

“Yeah,” he admits, breathless. “I’m yours – fuck – I’ll be anything you want if you just… let me touch you. Please –”

“You’re doing so well on your own, baby.”

“Fuck, stop talking,” Megumi groans. “I need you. I’m gonna lose my mind if I don’t feel you —”

“I’ll let you kiss me, how about that? But you can’t touch me.”

He whines again hysterically, though he knows there’s no room to argue with you. He leans in. You laugh before you step forward and tower over him. You grab his chin roughly to kiss him. He makes a low, strangled sound as he leans in, aching to touch you but mentally berating himself. He knows you’d swat him away and stop kissing him if he tried anything. 

You break away from the kiss but keep a hand around his throat.  He whimpers at the loss of your mouth, easing into a gasp when he feels the squeeze of your fingers around his neck. His gaze is longing as he looks up, mouth parted. 

“Keep going, baby. You’re close, aren’t you?” you whisper.

“Please,” he gasps, hips bucking up as if expecting friction from anything other than his own hand. He’s never needed anything as much as he’s needed you at this moment. It burns hot in his gut and up to his head, making him lightheaded. “Please let me touch you… wanna feel you…”

“Shh,” you coo, kissing his cheek. “You can come, can’t you? You’re almost there.”

He nods and closes his eyes. “I need–”

“You need me? You want me, yeah? Show me.”

“Fuck, I need you,” Megumi pants. “Want you so bad. I love you. Please, please –”

Your eyes widen at his admission. Megumi is so delirious with want that you almost don’t recognize him – you know that he would usually blush at a confession like that, especially one  he didn’t mean. But he still looks at you with dark eyes, silently begging. 

You kiss him deeply and he moans. His other hand holds you firmly, snakes into your hair to get a good grasp of you so you can’t move away from his mouth. The hand on his cock moves at a brutal pace, his breaths coming out in ragged grunts. Fuck, he needs you so badly it hurts.

“Don’t cry, baby.”

“I can’t help it,” he says, voice breaking. You’ve never seen him so vulnerable before. His breath is trembling as his body shakes. “I need you, I need you, please…”

You grab his wrists forcefully and sink down onto him. His eyes widen at the feeling of your cunt around him. It’s too good. It feels like a fucking dream, how warm and wet you are, and he knows he’s had you so many times before, but it still  feels like the first time. He’s been denying himself this pleasure and now you’ve given him heaven. 

“Fuck, fucking love you, love how you feel,” he rambles, barely intelligible for you to understand clearly. You’re clinging to him, bouncing on his cock until his eyes roll back. He doesn’t even realize the tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” you gasp.

“Me too,” Megumi grunts, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he moves you back and forth on his cock. He’s struggling to make coherent sentences, coherent thoughts. He can feel your approaching orgasm and groans when you finally tighten around him.

The sounds you make when you come push him over the edge. He spills inside of you, his head pounding blood from his ears from the dizzying rush that comes. It’s all too much. He lets out a strangled gasp as he digs his fingertips into the skin of your waist as if he’s afraid you’ll fly away. 

You slump into his chest, arms around his neck tightly. The air is filled with your mutual heavy breaths, air warm with carnal tension. He doesn’t have the guts to look at your face, but he doesn’t have it in him to let you go. 

Megumi lifts his head and exhales into your mouth. You’re so close to him, noses touching, and he has to resist the urge to kiss you. He buries his face into your neck instead, craving the smell of your sweat, of dryer sheet sweetness. Even after such an intense release, he wants more. Wants to trap you in his arms so that you can never leave him again, tape your mouth shut so you don’t argue with him. He doesn’t want to explain himself.

You hum, cheek grazing the outline of his jaw in a cat-like embrace. Megumi closes his eyes.

“You said you loved me.”

He says nothing. His body stills.

“It’s okay if you didn’t mean it,” you whisper.

“What if I did?”

You lift your head to look at him head-on. Your expression is unfathomable. A familiar face that he wants to grasp in his mind, keep forever, though he isn’t sure if you’re about to slip away.

“Then the feeling is mutual,” you mutter.

“Then... then I do mean it.”

Your mouth quirks up, almost into a smile, in between a sneer. “If you’re lying, I’ll kill you.”

“I’m not lying,” Megumi gruffs. “And if I was such a coward that I said otherwise, I’d let you kill me.”

You laugh, then. It’s like flowers blooming, like his heart growing too big for his chest.

“I’ll hold you to that, baby.”

Suggestive

"Tojiii," you squeal when he picks you up, before using his back to shut the car door. You lean forward and take a long whiff of the cologne he spritzed on the collar of his shirt. "Mmm... you smell so good. You trying to seduce me?"

He chuckles at the way you go back and sniff around his neck, like a dog. "Is it working?"

You inhale deeply once more, sighing exaggeratedly before responding. "Uh-huh. Want you to fuck me. Ugh, Toji, baby, i'm ready for you," you say, getting a head start by kissing his neck.

"Nah, pretty girl. Can't do that to you, tonight." He pins you to the door to keep you balanced as he fishes for the keys in his pocket.

"What?" You say, pausing the movement of your lips, your mood quickly deflated.

"What?" Toji repeats, looking at you as he turns the key in the lock. He lifts you off the door before opening it, keeping his eyes on yours.

"Am I not fuckable? You really don't wanna do me?"

"What are you even talking about, ma?" He shuts the door, locking it before carrying you to the bathroom to help you out like he usually does after a night out with plenty of drinks at your disposal.

"You..." your eyes start watering, enormous tears quickly forming and gliding down your cheeks. "You said you don't want me."

"That's not how I meant it, baby. Don't cry."

"What. Ever. I don't care anymore. Just... just put me down," you say, pushing at his chest.

"We gotta get you ready for bed," he says, setting you down on the edge of the sink. He grabs the pack of makeup wipes from the drawer you told him you keep them in and pulls a wipe out. "Close your eyes."

You do as he says, but only because you're stuck there until he moves out of the way. "I'm..." you sigh, heavily. "I'm s-sleeping on the couch, tonight."

"Mm... and why's that?" He asks, while focusing on wiping off the mascara from your eyelashes, and the trail that made its way down your cheeks. He's not concerned for what you said, because he knows for certain that that won't be the case at all.

"'Cause you don't love me. You've made it clear that you don't want to touch me. If we sleep in the same bed, my leg might graze yours." You laugh. "Who knows what'll happen if that happens. I'm surprised you even wanna be this close to me, now."

Toji sighs, throwing out the spent makeup wipe. He rests his hands on the counter, on each side of you, before leaning forward and placing a kiss on your lips. "Just got even closer, mama. What are you gonna do?" He laughs at your widened eyes, and when your expression contorts to one of sadness again, he can't help but maintain the amused grin on his face at how quickly your mood shifted.

"Be sad," you respond, softly. "You don't wanna make love to me? How can you kiss me and not want more?"

The sound of your voice breaking softened him up a little more. That and the insufferable look of hurt in your eyes. "Hey, look at me," he says, cupping your jaw to manually bring your gaze back to his. "It's not like that, at all. Don't cry over this, sweetheart." He runs his thumbs beneath your eyes, brushing away your returning tears. "You know I love you and I want you all the time, but I'm not gonna touch you like that when you're drunk." Your pretty eyes are killing him with how sad they look. Your cheeks are reddened and warm from the mix of the alcohol in your system and your emotions, and your lips are trembling. "Baby, you can't even walk straight. I'm not gonna take advantage of you. Stuff like that is only done by shitty people. You understand?"

"No," you choke out through a sob, breaking open the dam of your emotions.

"Of course you don't," Toji says, a soft smile taking over his features as he picks you up again and carries you to the room. He sets you down on the bed, propping you up against the pillows so you don't fall over. He can hear your sniffling subside as he rummages through your drawers, searching for something to change you into.

"You wanna wear shorts or just one of your really big shirts?" He asks, spotting your favorite oversized t-shirt. You don't answer, keeping your attention on your hands, letting him talk to himself like he's a crazy person. He calls for you, again, nothing more than a "ma", just incase you don't answer again. As he expected, more silence.

"Oh, so you're just not gonna talk to me, anymore?" He asks, turning to look at you, catching the way you shake your head slightly, still not looking at him. He grumbles to himself about your little attitude, before turning back to the dresser. He closes your drawers and opens one of his, fishing out one of the black shirts he always wears, before making his way back to you.

"Arms up," he instructs, grabbing onto the hem of your blouse. You sluggishly roll your eyes and lift your arms, allowing him to pull it off. He unfolds his shirt and scrunches it up so that he can facilitate the process of getting it on you. "Alright, put your arms in," he says, when you just sit there, unmoving. Again, your attitude shows as you follow his instructions, but the second your arms go in the holes and the material of the normally short sleeves extends to your forearms, you gasp.

"Your shirt?" You ask, enthusiastically. "It's your shirt?!" You ask, again, with the most lovestruck look on your face.

Toji snickers. "Yeah, baby. That's my shirt." Your eyes are filled with so much light, it's ridiculous how little it took to get this reaction out of you. You're literally giggling to yourself over a shirt, and he can't see it as anything short of adorable. "Alright, alright. Let's finish up so we can go to sleep."

You're a lot more willing to listen to him, now that your mood is boosted. You unbutton your shorts and lift your hips to slide them off, handing the article to Toji so he can put it in the dirty clothes hamper.

"Gonna go get some stuff from the kitchen. Be right back," he says, glancing at you before leaving the room. Not even two minutes later when he returned, you were already fast asleep, quiet breaths flowing past your lips. You laid on your back, your arms folded above your head. Toji shut the bedroom door before walking over to your nightstand to set a couple of ibuprofen tablets down beside a glass of water. He swiped his thumb over the corner of your lips, collecting the small patch of drool that glistened on your skin and wiping it off on his sweats. He went back to turn off the light, and quickly made his way to his side of the bed.

He turned you onto your side, earning a few irritated whines from you due to the disturbance. "I know, I know," he murmurs, pulling his shirt down to cover your exposed hip. He stayed up a little longer, to keep you from shifting onto your back when you stirred. His hand stayed firm on your waist, preventing you from moving much at all, and occasionally he got to laugh through his nose at your nonsensical sleep ridden mumblings.

warnings: coarse language. jihoon is so in love it's probably unhealthy. wc: 1092

love triangle au requests

[who's this guy who's everything I'm not?] There is a universe out there where Lee Jihoon is able to say everything he wants to say, when he wants to say it, and exactly how he wants to say it.

But that universe isn't this one.

No, in this world, Lee Jihoon is standing like an idiot in front of the person he came all this way for, in a city he's never stepped foot before, with his mouth opening and closing like those dogs moviemakers would give peanut butter to to make them look like they're talking.

"Jihoon," you say, blinking as if it'll make the mirage he must be disappear. "Holy-- What are you doing here? When did you..."

From your open doorway, you tilt your head to take in Jihoon's appearance. Sweaty. Floundering, and yet with a determined furrow between his eyebrows.

His passport and boarding pass in hand, and a distinct lack of luggage.

"...Did you just fly in?"

He opens his mouth. Closes it again.

God damn it. He got on a plane for this and his tongue still doesn't work -- the same way it didn't when you asked who left the only valentine on your desk in eighth grade. The same way it didn't when your prom date ditched you for some girl, and you finally told Jihoon after his three weeks of torment that it was a ruse you and your date came up with to get that girl jealous all along. The same way it didn't when you told him you applied to a university in a city he'd never even heard of, and to your surprise but not his own because he knows you're capable of anything, you got in.

Today should be different. He clamours, "I-- I had to..."

"Where's your stuff?" you ask incredulously, but there's always... that behind your words. That which made him feel like he could trust you to watch his intricate sand castle in the playground. That which made him go to you with his first ever song lyrics in middle school, when no one else has ever seen them, ever. That which he feels vibrating in his bones or maybe even deeper because you care. You care when you go, "Do you literally only have the clothes on your back?" Even if it sounds blunt. "I swear you've had those shorts since forever. And-- wait, where are you staying? Have you eaten? You're always stupid about hydration, too."

He wants you to shut up so he can talk. But god, he loves when you tell him you care in the most words possible.

"I gotta put some water in you, hold on--"

You go to back up from the doorway. Jihoon's hand shoots out to grab your wrist before he can think about the fact that now that he has you in his grasp, he definitely has to speak.

Shit.

You process his hand around your wrist slowly, your eyes blinking slowly like a cat before they look up at his face. He loses all thoughts again.

Well, not all. It's more like his brain fills to the brim with how your eyes look when your face is this close, and it literally can't fit anything else, much less what to say next other than wow.

And he probably shouldn't say that.

But what... (the sunlight is hitting your irises so perfectly) ...should he... (even the concern seeping into your expression is cute) ...say...

"Jihoon--?"

Whatever question you're sure to have asked is cut off when a strong hand separates Jihoon's from your arm, and he breaks his gaze away from you to see a handsome but clearly unwelcoming face. The man regards Jihoon with a certain cautiousness as he wedges himself between you and him, almost pushing you back into your home with a protective arm.

"Are you okay?" he asks you, though he doesn't take his wary eyes off Jihoon. "Who's this?"

You seem a little thrown off. "Uhh..."

Jihoon looks this man up and down, taking in his white tank top and the buff, tan arms that it shows off. His cropped hair isn't styled, but somehow it looks good on him anyway. He's tall.

Annoyingly tall, because to see you, Jihoon has to lean to the side rather than just look over Tank Top's shoulder.

"Who's this?" Jihoon asks right back.

You meet his eyes and come back to the here and now. "Right, uh." Poking your finger into the man's stupid naked bicep, you point at him. "This is Mingyu, my--"

Tank Top interrupts you with, "Husband," as soon as you say, "--roommate."

Your pointed hand transforms into a fist, and you punch it into Tank Top Mingyu's arm. "Hey," you say when he recoils, covers the apparently instantly sore spot, and pouts at you. "I'm fine-- He's an old friend."

But Jihoon can't really focus on that. He's too busy processing.

...

...

...

Husband?

"This is Jihoon," your voice says from somewhere far away. "I've probably mentioned him before."

"Oh." Tank Top straightens up, and after faltering for only a second, his eyes brighten like your words flipped a light switch. "That Jihoon?" He turns towards Jihoon. "Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry! I just thought, I mean, you know..."

This new Mingyu acts like one of those golden retriever boys from the internet.

You love dogs.

Fuck.

Puppy Mingyu holds out his hand to shake.

Jihoon just stares at it. Then looks at you.

"Husband?"

You shove your way back in front of Mr Sunshine and lightly touch Jihoon's arm. He can barely breathe. "No, no, that was just... I mean, well, kind of-- but also not really because, well..." Pausing, you think for a moment and torture Jihoon for one million years. "Okay. We're roommates, but Mingyu started telling people at work that he's married so people would stop hitting on him or trying to set him up with their kids... except that was obviously stupid and now I'm kind of caught up in that lie and occasionally picking him up from company gatherings pretending he's my, uh, 'husband'."

"Oh." Jihoon nods slowly; he's underwater, ears plugged. "Okay."

Mingyu drops his hand after a couple seconds of zero reciprocation. "Haha, uhm, anyways... Did you want to come in?"

"Oh." Jihoon nods again. "Okay."

Your touch on Jihoon's arm becomes a little stronger. "You look a little pale. Come in and let me get you that water, yeah?"

"Oh." Yeah. "Okay."

As Jihoon ambles into your home -- your shared home with some guy who introduced himself as your husband but isn't your husband but chose you to be in his marriage but it's a fake marriage but -- he wants to say the things he's always wanted to say. Fuck, he's been wanting and wanting forever.

But he can't.

Not only because he can't form the words; that's been his problem since the beginning and was supposed to be his last hurdle today.

No.

He can't because your fake husband smiled at you in front of him.

And that smile looked nothing like a lie.

(Boy)Friend Material | Part I of II | csc x f!reader

You'd think that, having matched with Seungcheol on a dating app, you would be, well, dating. You suppose you're lucky, but not that lucky.

Rating: sfw (this part) | WC: ~3k | Pairing: csc x f!reader | Genre: fluff, f2l

Warnings: suggestive thoughts, down bad reader, implied alcohol drinking, kissing

Matching with Seungcheol on Bumble was a fluke, or maybe a miracle, considering the fact that you re-downloaded the app on a whim and his profile was the first to come up. 

The second you saw him in that blue baseball cap and white tee, his jawline sharp and his bicep thick, you knew there was no point in trying to find anyone better. So you conferred with the group chat to crowdsource a good opening line, something about how his birthday should be a national holiday, and awaited his response with bated breath. 

He replied within minutes, saying that he’d always thought so but was intrigued as to why you did too, and you, ignoring your friends’ advice to play it cool, told him that he was obviously a gift to the masses to get them through these troubling times. He got bashful then, but apparently you didn’t come on too strong in a bad way, because the next thing you knew he was asking for your number and requesting to meet up for some coffee. 

That was four months ago, and though it never went further in a romantic sense, you know you’re lucky to have him as a friend. Unfortunately, the thoughts you have about Seungcheol aren’t the kind you’re supposed to have about a friend. 

You wish you could say you haven’t always wondered what those plush lips would feel like on yours, or if he’d be big enough to stretch you out, or whether he’d take you gently or pin you down and fuck you like he means it, but you’ve wanted Seungcheol ever since you first locked eyes with him, even if it was just through your phone screen.

It would be one thing if you only wanted to sleep with him, but it’s a million times worse because you want to love him too. You want to hold hands, and go on cute dates, and get him little gifts just to see his eyes light up. You want to fall asleep in his arms, and take care of him when he’s sick, and tell anyone who will listen that he’s your boyfriend. 

How could you want anything less when he looks like all of your dreams come to life? When he gazes at you with those big brown eyes, always listening so attentively, as if you’re the only one in his world that matters? When he takes care of you without thinking, like it’s just second nature?

Even at a house party like this, where there are plenty of girls eyeing him and more than a few of his bros wanting to talk to him, he’s by your side. The second your shoulders twitched in a shiver, his jacket was covering them. As soon as your cup was empty, he was accompanying you to the kitchen to refill it. And you know that when you give even a hint of wanting to leave, he’ll be guiding you to his car and taking you home, perfectly sober because he volunteered to be the designated driver tonight just so you could have fun and be safe. 

If only you could tell him to take you back to his place instead of yours. The problem is that he would, and he’d take your makeup off all gently, and give you a big t-shirt to sleep in, and tuck you into his bed before going to sleep on the couch, even though it hurts his back and his feet dangle off the edge. You know because that’s exactly what he did the time you managed to scrape together enough courage to ask if you could stay over after a night out. 

You can’t have a repeat of that, not when you woke up wishing you were his (after dreaming that he’d fucked you into his mattress). You barely kept yourself from begging him to make your dreams a reality that morning, especially when he greeted you with bedhead, a gravelly voice, and your favorite pastries from the bakery down the street. 

It took you weeks to get over it, to be able to look into his eyes without wanting to either confess your love or jump his bones. And still, almost two months later, you’re pushing down both of those desires. Holding your feelings back when you’re with him is a constant struggle, one that’s only made more difficult by his affectionate and protective nature. It’s becoming painful, knowing he likes you but not in the way that you like him, being so close to him but never as close as you want. 

Near Seungcheol is your favorite place to be, but you’re starting to think it’s not somewhere that’s good for you, which is distressing because at this point, he’s one of your best friends. You see him nearly every week for meals and little excursions, and you’d go for every day if you didn’t have to keep him from your other friends lest they give away your secret. You don’t know how you’d cope with not being around him, but you can only assume it wouldn’t be well when he’s so enmeshed in your life, even your landlord knows about him.

God, you cancel one maintenance call after Seungcheol fixes your leaky faucet and Jerry thinks every other repair request is bullshit…

You startle as Seungcheol leans in close to ask you something, though you’re too distracted by the weight of his hand on your waist to process his question. It’s warm even through the cotton of your shirt and the denim of his jacket, and he must think it’s too loud for you to hear him because he uses it to tug you closer as he asks again, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I think I’m just ready to go,” you respond weakly, forcing a smile that must look as fake as it feels. Knowing you’re not telling the truth about the first part, he frowns reproachfully at you and lets go of your waist to intertwine your fingers with his, pulling you behind him to the front door. There’s a chill in the air though it’s barely September, and he drops your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulders, syncing his steps to yours and holding you tight.

It’s a short walk but the quiet tension makes it feel like eons have passed by the time you arrive at his sedan. He opens the passenger-side door for you and takes your bag so you can climb in unhindered, gently placing it at your feet before patting your knee and shutting you in. You watch as he jogs around the hood and gets in next to you, taking care not to slam his door. You wonder if it’s because the first (and only) time he did on a night like this, you thought he was upset with you for wanting to leave early. 

He was so sweet and concerned when you brought it up, instantly rejecting your offer to uber home so he could go back to the party as if he was offended you even asked, before telling you that there was no point in staying if he didn’t have you with him. That was just one of the many moments that have ruined you for anyone else. 

“What’s on your mind?” Seungcheol asks quietly, turning his body toward you and reaching for your hand. Unsure of what to say, you give it to him silently and fight back a shudder at the feeling of his warm, rough fingers against yours. 

You hate lying to Seungcheol, partially because you always want to be honest with him but mostly because you’re so bad at doing the opposite. He picks up on it immediately, and then he gets this sorrowful, wounded look on his face and goes all quiet, which makes you feel like you’re the worst person on the planet. 

How honest can you be, though?

You could leave out the part about wanting him to fuck your brains out and lead with the non-platonic feelings you hold for him. Or you could leave out the emotional side of things and simply share that you want to ride him into the sunset. Or you could tell him everything, bare your soul and your pussy, and hope for the best. But what if the worst happens? What if he tells you he could never want you like that, that you’re like a sister to him, that he doesn’t want to see you ever again because you’ve ruined this friendship? 

You don’t think you can risk it. 

Still, you’d like to avoid deceiving him and hurting his feelings in the process, so maybe you could just be vague instead. 

“A lot of things, but nothing I want to talk about right now,” you finally answer, avoiding his eyes and pushing down the voice in the back of your mind that screams you’re a coward.

His mouth scrunches to the side and his brows furrow, but after a minute of silence, he accepts it. 

“Okay, just… You know you can tell me anything, right?” He lowers his head to find your gaze, sincerity emanating so brightly from him, it burns. 

Anything but this.

“I know,” you whisper, attempting a smile to appease him, though the way he sighs defeatedly and looks away makes you feel like you’ve just made him worry more. 

Facing the wheel again, he turns the key in the ignition and carefully reverses just enough to pull forward out of his makeshift parking spot. The music coming through his speakers is soft and low, too quiet to really fill the silence sitting between you and him, silence that isn’t usually there. You don’t know what to say so you don’t say anything at all, your body thrumming with a nervous energy that you’re sure Seungcheol can feel. 

Glancing over, you find his hands tight on the steering wheel and his lip caught in between his teeth. You hate the idea that your anxiety has seeped into him, but he’s always seemed to think your happiness is his personal responsibility, so you suppose it makes sense. 

“Are you taking the long way?” You ask in confusion when you face forward again and watch the on ramp to the highway pass you by. 

“Yeah, I hope that’s okay… Just wanted a bit more time with you,” he murmurs with a melancholy tinge to his voice. 

“Of course that’s okay, I love being with you.” Shit, you wanted to make him feel better but you didn’t mean to sound so-

“Do you?” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you never…” He looks over at you and shakes his head, taking a deep breath before continuing to speak. “I know we’re taking things slow but I feel like you’re always holding part of yourself back from me. You never touch me, I’m always the one touching you. I make the majority of our plans. All my friends know you but I don’t know any of your friends,” he sighs in frustration and pulls over into an empty parking lot, putting the car in park. “And now tonight you don’t feel like you can tell me what’s wrong… I just- If you want to break things off, please just say so.”

When he finishes, he gazes at you, dejection swimming in his eyes as if you’re breaking his heart. 

In your mind, you repeat the words that stand out to you as if they’re new arrangements of letters with meanings you’ve never encountered before.

T a k i n g  t h i n g s  s l o w.

B r e a k  t h i n g s  o f f.

What  t h i n g s?

“Seungcheol… Please don’t get upset, but I think we might not be on the same page,” you say slowly. “What are we? Because I was under the impression we were-”

“Friends,” you finish just as he responds, like it should be obvious, “Together.”

“You think we’re just friends?! We met on a dating app,” he bursts in a barely contained explosion. 

“You’re so hot, and sure, we went on that one coffee date, but we never went on any others-” You scramble to explain your reasoning. 

“We’ve gone on at least three dates a month since we met! Did you think we were just hanging out?” 

“...Yes?” 

“I plan them, I dress nicely, I pick you up, I pay,” he lists off on his fingers, clearly growing heated. 

“Okay, so maybe those were dates! But we don’t kiss, or have sleepovers, or talk to each other about our feelings,” you attempt to defend yourself. 

“I was trying to follow your lead,” he grimaces regretfully and pinches the bridge of his nose. “God, could I have been kissing you this whole time?” 

“You could have been doing a lot more than kissing me,” you laugh to yourself, thinking about all the wishes and desires you’ve had since you first laid eyes on him. Then you see his face, and it doesn’t really feel funny anymore. 

He looks equal parts irate and amorous, that strong brow furrowed in displeasure though his gaze is greedy, like he’s had enough of you but at the same time, he could never get enough of you. 

“Alright, since I apparently need to lay it all out, here’s what we’re gonna do,” he turns to face you, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. You barely resist the urge to lean into it before realizing you don’t have to resist anything anymore when it comes to Seungcheol, your hand coming up to cover his and hold it to your face. 

His eyes soften at that, his thumb brushing your cheekbone as he says, “First, we’re going to talk about our feelings and get on the same page. Then, I’m taking you to your place to pack an overnight bag and to mine for a sleepover, and this time I’m not staying on that goddamn couch. It’ll take a while to make up for four months of not kissing you, but we can start with tonight. Does that all sound good to you?”

“Everything sounds great,” you breathe dreamily, already envisioning being on your back beneath him with those perfect cherry lips on yours. 

“Fuck, don’t look at me like that,” he groans, his head falling sideways against the headrest. “We have to talk first.”

“Are you telling me or yourself?” You ask teasingly, giggling when he squeezes his eyes shut and swears under his breath. 

“Both,” he sighs out before saying nervously, “I’ll start, because I’m a good boyfriend.”

You have to swallow down the squeal that threatens to burst from you just at the thought of Seungcheol being your boyfriend. 

“I’ve been into you since I met you,” he begins. “You make me laugh, you make my heart race, and you make me want you, all the damn time. The past four months have been the best of my life. You’re smart and beautiful and special and I want to be with you for as long as you’ll have me.”

Hearing Seungcheol say these things sends a rush of pure joy through you, followed by a flood of affection. He’s all you’ve wanted for four months, and now you know he likes you. And wants to be with you. It’s almost too much for you to handle… Almost. 

“Seungcheol, as soon as I saw you on that god-forsaken app, I knew I could stop looking. You’re funny and kind and thoughtful and devastatingly good looking, and I liked you so much that I tried to be happy just being your friend, but I always wanted more. I think it’s because I was so blinded by my crush on you that I didn’t realize we were more. We are more. Hopefully, you’re okay being with me for a long time, because I don’t know if I’ll ever want to let you go.”

He gazes at you, his face soft and his eyes earnest, adoring. “That’s fine with me,” he murmurs, leaning in. “Can I kiss you?”

“I literally thought you’d never ask,” you whisper, inching forward and holding your breath until his lips finally meet yours. 

They feel supple, lush, just like you knew they would, and he kisses you with a gentleness you didn’t expect. After four months of waiting, you thought he’d be impatient, rough, but he’s moving like he has all the time in the world, like you’re something worth savoring. He pulls away reluctantly, but you’re not done yet, your chin tilting so you can press your lips to his again. 

He sighs against you and you glide your tongue over his bottom lip, gasping when he opens his mouth to lick into yours. His hand shifts to cup your neck, tilting your head so he can kiss you at a different angle, and that’s when the moan slips out. 

It’s quiet, but obvious in the silence of the car, and you pause self consciously for a second before he brushes his thumb over your jaw and moans back. The sound is so hot that you’re inches away from unbuckling your seatbelt and climbing over the center console into his lap, your mind already wrapped up in thoughts of feeling his thick, sturdy thighs under you. He doesn’t let you get that far, breaking away with a gasp and staring at you heatedly, as if he can hear your thoughts. 

“I want too much from you for our first time to be in my car,” he pants raggedly, fighting to catch his breath after you attempted to steal it from him. 

“I suppose I can’t argue with that,” you acquiesce, watching as he shifts into drive and makes his way out of the parking lot. When he’s on the road again, he rests his palm on your thigh with a glance and a raise of his brow, as if to ask if his placement is okay. You just smile and intertwine your fingers with his, trying to shove down the giddiness bubbling up within you as you get closer and closer to your apartment.

AN: there was a natural separation between scenes so i decided to make this a two parter!! smutty part two will be posted sometime this weekend (hopefully)

please i am begging u to tell me ur thoughts and ur thots i am deep in seungcheol brainrot and i need to commiserate

title: family matters

pairing(s): husband!toji x reader, son!megumi x reader

summary: megumi wakes up with a nightmare, toji doesn't want to move, so he solves his own problem.

your face was smushed up against toji's chest as you slept deeply. your arm slung around his waist and your legs tangled in his as you breathed him in.

he was awake though, playing with your hair as he let the sounds of your muffled sighs against his chest and the white noise of the fan slowly drift him to sleep...

until the sound of the door creaking made him jump slightly, quickly moving to soothe you in case he startled you.

megumi shuffled in, rubbing his eyes as he walked to the corner of the bed. "dad?"

toji sighed as he layed his head over to look at him, you usually handled this kind of stuff since he felt awkward. "what is it kid?"

"i'm scared." megumi admitted, his voice sounding choked like he'd already been crying.

"y' all right. we're right here 'gumi, so there's nothing to worry about." toji comforted, having his full attention on megumi. he reached his hand out to hold his shoulder and shook it.

"nothing will happen to you or your mom as long as im here. got it?"

megumi sniffled and shook his head in a nod. "'kay.. but can you come tuck me in?" he asked, grabbing toji's arm in a pulling motion.

"no way kid. your mom is sleeping right on top of me, and 'm not moving 'til she wakes."

"dadd." he whined, tugging his arm with all his might to try and get him to move. "you have to, it's what mom does!"

he knew it well, how you'd immediately get out of bed any night he came to lay in his and soothe him to sleep, most nights he'd wake up alone and find you holding megumi as you slept in his bed.

"well i'm not your mother. you're a big kid already, you can do it yourself."

"but i want you to do ittt." he started to shake his arm, which was jostling you in return.

"hey stop it kid, ya wanna wake your mom up?"

"nooo. hurry up!" he said, finally letting go and stomping his feet.

"i'm not moving kid, so tough luck."

megumi pouted and decided to..

flip him over. as he started shoving toji over with all his might, you obviously fell under him first. with toji's weight completely on you, you woke up disoriented and confused.

megumi, now with a bunch of room for himself, jumped in and held your arm to his chest, smiling victoriously.

"what-- what's going on?"

"this brat is so stubborn, he's just like you. go back to sleep."

"huh..?" you were being lifted up by toji and so was megumi. he settled you in the middle with him and megumi at your sides.

"good night. don't say i don't love you brat."

you fell asleep confused but comfortable, and megumi only stuck his tongue out at toji before going back to sleep with you.

toji was now playing with your hair while watching over the two of you, the sight of your chests rising and falling with every breath you took comforting him.

he hung his arm around you, holding your hand. laying his head on yours, he placed a hand on megumi's hair, ruffling it slightly.

his heart felt warm as he fell asleep, dreaming of you. oh and his son was there too.

he woke up to the sounds of rustling as megumi woke up, early as possible. he started to tap on your shoulder until toji moved his hand away from you groggily.

"what?"

"i'm hungry."

"for crying out loud kid, no!"

...

he got up to make pancakes for you three, extra whipped cream for megumi as he handed them out.

megumi was sat in your lap happily munching away as you paired yours with a cup of coffee, still half asleep.

toji ruffled megumi's hair, making him let out a small "hey!" as he moved over to kiss you, making megumi scrunch up his face.

toji moved to sit beside you at the counter, his hand supporting his head as he looked over at you two.

"you're a headache y'know that?"

"don't be mean to mom." megumi said, his mouth full.

"i wasn't talking about her, kid!

all my dreamin' | hjs

all my dreamin' is only put to shame / and darlin', all my dreamin' has only been given a name / but it came easy, darlin' / as natural as another leg around you in the bed frame.

pairing: joshua hong x reader summary: your LA boyfriend wasn't built for midwest winters. ⇢ insp. by hozier's "to someone from a warm climate (uiscefhuarithe)" type: one-shot | fluff 'n smut wc: only 2.5k! au: established relationship rating: 18+ (minors do not have my consent to interact) cw: afab! and american!reader; cuddling (👀) for warmth; gropin’ and grindin’; k*ss*ng; slow, unprotected morning sex; p in v penetration. a/n: i love two (2) men — andrew hozier byrne and hong jisoo. idk what else you want me to say, lol. barely proofread (sorry!) 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

Slatted shades don’t stand much of a chance against the blinding white outside your window. It seeps through the cracks, sunshine refracting harshly off of knee-deep snow and stinging eyes that haven’t yet consented to opening fully. 

Even though that laser-focused beam of light hits you between your eyebrows, it’s not the reason you’re awake in the first place. The real reason is next to you with his head ducked under the covers, rubbing his flannel-coated legs together like he’s trying to start a fire.

“Cricket?” You mumble. 

Still heavy with sleep you didn’t get enough of, your head lolls to the side. If your boyfriend was still topside, you’d be nose to nose; but he’s not, and he doesn’t seem to hear you from inside the cocoon he’s made for himself. 

A little louder, your gravelly voice makes a second attempt. “Are you alive under there?”

“No,” comes the world’s most pitiful whimper from somewhere near your rib cage.

You don’t know what you expected.

With a muffled grunt of effort, you pull the edge of the covers away from your chin and wiggle your way down. In the half-light, you can’t make out Joshua’s face in its entirety. His sweatshirt strings are pulled tight and knotted, hiding most of his features from the air his breath has already started to make hot. All that’s left is the tip of his nose, one eye, and a single, loose wave between the two.

There’s also a hint of a frown in there somewhere when he peeps, “I’m cold.”

You shift even further until he’s within swaddling distance. Wrapping one leg over his topmost thigh, you pull him closer and allow him to nestle his face into the spot below your chin. From where he’s hiding, he can’t see you smirking. It’s for the best, really.

“Hi, Cold.”

“Don’t.”

You don’t listen. Instead, you snicker, more to yourself than him, “I’m Dad.”

Joshua lets out a long groan in reply, but that’s no surprise; you’re huddled so closely together that you felt it building in his chest. 

When it grows quiet again, and you’re no longer laughing at your own joke, the two of you each deflate against each other. Yesterday’s journey from LAX was exhausting in and of itself, and the several-hour leap in time hasn’t made things any easier since you landed. Neither has the weather surrounding your family’s cabin, although you’re faring much better than Joshua is.

His groggy voice comes out of nowhere, startling you. “I don’t know why people live here on purpose.”

From the sound of it, he’s already halfway back to sleep. His arm slips over your waist and pulls you closer, and you get the sneaking suspicion that he’d slip into the front of your sweatshirt if he thought for sure that he could fit. Frankly, you’re shocked he hasn’t tried. His clinginess increases exponentially when he’s exhausted.

“The midwest isn’t a choice; it’s a consequence,” you sigh. “I think being born here was a penance for crimes I committed in a past life.”

Without opening his eyes, Joshua mumbles, “Bleak.”

“Bleak indeed, cricket.”

The third time really must be the charm. Joshua snorts, much too tired to laugh any harder than that, and asks, “Does that mean what I think it means?”

Biting back a smile, you tilt your head backwards enough to kiss his forehead — what little you can see of it, anyway.

“That your self-warming violin legs kept me up all night?” Your amusement only grows when you peek down at him and find him glaring up at you. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

Lower lip poking out, he scrunches his eyebrows. As offended as he pretends to be, he can’t hide that ever-present twinkle in his eyes. “You could have saved me, you know,” he sniffs.

You mimic his tone with a smirk. “I turned the thermostat up as high as it goes, you know.”

The most you get out of him is a grunt acknowledging that he heard you. Normally, you’d accept this lack of retort as a demurrer, but then you feel his cold fingertips slink below the waistband of your sleep shorts, chilling the bare skin at your hip bone; and it finally hits you.

The thermostat wasn’t the remedy Joshua had been praying for.

As you untie the strings of his sweatshirt hood, you tell yourself that it’s retaliation that motivates your movements — paying him back for his freezing hands by exposing his face to equally cold air. That’s bullshit, though, and you know it. The truth is that you can’t card your fingers through hair that’s covered in thick, grey fabric.

You can’t steal kisses from hidden lips, either.

When Joshua’s mouth is finally on yours, you giggle without meaning to because he still tastes like last night’s spearmint toothpaste. You’d love to tease him for it, but your mind goes blank before you can try. He licks into your mouth, and your snark turns into a breathy little moan instead; he swallows it eagerly, smiling against your lips.

Pinch me. I’m dreaming.

The sudden snap of your elastic waistband against the small of your back makes you jolt. You pull back, lips swollen and kiss-bitten, and balk. He doesn’t give you the opportunity to scold him, however.

“You’re insane for wearing shorts when it’s this cold,” Joshua insists. When you don’t bother to justify your decision — you’re not as much of a freeze baby as he is — he nips at your bottom lip. “I’m grateful, though. They’re easier to work around.”

You’re grateful that his hands have gotten warmer, the longer they cling to you, but you don’t say as much out loud — your body responds for you. His fingers knead into the flesh of your ass, and you roll your hips forward, chasing friction. You find it easily; it’s growing thicker by the second.

“Shit, sweetheart.” He’s still so tired that his words come out slurred — adorable — yet rough around the edges, which drives you the slightest bit wild. “Please do that again.”

“You just want me to do all the work.” You nudge the tip of his nose with yours. The sharp contrast in temperature isn’t lost on you; in fact, you adore it. His sensitivity to cold is one of a million endearing things about him. “Isn’t that right, cricket?” 

The half-expectant, half-sheepish look Joshua sends you confirms that yes, he does. But he asked nicely, and this isn’t on the shortlist of things you wouldn’t do for him, so you grant his wish without complaint.

It’s more than a little bit pathetic that such a lazy motion — a fully-clothed one, at that — makes you both moan in tandem. It’s haphazard, the way your fumbling fingers reach for the knot of his waistband. Your motor skills are still asleep, it seems, making an easy task infinitely more difficult. It only gets worse, the more frustrated you get.

You snag a fingernail on the stubborn flannel and hiss, “Jesus.”

“It’s pronounced Jisoo,” he supplies unhelpfully. 

To avoid the consequences of that quip, Joshua ducks his head down to leave a smattering of lazy kisses along the length of your neck. Whatever you might’ve clapped back with is replaced with a relieved sigh when the drawstrings’ vice grip on one another finally gives. 

Tugging unsuccessfully at the waistband in your hands, you pout. “Help.”

With the way he whines, you’d think you asked him to move a mountain. 

Melodramatically, Joshua’s head drops sideways. It lands with a muffled thump against the scrunched-up comforter that still surrounds you. He doesn’t move another muscle until you open your mouth to nag him; still frowning, still uncoordinated, his hands take the place of yours. His hips lift just enough for him to shimmy his pajama pants down — just enough to provide access.

You roll your eyes at his refusal to undress any further, but before he can remind you of how cold he is, you catch him by the mouth. Successfully placated, Joshua accepts your lips on his with an appreciative hum. That sound transforms into something bordering a groan when your hand claims his length and starts stroking him slowly.

Just like that, Joshua melts under your touch, like putty molding to your frame. His leaking cock is the exception; the only part of him that seems awake enough to beg for you. He’s throbbing in your hand and — once again — you can’t help but laugh. 

Joshua’s incredulous eyes widen, silently demanding an explanation. 

“Some of you is warm,” you offer with a cheeky grin. To ease that wrinkle between his brows, you envelope the crown of his cock with your palm and roll your wrist. The gentle squeeze prompts him to grind forward into your fist, making your stomach flip. “Must be thawing out a little bit.”

“Not fair,” he says, even though he’s moaning with screwed-shut eyes. “Can’t tease me until I’m adequately caffeinated. The Keurig is a million miles away.”

It’s one room over. 

The cabin you’ve borrowed from your parents is a mere six-hundred square feet.

You digress.

The prospect of coffee makes it even harder to fight off the urge to yawn, but you manage to do so. You manage to shimmy even closer to him, too, until the only barrier left is a thin layer of damp cotton. It’s his hand that drops down now to push it aside, making you shiver; and it’s him looking at you through half-lidded eyes that stokes the fire simmering in your belly.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Joshua whispers. 

If his words weren’t invitation enough, the come hither motion of his fingers is. The brush of his fingertips against your clit is so enticing that you decide right then and there to follow wherever he leads. 

You’re the one melting when the tip of his cock replaces his fingers, flicking over that same spot, then gliding through your slicked folds. Each pass pulls another needy sigh right out of you. He takes every little sound he can tease out of you, as if he’s collecting them. 

When the target switches to your entrance, however, you go silent. Your fingers grip the sleeve of his sweatshirt, your forehead drops to lean against his, and your gasp dies on your tongue. It comes out of Joshua’s mouth instead, spearmint breath cooling as it fans across your face.

He might never say so out loud, but this is his favorite way to fuck you — holding you close against him, holding eye contact, holding his eagerness back to slide into you slowly. When he watches your breath catch, his pupils dilate; and he licks his lips, as if he tastes the moans you can’t quite vocalize.

For what it’s worth, you love him like this, too. Him and the drag of his cock; the way it makes pleasure course through you like molasses. The way he capitalizes on the angle of your leg draped over his hip, tilting up to graze your g-spot with a dizzying precision.

As hard as you try, you can’t think of anything better than this. There’s nothing as perfect as his hand’s light hold on your ass cheek, guiding you up and down his length; so fucking deep, but in no rush at all.

Mornings were made to be spent tangled up with him.

“Do you hear that?” Joshua murmurs against your lips. You thread your fingers through his hair and nod, whimpering as you cling to him even tighter. 

How could you not? 

Your arousal floods with every languid thrust, and you know without looking that he’s completely coated in you. And if his satisfied smirk tells you anything, it’s that he can feel you dripping from his shaft down to his balls. You have no reason to doubt it; your inner thighs are a mess.

Joshua takes his hand off your ass just to hitch your leg even higher up on his side. Immediately, you see stars. You can’t even articulate how fucking incredible it feels, having him this deep, so you kiss him with more desperation than you ever have; and you hope he can guess how close you are to unraveling.

It’s impossible to say whether he can read your mind or just your body, but Joshua picks up the pace ever so slightly. As he does, there’s a subtle swirl to his hips when he thrusts into you that has every one of your synapses lighting up like a switchboard. 

“Fuck,” is your eloquent, shuddered response. 

It’s the best you can offer when you're falling apart like this, clenching tightly around him to push you both closer to the edge. No better off, Joshua seems like he’s barely surviving the way your cunt grips him. His voice sounds as shaky as you feel: 

“I l-love it when you do that.” 

To prove it, he flicks his tongue along your bottom lip and begs you to open up for him. You comply automatically, earning a pleased hum from him that tingles down your spine.

You’d kiss him like this all day if you could, but the wildfire burning through the pit of your abdomen is becoming impossible to fight. Ironic, you think, given how completely you’ve soaked through your sleep shorts and how much you’re shivering.

Involuntarily, your head tilts backwards as the pleasure blooms. Joshua traps your bottom lip between his teeth — not hard enough to hurt, but firmly enough to keep you from disappearing. You know him; you know how much he loves to watch your pupils blow when you cum all over him, and that dead-set determination is crystal clear in the way he fights to keep his heavy-lidded eyes open.

He loses that battle mere seconds after your choked gasp, when your walls flutter around him and you start trembling. He’s twitching inside of you, release spilling, and now he’s the one who starts to laugh.

“What?” You’re still floating somewhere in the stratosphere, but you manage to snort, landing a playful swat on his bare hip. He doesn’t react at all, but you massage your palm into his flesh to soothe him anyway. “What’s so funny?”

In a sudden burst of energy, Joshua’s hands fly up to grab the comforter resting over your heads. With a grunt, he flings it off of you both, thrusting your unsuspecting body into cold air. He doesn’t even notice your startled yelp.

“So hot in there,” he pants. For emphasis, he runs the back of his hand over his forehead. He wasn’t lying; there’s a faint sheen of sweat on his knuckles when he pulls them away again. “Jesus. It’s like a fucking sauna.”

You reach out to unstick a strand of hair from his slicked skin, then you let your arm flop limply back against the pillows. Grinning, you tease, “I thought it was pronounced Jisoo.”