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em1i2a3 · 2 months ago

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Cherry Waves

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Avengers!Fem!Reader

Summary: You’ve been sick for a few days, so while the rest of the team goes out to do a recon mission, you’re on your own watching over Bob. One morning he comes to your room with a weird request.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Minor Spoilers for Thunderbolts! Fluff, Mentions of low self-esteem/ self-deprecation, Smut

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (Y’all…You know the drill…Protect yourselves lol), Some hair pulling (very light hair pulling), Reader is being a little bit dominant (if you squint), Bob is being a softie (and it’s hot as shit), Fingering, Squirting, Teasing, Biting, and Some marks are left.

Author's Note: Had this boy lined up and really wanted to post it. Loved the little hint that Bob was not liking the blonde that Sentry had lol so this is definitely something that would probably have happened if he didn’t return back to normal in the movie 😅Also, y’all are awesome and I appreciate you guys for enjoying my little blurbs!❤️ Thank you.

Word Count: 14,094

You were buried under layers of sweat and crumpled tissues when the knock came against your bedroom door.

Three soft taps.

So quiet, they could’ve been the compound settling. It was hesitant–polite almost. It was the kind of knock someone does when they’re not sure if they’re allowed to be asking for anything at all.

You barely stirred in your bed. The flu had you pinned to the mattress like a paper doll, aching and clammy and convinced the walls were breathing in sync with you. Hallucinations had become your new roommates–so when you heard the knock, you assumed it was just one of them, wandering through your mind again.

But then came a fourth tap. Just one. Sharp enough to make your headache throb like it was answering.

”Y/N…It’s Bob…Can I come in?” You winced at the sound of his voice, even though it was always super gentle and timid.

Bob.

Of course it was Bob.

You’d almost forgotten in the haze of your sickness that you were technically on Bob duty. Because apparently being half-dead with the flu made you the least threatening option to keep an eye on the world’s most powerful man while the rest of the team went on recon. Bucky had said it so casually, like the fate of the planet couldn’t possibly unravel while you were tucked under three blankets with a thermometer hanging out of your mouth.

“All you gotta do is check in on him every hour or so,” He’d told you. “Make sure he eats. Make sure he’s not spiraling, and doing something to keep himself occupied. Y’know. Normal people stuff.”

It had been simple, at first. When the worst symptoms you were experiencing was a runny nose and a dull headache, you’d shuffle past Bob every so often with a thumbs up and a mumbled “You good?” While he nodded earnestly over his book, asking you the same thing back.

But once you started coughing so hard you felt like your ribs were breaking, and the chills that you were experiencing gave way to night sweats and dry heaving, keeping tabs on Bob Reynolds fell hard to the bottom of your to-do list–somewhere below “don’t die” and “get a new tissue”.

“…It’s open,” You rasped, your voice raw and thin from all the coughing you had been doing.

The doorknob turned slowly, like he was still asking permission even after you gave it. Then Bob stepped inside with that careful kind of energy that people only reserved for hospital rooms or museums–like one wrong step might unplug or break something important.

He hovered in between the doorway, not coming too close–being mindful that you had told him a few times to keep his distance because you didn’t want him getting sick, even though it was nearly impossible for him to catch anything. His baggy navy sweater hung off him like a weighted blanket, and the sleeves were stretched over his knuckles, worn from the way he would always pick at the fabric. He looked small in it–even though he was quiet muscular underneath all the layers. His posture was slouched, and his shoulders were drawn up like he was nervous about something. On top of all that though, he was wearing his new wardrobe staple–a dark brown beanie that he shoved his bleach-blonde hair under, he never came out of his room without it.

You stared at his figure through half-lidded eyes, watching as he avoided looking directly at you.

”You okay?” You croaked, reaching up to your face to rub the sleep off your face, attempting to sit up to get a better look at him. He glanced over at you, nodding quickly.

”Yeah. Of course…I mean…I’m good, I just…” He trailed off, the sentence losing momentum halfway through as his gaze drifted around the room.

He wasn’t just avoiding your eyes anymore, it was like his attention had been dragged elsewhere–behind you, beside you, and all around you. His brows twitched slightly as he took in your space for the first time, and slowly you connected the dots that Bob had never actually been inside your room before– the first time was always an experience for people who didn’t know you were a secret collector of everything.

His eyes swept over the cluttered desk in the corner that sported wires, pliers, circuit boards and half built gadgets, before going to the large overstuffed bookshelf beside it, which was packed tight with thrifted novels and comic books that were still in their original plastic sleeves. There was a milk crate of vinyls on the floor near your speaker, with the old record player you insisted on fixing instead of replacing, even though you would complain every few days about it.

There was a flicker in his expression–surprise, maybe. Or something quieter, like he’d just stumbled into a part of you that he didn’t expect to find. You saw it in the way his jaw went still and the way his shoulders shifted slightly, like he was dying to ask you questions about everything you had, but he was holding himself back.

”…Bob,” You said hoarsely, trying to draw his attention back to you. He didn’t blink, his eyes were fixated on something in the far corner where your posters were. You reached your hand up over your head, waving slightly, and snapping your fingers, “Earth to Bob. Are you sure everything’s okay?” He shook himself out of his trance, and glanced over at you.

”Sorry…Sorry,” He said quickly, his voice a little higher than usual, as he cleared his throat, “Didn’t mean to, uh…Y’know, snoop or anything. I’ve just never seen your room before, you’ve got a lot of cool stuff.” You raised your eyebrows at him with a small smile on your face.

”You’re lucky I feel like death. Otherwise I’d be giving you the grand tour right now…I also include a quiz at the end.” Bob let out a nervous laugh and looked down, picking at the loose thread on his sleeve.

“I’d definitely fail…So I’m kind of glad…Well I’m not glad you’re sick, I’m just glad I don’t have to do a quiz.” Your lips twitched, amused despite the ache that was still clawing at your skull.

”Very smooth recovery Bob, very smooth.” Bob made a quiet noise–somewhere between a breathy laugh and a groan–keeping his eyes pinned to the floor as his cheeks turned a soft pink. You pushed yourself up a little more than before, elbows trembling from the effort of holding yourself up.

”So…What’s going on? Why’d you knock on my door at…” You paused, glancing over at your alarm clock, “Seven fifty three in the morning?” Bob sighed.

”Well…I need to go to the drug store,” He admitted, his voice sheepish, “And I know Bucky’s not really a fan of me going out alone so…Thought I’d ask my babysitter.” You squinted at him through your blurred vision, feeling the room tilt slightly, as you brought your hand up to your face, pressing gently at your temples.

”Are you getting sick or something?” He immediately shook his head.

”No, no it’s nothing like that. I haven’t really gotten sick since I took the Sentry serum…” You quirked your brow at him.

”So…What’s the reason for the drug store trip then?” Bob shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the floor creaking under him loudly as he did so.

“I um…I need to buy something. For myself.” He responded, dancing around the truth. You stared at him.

”Is it serious?”

”No,” He said quickly, ��It’s not like…Health-serious or anything, I’m fine physically, I just…” He paused, clamming up again, not knowing how to explain himself. You narrowed your eyes at him, coughing into your arm, clutching your ribs when a dull ache pulsed through the area.

”You do realize I’m gonna find out anyway if I go with you , right?” Bob sighed and dragged his hand down the side of his face, like he was physically wiping the resistance off of himself, letting his hand drop down to the hem of his sweater.

”Fine…Fine…I need to buy…Hair dye.” He mumbled under his breath. You tilted your head slightly, blinking through the fevered haze that clouded your vision.

”Hair dye?” Bob winced at the way the words left your mouth, even though you didn’t mean for it to sound like you were judging him.

”Mhm…” You stared at him for a second longer than he could handle, as his eyes began to wander again, his hands wringing the fabric of his shirt, wrinkling it.

“You woke me up at seven-fifty-three in the morning…For hair dye?” You asked again, trying to confirm what you were hearing once more, hoping that you weren’t experiencing an odd version of delirium at this point.

”It’s not just–“ He started, then shut his mouth again, biting the inside of his cheek, shaking his head, “I mean…It is…But I just…” The sentence fell apart in his throat, as his cheeks began to heat up. He looked genuinely embarrassed, and you could see himself curling even more into his sweater, “I just don’t like what it looks like anymore.” There was something raw about the way he said it, and you couldn’t help but feel empathy for him, your heart clenching at the way his words cracked in the air.

“The bleach… The whole look,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the floor, “It was for him. For the Sentry. That’s what they said, anyway– they said that it would help. That it would make people see someone new. Something brighter…Like it would somehow separate us…But I still have to live in this body when he’s not around.” Bob continued, his throat swelling with a lump, “I still have to see myself…And the longer I look like him, the harder it is to remember who I am when I’m just…Bob.” You didn’t say anything at first–not because you didn’t want to, but because there was something about the way he was talking about himself that made your chest cave in a little. The words hung in the air like mist, as he bowed his head even lower, keeping his eyes on the floor, not daring to look at you or anything else in the room.

“It’s not stupid.” You could see his hands stop moving at your words, watching his eyes glance up at you hesitantly. You gave him a tired but sincere look, hoping that it was enough for him to understand that what you were saying was coming from a place of care, “Wanting to see yourself again isn’t stupid Bob…It’s just you trying to cling to the one thing you have control of…I get it.” His mouth parted, like he was going to thank you, but no sound came out. He was relieved that someone was finally understanding what he meant, it was like he had been running around talking to walls when he would speak about how he was feeling, but with you in this moment…It was like he felt seen.

”So I’ll help…But I need to see what we’re working with first.” You added, motioning to his head. Bob looked like a deer in the headlights when you said it, caught off guard by your suggestion, but also scared to even follow through with it.

”W-What?” You sighed.

”That hat Bob��Just take it off…I haven’t seen your hair since we moved you in here and you’ve been hiding it like it’s some sort of radioactive test subject.” He felt his heart gallop in his chest a little bit, as the nerves began to build up in him.

”I-I really don’t think that’s necessary,” He stammered, already figuring out a way to retreat out of the conversation, eyeing the hallway that was in the far corner of his vision.

”Bob, you dragged me out of a flu coma to ask me for help…So let me help you…Let me see it.” The gentleness in your voice was always something that got to him. Even on your toughest days you would use that tone with him, and for some reason it was the only thing that truly had him melting like putty in your hands.

You could see the conflict playing out within him, like he was weighing out the risks, until a look of resolve appeared on his face, a small sigh escaping his lips as he gave in to your request.

Bob’s fingers trembled as he slipped them beneath the edge of his beanie, hesitating for a second before slowly tugging it off his head. The static cling made the knit fabric resist him just a little, like even the hat itself didn’t want to let go of the safety it provided him.

The moment it came off, a curtain of hair fell across his face. You blinked through your fevered haze, eyes widening slightly–not in shock, but in recognition. His hair was longer than you remembered–shaggy, uneven, the ends fried from months of bleach. The top was still harshly pale, the yellow-white of it stark under the low morning light, but underneath, near the roots, his real hair was coming back in–soft, and light brown, just like you recalled from the brief glimpses you got of him before it all got changed. But the line where bleach met natural color was harsh and jarring, cutting across his scalp like a bad decision frozen in time.

He looked like someone in between versions of himself, not quite Bob, not quite Sentry–just…Stuck. You studied him for a moment, your body heavy with exhaustion but your chest buzzing with quiet sympathy. There was something so tender about the way he stood there, hair falling into his eyes, his beanie clutched in his hands like a comfort object. He looked younger somehow. Not in age, but in vulnerability–like this was the version of himself that never got the chance to just be soft and carefree.

“It’s not that bad,” You started, the rasp still thick in your throat, “Really. It just needs some love, patience…Maybe a deep condition…And the right shade of brown.” Bob’s head immediately shot up to look at you, like he couldn’t believe what you were saying.

”S-So you’re actually going to help? Y-You didn’t just try to trick me into showing you my hair right?” You shifted yourself down to the edge of your mattress, groaning at the way your bones protested and pulsed with each movement.

”No I didn’t try to trick you… I’m going to help, but first, I’m gonna need you to come here and make sure I don’t fall, because I think my legs are going to wiggle like they’re made of jelly.” For a split second Bob wasn’t sure if you were serious or not about needing actual help, but he moved anyway, shuffling towards you with his socked feet sliding across the floor. He opened his arms hesitantly, elbows bending like he wasn’t sure where they were supposed to go, offering himself up into your space.

”Alright…Whenever you’re ready I g-guess.” He said softly, his voice cracking a bit on the ‘guess’ like he was more nervous about touching or dropping you than you were about falling on your own.

Your hands found his forearms instantly, fingers curling into the soft, worn cotton of his sleeves, watching him brace himself. He looped one arm under yours, while steadying the other against your back as you pushed off the mattress, feeling your knees buckling beneath you like a baby deer on ice.

“Woah–woah, okay.” Bob muttered quickly, tightening his arms around you without a second thought. He adjusted himself accordingly, trying his best to be gentle while still being secure enough to hold you upright. You ended up closer than either of you really expected, with his chest pressed against yours, and your cheek inches away from his shoulder.

Despite everything—the fever baking your skin, the chills clinging to your limbs, and the flu that had knocked you down hard enough to rattle the walls—you still smelled…Good.

Bob noticed it the moment you got within his arms reach.

It wasn’t some kind of artificial, pampered scent. It wasn’t perfume or lotion or anything curated. No, it was just you–fresh soap, soft worn cotton, and that barely-there trace of eucalyptus from the body wash and shampoo combo you swore by. He heard you muttering something about it being the only thing strong enough to trick your sinuses into opening, and Bob had thought it was actually going to work because the sniff you gave him from the bottle made him have a sneezing fit, but he heard your frustrated grunt in the shower when it had not been the case.

”You alright Bob?” You asked, feeling the tension in his body against yours. He let out a short breath, which fanned across the crown of your head. He didn’t say anything right away, he just gave you a quick nod.

”Yeah, yeah I’m okay.” You could feel how careful he was being, feeling his arms flexing around you, not too tight, and not too loose. He was warm, and steady, while trying so hard not to be in the way, even though you requested his help. You couldn’t help but think about how strangely nice it was to be close to him, despite the situation.

You stood like that for another moment longer, your body leaning against his, the rhythm of your fevered breathing matching the rise and fall of his chest. Even through the blocked sinuses you had you could smell his laundry detergent on his sweater–fresh from the dryer, another thing you seemed to like about the moment.

Though you snapped yourself out of your self-induced daze once the floor felt less like a rocking ship beneath your feet. You pulled back just enough to glance up at him.

”You can let go now,” You whispered, startling Bob with the cue. Quickly he stepped back, like he just realized he was touching a hot stove or something, trying not to seem like he had been enjoying the odd moment of closeness. Despite the warmth of his body leaving yours, his hands still hovered around you just in case.

”I’m good,” You reassured, wobbling slightly but managing to keep yourself upright, “Just give me a few minutes to brush my teeth and get my bearings so I don’t scare the public by looking like a corpse.” Bob nodded immediately.

”Yeah, of course, I’ll just…I’ll wait in the hallway. There’s no rush or anything, uh…Just take your time. Seriously, I mean it.” He said, backing away while he clutched his beanie in his hand, “Just call me if you need anything.” He added, slipping out of your room and pulling the door shut behind him.

The moment he was gone, you sat back down on the edge of the bed with a slow, rattling breath. God. Your whole body felt like it had been microwaved–sweaty, sore, and buzzing with leftover adrenaline. You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes for a second, trying to reboot your nervous system. Not just from the fever, but from how close Bob had been. How soft he’d been. How good it had felt to be held with such warmth and gentleness even if it was for a fleeting moment.

You let out a sigh, before getting up again, dragging yourself into the ensuite bathroom you shared with Yelena, flicking on the bright fluorescent light. You let out a hiss, catching your reflection in the mirror. Surprisingly, the damage was minimal, sure your hair was an absolute mess from spending the night tossing and turning, but you looked half-awake at least.

Quickly, you got yourself ready, brushing your teeth, splashing some water on your face, fixing up your hair, and changing into a fresh set of clothes. By the time you were done, only fifteen minutes had passed–your new personal best. You cracked the door to your bedroom open, finding Bob sitting on the floor waiting with his back against the wall and knees drawn up. He looked up quickly when he heard the creak, and gave you a soft smile.

“Let’s get outta here.”

——————

Twenty minutes later, you found yourselves shoulder to shoulder in front of the painfully fluorescent wall of boxed hair dye in your local CVS.

It was still early, so thankfully not a lot of people were in the store. You actually thought that it was just you and Bob who were customers and the rest of the people there were employees and managers. On the overhead speakers there was a faint crackle of old 2000s music groaning throughout the store. The air smelled like plastic and dryer sheets, which was an odd mix for a drugstore of all places.

Bob stood stiffly beside you, his hands jammed into the front pocket of his jacket, eyes wide as he took in the absurd variety of brands and colours in front of him. His mouth was parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t decide on what panic stricken sentence he was going to go with. So you spoke first.

“Well…We know what row we need to look at.” You said, motioning toward the more natural leaning colours–rows of caramel, ash, chestnut, and espresso–pushing the cart gently in that direction as Bob trailed behind you like a nervous shadow. Your eyes scanned over the various boxes and brands, trying to find ones that would do minimum damage to his hair while actually doing the job.

“I didn’t think it was going to be so complicated…” He murmured from behind you, “I just thought there would be straight forward choices…” You looked up from the boxes, seeing the way his jaw was clenched.

”It’s just overwhelming because all the companies who make this stuff create different versions of the same thing. See…” You pointed at one box “This one is ammonia free, and is semi-permanent,” Then pointed to the other one right beside it,”While this one is permanent and has argan oil infused in it so it doesn’t do a lot of damage, but they’re the same colour.” Bob squinted at the wall of labels, then back to the boxes you had motioned to, visibly confused, shaking his head.

“Alright…But what if I just want…Normal dye?” You looked up at him, one brow arching in mild amusement.

”Bob…This is normal dye.” He turned a sharp shade of red, as the heat rose to his cheeks, taking over the paleness.

“W-Well yeah but–but you know what I mean don’t you? It doesn’t have to be so complicated, just have one of every colour.” You let out a small laugh.

”Welcome to the wonderful world of capitalism, Bob. You want brown? Well, first you gotta pick from thirty-seven kinds of brown. Do you want cocoa chestnut or honey almond toast? Because those are apparently different.” Bob took his hand out of his pocket, rubbing the back of his neck.

”Okay…I guess you’re right.” He replied nervously.

”We’ll find your colour, I promise.” You said calmly, continuing to look over the boxes in front of you.

“Should I, uh…Take my hat off? Would that help?” You tilted your head at him, and nodded.

”It would definitely make this a much quicker process…But if it really bothers you, I’m pretty sure I could go off of memory.” Bob shrugged a little, his eyes flicking around the store for a moment.

”I don’t mind, it’s basically just us in here anyway.” You nodded, watching him remove the beanie again, tucking it into the crook of his elbow. He tried to not make a big deal out of it, but you could tell he felt exposed, so you were going to attempt to make things quick.

”Alright,” You said, stepping a little closer to him, grabbing a few boxes from the shelf, “Bend down a bit, I need to get a good look at the roots so I can compare.” He obeyed, ducking his head so you could see the top of his hair properly. In doing so, he stepped closer than you expected—closer than he expected, probably. Your foreheads were nearly aligned, noses maybe a breath apart. He was tall enough that you had to tilt your chin slightly to get the right angle, and Bob found himself frozen there, inches from you, not sure where to look. So, he looked at you.

You smelled like cherry cough drops–sickly sweet and medicinal—and it hit him instantly, like a quiet little exhale in the space between you. He remembered the moment you popped one into your mouth earlier, halfway to CVS, saying it was the only thing keeping your throat from giving out. And now the scent lingered on your breath, mingling with the warmth of your skin and the faint trace of eucalyptus from before. Bob swore his brain short-circuited for a second.

You were focused, eyes narrowing slightly, as you held one box up beside his roots, then another. Your fingers brushed through the longer strands near his crown, gently separating pieces to get a clearer view of where the bleach ended and his real colour began. You were so precise about it, so tender, and Bob didn’t know where to put his hands or how to keep breathing without accidentally inhaling you.

Then you paused, lips turning up as you caught the way his chest rose a little faster, how his fingers curled and uncurled in his sleeves

A soft rattling sound reached your ears then–the kind of nervous, involuntary vibration that sometimes came from him when he was overwhelmed. You smirked slightly, brushing your thumb against his temple on purpose as you pushed a few more strands aside.

“Is the Sentry getting a bit flustered?” You teased, your voice still raspy from the flu but still playful. “Or is that just you rattling like a soda can?”

Bob made a noise–half sigh, half laugh–ducking his head a little more like it would hide the warmth that continued to spread over his skin, all the way down his neck. “It’s definitely just me. He’s, uh…He’s fine.”

“Good,” You hummed, still close, eyes flicking between the swatch and his roots. “Because I don’t think he’d let me manhandle his hair like this.”

“You’re not…Manhandling anything,” He mumbled, trying to cover up the wavering tone. “Feels…Kinda nice, actually.” You paused at that comment, your eyes glancing down to his, seeing little glints of sparkling orange through the sea blue that his irises normally sported. For a second, neither of you said anything. The store had faded by that point and all that was left was the faint scent of cherry and the feel of your fingers still resting lightly in his hair.

“…This is your shade,” You said finally, voice soft, motioning to the box in your hand. He didn’t move at first, it was as if his brain hadn’t caught up to the moment yet, or his ears were ringing so much he didn’t hear what you had said. Then you shifted your weight, easing back slightly, giving him some space as you cleared your throat, dropping the box into the cart with a clunk. He quickly slipped the beanie back on, shoving his hair up into it, sealing away the moment beneath it.

“Now we need to get you one of those conditioning treatments, and after that I’m grabbing some snacks, cause I’m getting hungry.” He looked away from you, nodding.

”Yeah, okay…Conditioner and snack. Got it.” You glanced up at him, seeing the way he was avoiding you eyes again, before turning back to the cart, pushing it down the aisle with him following close behind. You turned into the next section without fanfare–the shampoo and conditioner area–and skimmed over a wide array of labels until your eyes landed on the exact jar you were looking for: the rich brown packaging, the heavy text that scrawled out all the promises of repairing and restoring.

“This one,” You muttered, reaching up for it and dropping it into the cart with a soft thunk, “Will do miracles for the damage, you’re gonna love it, smells like sweet coconuts.” Bob glanced at the package.

”Does it…Sting?” Your eyebrows drew together.

”Bob…It's conditioner, not acid.” He bit his inner lip.

”No, I-I know, I’m just asking cause when they bleached my hair it really really burned…Then my head was super sensitive for like a whole week after, j-just don’t want to go through that again.” You could hear the way his voice tapered off, like he didn’t really want to talk about it, but he just wanted to let you know.

“I promise this will be way less abrasive.” You said, with a small smile tugging at your lips, nudging the cart forward again, “Now let’s get to that snack aisle before my stomach eats itself.” Bob chuckled softly at your words, following you again as you turned into the next section, noticing the sharp fluorescent lights had dimmed just slightly. The sterile smell of the store had completely faded by that point, being replaced with sweet confectionery items; gummy snacks, granola bars, marshmallows, anything you could think of really. You stopped your cart, feeling Bob’s chest bump into your back, as your eyes began to skim over the shelves, squinting at the shimmering bags, the look of contemplation drawing up into your eyebrows.

“So…What’re you craving?” He asked softly, watching your eyes dart around the wide variety, “Sweet? Salty?” You hummed.

”Might buy the whole aisle to be honest…” He laughed under his breath, the sound quieter than the store’s staticky music, but warmer than anything you’d heard in days.

”Seems like your appetite has come back.” You turned to look at him, letting your body sway slightly toward the cart to brace yourself.

”Yeah, I think the fresh air has put me on the road to recovery…Just don’t touch my lower back…It’s a little sweaty.” There was a beat of silence, before you continued “My stomach might also be trying to fool me into a false sense of security and I’ll end up throwing it all up after I eat it.”

“Well that took a turn…” You shrugged, plucking a bag of sweet chili chips, throwing it mindlessly into the cart.

”I like to keep you on your toes Bob.” You replied with a smirk.

—————-

Back at the compound, you retreated into your room to change, making quick work even though you were feeling a faint headache coming back, but it was more manageable than your prior ones.

You swapped out your clothes for a pair of beat-up black compression shorts and an old t-shirt from your days at training camp–frayed at the collar and speckled with faded bleach stains from when you touched up Yelena’s hair. The crooked letters on the shirt were faded but you could make out the words “I SURVIVED CAMP HAMMOND” on the front of it, a great memory of how long it’s been since you were actually training.

You grabbed your dye bowl and one of the brushes from under your bathroom sink, tucking them against you as you headed down the hall. Your bare feet padded softly against the cool flooring of the compound, reaching the bathroom that Bob shared with Bucky, seeing the door was already cracked open. You gave it a slow push with your knuckles, poking your head in.

Bob stood in the middle of the tiled space like he wasn’t sure where he was going to sit, clutching the CVS bag with both hands, wringing it in his grip, the sound crinkling plastic echoing off the walls. He already had taken off the beanie, fully prepared for what was coming.

“Alright,” You announced as you stepped inside, “Your hair hero has arrived.” Bob looked over at you quickly, his shoulders dropping slightly when he laid eyes on you and your outfit. The tension in him bleeding out of him in small waves.

”You brought your own bowl?” He asked, trying to cover up the fact he was staring at your bare legs for longer than he intended.

“Of course I brought my own bowl,” You replied, holding it up slightly before setting it down on the porcelain counter, “What kind of amateur do you think I am?” You asked jokingly, earning a small smile from Bob, motioning for him to hand you the bag.

You unpacked the contents onto the sinks edge–the dye, the conditioner, the gloves, and a couple of CVS coupons that the cashier had stapled to the receipt.

“Okay,” You said, flipping the box of dye around to double-check the instructions even though you were seasoned enough to know what you were doing without them, “Let’s get you situated hm?” Bob hovered behind you awkwardly, watching your hands move with precise, and practiced ease. You pointed at the closed toilet lid.

”Go sit on the makeshift barber chair, hope you like stiff seats.” You joked, watching him go over to where you pointed, sitting down without protest, seeing the way his long frame compressed itself into the small space. He looked over at you with a soft smile, his hands clasping together, as you slid on a pair of gloves.

“Uh…Just wanted to say thank you for doing this, especially with being sick and everything…I didn’t mean to be a bother.” You cracked open the box of dye, flipping the flaps back and pulling out the developer bottle and aluminum tube of colour, the gloves squeaking slightly as you did so. You opened the cap with a satisfying pop and reached for the dye bowl beside you.

”You’re not a bother Bob.,” You said, glancing over at him as you squeezed the thick brown sludge into the bowl, “I don’t mind.” He blushed a bit at the softness in your voice, letting out a sheepish laugh, nodding before taking his eyes off you, his fingers finding the hem of his sweater.

You turned and flipped the small ceiling fan on, letting it whirl to life with a soft click and hum, it was your little attempt to keep the room from smelling like a chemical spill before you started stirring in the developer with the dye.

It was quiet for a moment–peaceful almost. Just the faint humming of the fan and the soft scrape of the plastic bristles rubbing against the inside of the bowl. Bob’s eyes drifted down toward your shirt absentmindedly, reading the faded words that were scrawled over the fabric that was clinging to your frame.

”What’s…Camp Hammond?” He asked quietly, with genuine curiosity in his voice, as he looked down to his hands. You didn’t look over at him immediately–still focused on making sure the mixture reached that perfect pudding-like texture–but your mouth twitched slightly.

”Did you think I was born with the skills of a mercenary?” You asked, glancing over at him with a teasing glint in your eye, “Hate to burst your bubble, but I wasn’t that cool.” Bob felt his cheeks heat up as it spread to his ears and down his neck.

”So what is it? Like…A boot camp or something?” You shrugged, looking down at the bowl again.

”Kind of. It was a training facility for recruits who showed promise in their assigned roles. I was a teenager when I got scouted, actually. They stuck us in bunk beds and we ran drills at five in the morning. Sometimes we were able to go home to see our families but I spent about three years there just learning the ropes and honing my skills.” He leaned forward a bit.

”Was it…Bad?” You paused the stirring for a moment, biting the inside of your cheek when you heard the way he asked.

”No. Not always. It was intense, but not all of it was horrible. I met my first team there actually, so that should tell you something about the experience.” At the mention of your first team, the conversation had faded, because true to Bob’s nature he was observant enough to catch on that you weren’t going to answer any questions about them. He just nodded, and sat still, with worry tucked beneath his lashes. You cleared your throat, breaking the silence.

”Before I forget–you should probably take that sweater off. This stuff is probably going to stain it and there’s a really low chance you’re going to be able to get it out.” You said, motioning with the brush, “Unless you actually want brown splatters all over it.” You added, seeing him look down at himself.

“Oh…Uh…” He said, curling his fingers into the hem of it, hesitating, “I’m not…Wearing anything under it.” You paused.

”You could go find something you don’t mind ruining, I can wait.” Bob shook his head, not looking at you, avoiding your eyes.

”I don’t really have anything…I wear pretty much all of my clothes, and donate the ones I don’t.” You put your hands on your hips, biting the inner side of your cheek.

”Guess we have a dilemma then.” You said jokingly, looking around the bathroom for a towel–a solution of sorts.

”I mean…I could take it off, I just…Just promise me you won’t laugh.” You stopped your movements immediately, looking back at him, raising your eyebrows.

”Okay. I won’t laugh.” You said, feeling your chest tighten. Bob nodded once, his fingers finally tugging up the hem of the sweater. It caught slightly on the undersides of his arms—he had to peel it upward with a bit of a twist—and then suddenly, it was gone, crumpled in his hands and resting in his lap.

You froze.

The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding caught somewhere in your throat, stalling completely as you took him in.

The heat that burned inside your body hit you like a second fever.

He was…Lean. But solid. Not showy or overly built, but undeniably strong. His chest and shoulders were broad in a way that looked natural. There were fine lines of definition that carved down his sternum and stomach, soft traces of light and shadow where his muscles rested. His skin was fair, with scattered freckles that dotted across his collarbones and shoulders like sunspots. A small scar cut just under his left rib–thin and silvery and healed long ago–and there was a faint stretch of color along his ribs, a faded birthmark maybe, or it was the aftermath from the serum he was given. Tying it all together though were the very very small stretch marks that were scattered around the expanse of skin, which made your brows raise a bit in admiration…

And his arms–Jesus Christ, his arms–were gently corded with strength, biceps not flexed but still clearly shaped beneath smooth skin, dusted with barely-there hair in the hollows of his elbows. The veins on his forearms sat just under the surface, pale blue and almost glowing under the harsh light of the bathroom.

He wasn’t perfect. But you didn’t want perfect. This–this was so much better.

The heat rushed up your neck and onto your cheeks so fast it was like your body had short-circuited, and you were suddenly very aware that your own shirt was threadbare and clinging to your frame. You tried to clear your throat quietly, to ground yourself, but the sound came out shakier than you liked. Bob caught it immediately, and his cheeks went a dark hue of pink. Now you were able to see the pale skin of his chest matching the same colour.

You felt nauseous looking at him, but for all the right reasons. How the hell were you supposed to get close to this man now without passing out? And how the hell was he able to hide this so well from you– Or anybody else for that matter?

“Wow…” Was all you could say, and you didn’t even mean for it to come out of your mouth. Bob’s head tilted up at you, noticing the way your eyes were glued to him like he was some sort of museum exhibit. He clutched the sweater in his lap a little tighter, curling in on himself a bit as if he was trying to hide, looking down at himself.

”Yeah I know…” He muttered, tone awkward and clipped, like he was attempting to defuse the silence before it got worse, “I know it’s bad…The serum kinda…I don’t know made me grow a little too quickly, and-.” You raised your hand to stop him.

”Woah woah…Don’t even go there Bob. I wasn’t saying wow in a bad way.” He looked up at you instantly, his eyes glistening in the lighting, the soft blue still shimmering with those little flecks of orange.

”…You weren’t?” He questioned, his lips parting a bit.

”Bob…You’re built like a fucking house.” You said bluntly, the edge in your voice softening from the next wave of nausea that sloshed in your stomach. Bob made a noise like he was suppressing a laugh, his throat closed a bit.

”That’s…A very generous interpretation, but you don’t have to lie to me…” Your expression twisted slightly, not in offense, but in something rawer than that. It was as if his words scratched at a place in you that was already tender.

”Bob, I’ve never lied to you…And I’m certainly not starting now.” Bob’s lashes fluttered like he was processing your words, like no one had ever said something so plainly true to him in a long time. You could see the way he swallowed hard, almost like he was choking back his words, “You look amazing, and I mean it.” That was when you heard it again–the faint rattling sound, you assumed he was shaking something in one of the cabinets, it didn’t really matter at this point though. He drew in a shaky breath to quiet it, his fingers tightening around the bunched-up sweater.

Then you stepped towards him, taking up the space between his knees. You were close enough to feel the warmth coming off his bare chest, to see the smallest cluster of freckles that laid just beneath his collarbone, and to feel his breath against you. Bob tilted his head up, slow and steady, his eyes finding yours immediately, seeing more orange taking over his irises.

“…You’re really not going to laugh at me?” He asked, almost like he truly couldn’t believe it. You sighed, tucking a piece of bleached hair behind his ear.

”Bob, the only thing I’m going to be doing right now is wondering how I’m supposed to function with you sitting in front of me like this…Does that make you feel any better?” Bob let out a soft, startled breath–almost like a laugh or like he didn’t know what to do with the surge of warmth that spread through his chest.

His hands, still knotted around the sweater in his lap, flexed–then unclenched. The tension there began to melt, bit by bit.

“I…” He started, then stopped. His voice caught, his tongue wetting his bottom lip like he was trying to steady himself. His eyes searching your face, shining under the light “I think that makes it so much worse, actually.”

“Worse?” Bob nodded faintly.

“Yeah…Because now I’m trying really hard not to kiss you...” His voice was barely above a whisper when he said it, and all consideration for the flu you had been battling was thrown to the curb.

The rattling came back. Louder this time. Almost a tremor that ran through his chest–not violent, not dangerous, but charged. Like there was a wire humming under his skin that was just barely holding.

And still, somehow, he smiled.

The kind of smile that only showed up when he was trying to hide how badly he wanted something.

You swallowed. Your hand was still in his hair, fingers brushing at the soft edge of his temple. You could feel his warmth, his nerves, the small, careful gravity that existed between his body and yours. You let your gaze drop to his mouth, just for a second, and then back to his eyes.

“Well,” You said, keeping your voice low and playful, in an attempt to mask your heart beating out of your chest “You’re gonna have to wait until after your hair’s done. I’m not making out with someone mid-dye job–this stuff stains.” You added innocently, a smirk drawing up on your lips. You could hear Bob’s breath catching in his throat at the sheer mention of making out.

”Right, right, of course.” He said, trying to cover up the excitement that bloomed in him.

”Now, be a give boy and stay still, so I can work my magic.” You whispered tilting his chin up even more with your gloved hand.

”Y-Yes, ma’am.” He responded breathlessly, without even thinking–so soft, and so automatic that it made your pulse spike. You cleared your throat a bit before dipping the brush into the bowl, letting the creamy dye coat the bristles, then gently you began to cover the stark blonde lengths of his hair in the dark brown colouring. The scent of it—chemical but faintly sweet—mingled with the warm air drifting down from the little ceiling fan, and you tried to keep your breathing steady as you worked. Bob’s hair was softer than you expected, silken even after all the damage. And the way he tilted his head just slightly to give you better access made your chest ache.

He closed his eyes at the first touch, his jaw going slack as you parted the strands with careful fingers, keeping your brush strokes slow and methodical. You could see his throat move as he swallowed, the faintest tremble still present in his frame–but now it was quiet, more soothed than shaken.

You worked in silence for a little while. It wasn’t awkward—just thick with the kind of tension that lingers when two people are trying not to break a moment that’s humming with too much energy. You kept your movements fluid, coating each section with care, your free hand occasionally grazing the side of his neck or the curve of his temple to steady him.

Bob let out a slow, shaky breath.

“…Can I touch you?”

The question barely made it past his lips. His eyes were still shut, but his lashes fluttered like he wasn’t sure if he should open them yet. You paused, brush hovering midair.

“Touch me?” You asked, like you were confirming what he just said. He nodded, just once.

“Not in a weird way I just–I need to…To do something with my hands.”Your lips parted, the heat returning in full force, knowing that he was probably making an excuse to put his hands on you, to feel you, to take you in, but deep down inside, you didn’t mind one bit.

“Yeah,” You said quietly. “You can touch me.”

The second you said it, you felt his hands move. Slow, careful. The sweater slipped from his lap and landed with a soft thump on the tile floor. Then his palms came to rest on the sides of your thighs, just above the hem of your compression shorts.

They were warm. Gentle. And a bit shaky.

Bob exhaled like the contact untied something in him, his fingers curling lightly around your skin as if he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to hold you like that. His thumbs swept slow arcs along the fabric, and then you saw it–his bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyes still closed like he was savoring every inch of sensation, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you beneath his palms.

You could barely focus on the hair in front of you. Your hands just kept moving, but your entire body was tuned to him–how he sighed when your knee brushed his, how he flexed his hands slightly when your knuckles grazed his cheek. How he chased what little touch he was getting from you.

“You okay down there?” You asked, voice low, and tinged with amusement. His eyes finally opened–heavy-lidded, and flushed with emotion, as his fingers stayed firm on your legs.

“Yeah,” He breathed. “Just…I think this is the most relaxed I’ve felt in weeks.” You couldn’t help but smile at the softness of his voice.

“Well, I’m glad I could contribute to that…Even though now you’re going to have to wait thirty minutes for this to set in.” He wet his bottom lip with his tongue, nibbling on the inside of it, as you placed the empty bowl and stained brush onto the counter, taking off your gloves and letting them drop in the garbage all while staying in the space between his knees. You set a timer for yourself on the speaker radio that was near the conditioner.

“…What could we possibly do to make the time go by faster?” He asked shyly, almost like he already knew the answer, but he just wanted you to initiate it, because he was too nervous to do it himself.

You weren’t going to give in that easily though.

“Oh I’m sure we could think of something.” Allowing your voice to be a bit more breathier than before. He blinked up at you, hopeful and unsure all at once, but he still didn’t say anything, he Just kept holding you like he was afraid that any sudden shift he did would scare you off.

You didn’t move much at first–just enough to lean a fraction closer. Just enough to let your shirt brush his bare chest as you planted your palms on the edge of the shelf behind him, caging him in without pressure, while also being mindful of his dye coated hair. Bob inhaled, and you felt the tremble of it, the way his breath shuddered as your faces moved closer.

You dipped in–slow, and teasing–until your lips were just above his. A hair’s breadth away from connecting.

But then you stopped.

Bob was dazed. His lips parted, breath warm in anticipation, waiting for you to do it…But you just stayed there, close enough for him to swallow the air you breathed out into him, and to smell the faint hint of cherry that was still clinging to your lips from the cough drop.

“…Y/N.” He whispered, his voice almost breaking off into a whimper. You tilted your head with a knowing smirk.

“What?” You asked quietly.

“Y-You know what…You’re driving me crazy…” He tried to lean up but you moved back just enough for him to lose the air you were giving him.

“That’s the point.” You replied, brushing the tip of his nose with yours. His fingers tightened a little on your thighs, but he didn’t move you closer, even though he could’ve. He stayed obedient. Soft. The way he was in his everyday life and you smiled down at him, leaning in again to brush your lips across his bottom one, feeling him shiver against you.

Bob let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering half-shut from the close proximity of your mouth. His palms on your thighs shifted upward, sliding under your baggy top so they could rest against the waistband of your compression shorts, his fingers brushing the skin of your hips.

“…You don’t know what you’re doing to me…God…You have no idea.” He said, his voice aching and on the verge of spilling over into begging.

”I think I have a pretty good idea,” You murmured back, trailing your lips across his again, feeling the wetness of his saliva this time before going to the shell of his ear “You’re the one shaking, Bob.” You whispered, your breath hitting against his skin.

”I’m t-trying my best to be good for you…But you’re making this so hard.” The heat between you curled together, tightening in your belly. You drew back just enough so you could look him in the eyes again. “…You can do whatever you want to me…” He whispered, “Just please…Please don’t stop touching me.” Your breath caught at his word, not just because of the desperation that laced them, but because of the truth that hung below them.

It was the kind of truth people usually only say in the dark, or when they were half-asleep or drunk, but Bob was fully sober, wide-eyed, and trembling beneath your hands as if he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. It was like you were pulling a loose thread from a shirt and it was completely unraveling the whole thing. You stared at him for a long moment.

”…The timer is going to go off in about twenty minutes,” You said softly, “And I think we’re both a little overheated, aren’t we?” Bob’s eyebrows knitted together, almost like he was preparing himself for you to stop this from going any further.

”W��What do you–“

”I think we should take a shower together when the timer goes off,” You interrupted, tilting your head to the side, “That okay with you?” There was a beat of stunned silence. Then a choked little nod, as Bob’s fingers gently pressed into your hips on reflex.

“I’ll rinse out your hair, get the dye out…Then maybe–“ Your voice dropped into a whisper, “–I’ll let you kiss me…Think you can manage to wait?” Bob let out a small broken sound–between a laugh and a groan.

”I-I can try,” He whispered, not even sounding convinced by his own voice.

The next fifteen minutes passed in a kind of suspended quiet. You didn’t step away from him entirely–just retreated enough to clean the brush, rinse out the bowl, organize the conditioner and the towel you’d need for later. But the whole time you felt his eyes on you. And every time you glanced over at him out of the corner of your eye, he was still perched on the makeshift barber chair, elbows on his knees, trying not to look like he was counting the seconds.

With five minutes left on the clock, you went over to the shower and reached in, twisting the handle on the built-in panel. The pipes groaned quietly as the water surged out, spraying onto the shower floor. Within seconds steam was curling out from behind the frosted glass enclosure. The room warmed fast, the mirror fogging slightly at the edges, the air heavy with moisture and the faint scent of developer and dye.

The heat from the shower stuck to your skin as you turned your head back to look at him–still seated, trying to play it cool like he wasn’t about to explode from the anticipation. Bob leaned back against the tank, making room for you without hesitation, his knees parting instinctively like muscle memory, like his body already knew what was coming. You crossed the tiled floor with quiet, deliberate steps, the steam from the shower weaving between you both, making the bathroom feel smaller, more intimate–like the air itself was folding in to watch.

You stepped between his knees again, standing tall in front of him, the light of the ceiling fan casting a warm haze on your skin.

Your hands found his shoulders again, fingertips skating lightly along the curve of them.

“Want to undress me?” You asked, your voice like a secret you were offering just to him. No teasing this time–just heat, thick and warm and sweet in your chest. He exhaled like you punched the breath out of him.

”Y-Yeah, o-of course I do.” He said, barely above a whisper. You took his wrists into your hands, and guided him to the hem of your shirt, giving him the signal to do it.

He took his time with it–not from hesitation but from wanting to tease you back just a little. His knuckles brushed against your stomach as he gathered the worn fabric up, pausing briefly just beneath your ribs, looking up at you just to make sure you were still okay with this. You gave him a nod.

He peeled it up off you, slow and careful, taking in the way the shirt slowly revealed everything he wanted to see in short increments. Your ribs, the soft swell of your breasts, your collarbones, your shoulders, all the way up until he was able to take the shirt off entirely. He let it drop to the floor behind you.

Bob’s gaze dropped before he could stop it, letting his eyes roam over you like he was witnessing something holy–like he wouldn’t blink in case you suddenly vanished. His mouth parted for a moment as he audibly gulped. He was silent, his expression flickering between awe and hunger, tangling up in the open and stunned way he drank you in.

He was memorizing every inch of your skin. The gentle rise and fall of your chest, the soft curves and defined edges. Every freckle, birthmark, scar, or stretch of the skin, it was all there in his head, committed like it was a sacred text. You were completely unhidden, and you trustingly offered yourself to him with nothing but openness, and it was breathtaking to him.

“Jesus…” He said quietly, like your body was rewriting something inside him. He reached up and touched the soft skin of your stomach, the tips of his fingers tracing along your navel, before his eyes met yours again, revealing the beautiful haze of blue blurring together with the specks of orange that lived there. You brought your hand up to his face, caressing his cheek carefully, running your thumb just below his eye.

“You’re so beautiful…” You whispered, feeling Bob’s fingers curling beneath the waistband of your shorts.

“And you’re immaculate…” He responded, slowly tugging your shorts down, his eyes never leaving yours as he did it. He just wanted to look at you, to take you in, to hold you close until you didn’t want to be held by him anymore. He wanted you so bad he felt like he was going to explode, and the heat in the washroom wasn’t helping him control that. The shorts dropped around your ankles with a soft flutter, and you stepped out of them slowly, brushing your hand down to his jaw.

“I’ll meet you in the shower,” Your voice was low and soft like a promise. Then you turned, and walked behind the frosted glass, sliding the door shut in one swift movement. Steam swirled around you like a second skin as you stepped fully beneath the stream of water. It hit your scalp first, then your shoulders, pouring down your body in comforting waves. The warmth soaked into your tense muscles and melted along your spine, rinsing away the leftover ache of your fever and the lingering hum of restraint you’d been nursing for the last hour.

From beyond the frosted glass, you saw movement. Bob had gotten up and walked over to the alarm, clicking it off with a single beep–because what was a minute going to do for him. Then you heard the shuffle of bare feet on tile, followed by the soft rustling of clothes dropping. You could see his shadow moving, leaning down then straightening up again, seeing him step out of his sweatpants and his underwear before reaching for the handle.

He slid the door open and stepped into the steam. You could see him squinting at the change in scenery, until his eyes caught yours. Under the dimmed lighting that the shower had you looked ethereal, like a siren calling to him to come closer. You tilted your head at him.

”Remember, we gotta wash your hair out first.” Bob nodded silently, too stunned to speak or protest, and stepped closer to you until he was right against you, letting the water cascade down his body. You reached up without hesitation, brushing your fingers along the slope of his neck as you cupped his jaw gently, feeling the very faint stubble against your fingertips.

”Close your eyes,” You murmured, and he obeyed immediately, trusting you with all of him. You reached for the bottle of shampoo, flipping the cap open with a soft click. The scent was clean, crisp–something like cedar and citrus–and you poured a generous amount into your palm before lathering it between your fingers. He hunched forward slightly to help you because of the height difference, the muscles in his back bunching as he bent, his hands braced loosely on his thighs.

Your fingers found his scalp and began to move, slow and deliberate, massaging through the dye-stiffened strands with practiced ease. His breath hitched at the first touch–soft and barely audible over the rush of water–but he relaxed into you, the tension easing from his shoulders as you worked through his hair, your nails dragging along his scalp gently, sending shivers down his spine despite the warmth of the shower that was smothering him.

He tried to peek down at you through his lashes, but flinched the moment some suds landed on his brow. You caught the twitch of frustration in his mouth and grinned faintly to yourself.

”No peeking,” You teased, your voice low and sultry, “You’ll get soap in your eyes, and that’ll just prolong the process.” You added, with a smirk.

”I-I’m not peeking,” He muttered back, clearly lying.

But while he couldn’t see you, you saw everything.

Your eyes dropped as your fingers moved through his hair, and your gaze caught on the rest of him–completely, gloriously bare under the water’s fall. And it hit you like a weight to the chest.

He was hard. Completely, achingly hard.

It curved upward from between his thighs, thick and flushed and dripping from the spray. Your breath caught in your throat involuntarily. He was…Big. The kind of big that made your pulse thrum deep in your core, the kind that made something flutter behind your ribcage. The kind of big that made you a bit nervous. His thighs were braced, strong and trembling slightly as the water poured down over both of you, and yet he stayed still–eyes closed, waiting, unaware of just how deeply you were watching him.

You swallowed, trying not to stare too long–but your fingers slowed in his hair for just a beat before you lathered more shampoo and brought it back to the roots, working it all through. You focused on your task, rinsing gently, letting the water carry away the suds and the last traces of harsh dye. As the dark rivulets streamed down and swirled at your feet, the natural color beneath began to reveal itself.

The soft brown, the colour that belonged to him, and only him. Not the Sentry.

You smoothed your hands through the damp strands with a smile on your face, and you could feel him relax further at the calmness of your touch.

”There you are,” You whispered, more to yourself than to him, “Back to you…” You could see his brows lift slightly at your words, still not opening his eyes.

”…W-What does it look like?” He asked softly.

”Like it’s all you…It’s perfect Bob…” You responded, seeing his eyes slowly flutter open, the soft blue still burning with those beautiful flecks of orange from the Sentry. When they locked on yours, something in him snapped completely, and he blinked a few times, steadying himself against you.

”…Can I kiss you now?” He whispered, breath catching in his throat.

You nodded.

And the second you did, he surged forward, his hands finding your face like he’d been aching to hold you there for days. His palms were warm and a little shaky, fingers threading gently into the damp strands of your hair as he tilted your head just right. He kissed you like it was the only thing that would quiet the trembling in his chest–deep, and full of the kind of hunger that had nowhere else to go.

His lips parted against yours with a soft sigh, molding to your mouth like he already knew every shape of it. You responded in kind, letting your hands press flat to his chest before sliding up, feeling the slick heat of his skin, the steady thump of his heart beneath your palms. One hand drifted upward to cradle the back of his neck, the other anchoring at his side.

Bob shifted, pulling you flush against him, his hands sliding down to your waist, gripping gently as he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. There was nothing hesitant about it anymore–only quiet desperation, the need to be close, the need to feel you pressed against every inch of him. His thumbs rubbed slow, anchoring circles against your ribs as he kissed you over and over, his breath catching between each one like he couldn’t quite get enough.

You felt your knees wobble when he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, and he steadied you instantly, one hand sliding down to the back of your thigh, coaxing your leg to lift so he could hold you open against him.

You gasped softly into his mouth when he did it–because now you could feel all of him. His length, hot and heavy, brushing between your thighs. But he didn’t push it. He just held you there, breathing hard through his nose as his mouth broke from yours for a second, bumping his forehead with yours.

”I-I have to touch you…Can I p-please touch you?” His words vibrated against your chest, shaky from the kiss he had just pulled away from. Immediately you nodded, drunk off of the way he held you, the way he kissed you so desperately. You were his, and you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you.

He dropped his hand from your thigh, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he guided you back, each step careful, like he was afraid to rush a single second of this. The warm tile met your spine gently, as the steam curled around your shoulders–like it was dying to be part of the moment too. Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, the anticipation tugging at you like a puppet.

Bob’s hand, still curled gently around your hip, gave it one reassuring squeeze before sliding away. The loss of his hand made you let out a desperate sigh, wanting to feel him again. He looked down at you as he brought his fingers up to his lips, his tongue darting out of his mouth to coat the tips of them slowly, not for show, but for purpose. For you. His gaze never dropped from yours as he did it, and when his hand fell again between the both of you, he didn’t hesitate.

His knee eased your thighs apart gently, and then his fingers found your clit. The first contact made your knees buckle slightly, and he caught it, pressing in with his knee to steady you, his free hand braced against the wall beside your head. His touch was gentle at first–soft circles, slow and attentive. You gasped, head tipping back, exposing your throat without thinking.

That was all the invitation Bob needed.

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the base of your neck, just where your collarbone met your shoulder. The kiss was wet and open-mouthed, like he needed to taste you and the saltiness of your skin. He breathed in like he could anchor himself in your scent. Another kiss, and another, working up the side of your neck as his fingers circled your clit with more confidence now, slick from the water and his spit, moving with practiced pressure.

”So…So soft,” He whispered into your skin, voice shaking, “So goddamn soft…” Your breath caught as his pace shifted. You could feel your body responding–arching into him, a wet heat building between your legs. You whimpered, and that sound nearly undid him. His teeth grazed your neck but didn’t bite, his lips returning to kiss it better as if he could soothe the tremble in your body.

Then his fingers dipped lower, and he felt it immediately.

You were soaked–slick, warm, and pulsing beneath his touch. His breath hitched at the sensation, at the way your body welcomed him without hesitation. And when he eased two fingers inside of you ever so slowly you gasped, arching into his hand like your body had been waiting for that very moment.

“F-fuck,” You breathed, the word slipping out as your nails found purchase in his shoulders. You clawed at him instinctively, dragging across the muscle there, needing something to anchor you while he pushed them in deeper. He didn’t flinch at the scratch–he moaned. A soft, broken sound that came from the back of his throat like he liked the way it felt, like it made him feel wanted in the most primal sense.

His forehead dropped against your shoulder, his mouth kissing along your collarbone with a tenderness that contrasted the stretch of his fingers inside you. He mouthed at the skin there–kissed it, licked it, sucked until it was sensitive and bruised. He pulled back looking at the little love bites, each one tinged with hunger. Bob wasn’t the possessive type but there was this ache in his chest to mark you as his, and even if the water washed it away, he wanted to be sure he left something on your skin.

“Y-You feel so warm…” He said, his voice fraying at the edges. His fingers curled gently inside you, causing your knees to buckle again. Your body shuddered as the pads of his fingers dragged against that spot inside of you that made your entire frame light up. Bob’s hand moved to your hip, keeping you steady as his other hand worked in smooth, slow thrusts, each one more confident than the last. He found a rhythm, watching you, studying every moan and gasp like it was gospel.

And when you whimpered his name, when your body clenched around him so tight he had to grit his teeth, he gave a quiet, shaky laugh–utterly wrecked by how responsive you were.

“You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?” he asked, lips brushing your ear, breath heavy and hot. “I can feel it…God, I can feel you squeezing me…”

You nodded, unable to form a word, your nails biting into his shoulders again as your hips rocked against his hand.

Bob adjusted his angle, changing the pressure, and that’s when you saw stars.

Your head dropped forward, forehead against his collarbone, the air thick with steam and the sharp scent of him—clean, masculine, tinged with desperation. His fingers moved faster, wetter, the slick sounds between your legs obscene and perfect, echoing between the tiles. He was muttering praise now—soft, reverent things that fell from his lips like prayers.

“Just like that, baby—so good for me… You’re doing so good—feels like heaven—fuck, I want to see you fall apart…”

You felt it hit like a wave rolling up your spine.

A tight, burning coil of pleasure twisted inside you and then snapped. You gasped—loud, broken, as the climax ripped through you. You trembled, back arching hard into him as your thighs clenched and a rush of wetness gushed out around his fingers.

Bob stilled for a second in awe.

“…Oh my God,” He breathed, stunned, his eyes wide as he held you through it. You collapsed into him, breath heaving, skin flushed and shining under the steam. He kept his fingers buried inside you, not moving, just holding you close, letting you ride it out as you trembled against his chest.

He looked down between you both, seeing the slick mess on his hand, the way your body had responded so violently to him–and his mouth dropped open slightly. Not because of shock, but because of wonder and awe.

”You…You did so good.” He praised, his voice barely holding together under the weight of what he just experienced with you. His lips brushed your temple first, then your cheek, before finally reaching your mouth.

The kiss wasn’t hungry nor urgent, it was adoration in its purest form. His lips moved like they were tasting something he’d only ever imagined–careful and soft, like he was trying not to overwhelm you. He trembled against you, being crushed from everything unspoken between you. His hand was still between your thighs, cradling you like something precious, and you could feel how hard he was, pressed just barely against you, restrained only by the shivering line of self-control that hadn’t yet broken.

When he finally, carefully, slipped his fingers out of you, you let out the tiniest gasp from the absence–but before he could fully draw away, you grabbed his wrist.

He was still in his movements.

Your eyes met his, holding steady as you lifted his hand–and then you took his soaked fingers into your mouth.

Bob made a sound that almost didn’t make it out of him–a soft, wrecked sigh that died at the back of his throat. His lips parted slightly, eyes darkening as he watched you suck him clean, your mouth warm and wet, tongue dragging along the pads of his fingers slowly, like you were claiming every last drop of yourself from his skin.

He could barely breathe.

You kept eye contact the whole time. It wasn’t a power play–it was intimacy. Connection. And it unraveled him.

Once you were done, you let his fingers slip from your mouth with a soft pop, and he dragged them–slow and reverent–down your chin. Then your throat. The hollow of your chest. His fingertips were wet with saliva, and he trailed it down like he was painting you–smearing it across your sternum, over your ribs, and finally down to your hips.

“Y/N…You’re so…So perfect,” He whispered, in disbelief, shaking his head as his hands ran down your waist, going straight to your thighs, before lifting you effortlessly. You let out a soft breath as your legs bracketed around his hips instinctively, your arms wrapping around his shoulders for balance.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the middle of your chest, and his voice came out barely above the noise of the shower

”Do you want to…Still have sex with me?” You looked down at him, caressing the side of his neck.

”Of course I do,” You responded instantly.

Your lips found his right after–soft and sure. You kissed him with everything you had, as if answering his question with your entire body. His breath caught, his hands clutching at your thighs with a startled need, grounding himself in the reality that you weren’t going to vanish, that you really did want this–want him.

As the kiss deepened, you felt one of his hands slowly slide down your thigh, tickling the skin, but this time there was a purpose in his touch. He shifted beneath you slightly, and then you felt it–the soft brush of his tip against you. Hot. Heavy. And trembling in his grasp.

You broke the kiss for just a breath, resting your forehead against his, your eyes fluttering shut as he lined himself up. His hand shook slightly, like he couldn’t believe this was happening. Like he was terrified of getting it wrong. But he didn’t rush. And neither did you.

“I want you,” You said, your breath warm against his mouth. “All of you.” Bob let out a wrecked whimper from his mouth, before kissing you once more.

Then slowly he began to push in, moving his hips gently.

Your mouth parted in a silent gasp, your eyes flying open as your body stretched to take him. It was so much–thick and deep and slow. He paused when he was just a couple inches in, his forehead still pressed to yours, panting.

“Is that okay?” He asked, voice cracking. “I—I can stop if it’s too much…”

You shook your head immediately, curling your fingers into his shoulders, drawing him closer.

“No. Please don’t stop.”

Bob exhaled a breath that shook all the way down to his spine, then kissed you again–slow, sweet–before sinking deeper inside.

You both moaned at the same time, and your tongues met in between the space your mouths made.

It was like he was imprinting himself into every inch of you. His hands gripped your hips with the kind of gentleness that made your chest ache, guiding your body until he was fully seated inside you, hips pressed flush against yours.

“Oh…God.” He whispered, eyes squeezed shut, trembling as he held still. “You’re so…So perfect… I can’t–God–”

You kissed his jaw, whispering against the sensitive skin just beneath his ear. “You’re okay, Bob. You’re doing so good…”

He began to move–shallow at first, rocking his hips into you in slow, reverent strokes. Each one pulled a quiet gasp from your lips. The water cascaded around you both, steam curling at your shoulders as you clung to him, your body humming in time with his.

He found a slow and steady rhythm, thrusting as deep as possible with each movement of his hips.

He kissed you everywhere he could reach–your cheek, your mouth, your jaw, the slope of your shoulder and his praise was neverending. Whispered fragments between kisses and gasps.

“You’re so beautiful…”

“You feel so good around me…”

“I want to make you feel everything…”

Your hands were tangled in his hair, your body arching to meet every thrust, until your forehead was pressed to his again and your breaths mingled in the tight space between you. Each slow movement of his hips sent sparks crawling up your spine and you rocked against him, chasing every moment, trying to keep it from ending too soon.

Bob looked completely undone in front of you though. His mouth open, cheeks flushed, hands gripping your waist like you were his lifeline.

Then his thrusts started to falter.

You felt it in the way he gasped–sharp and helpless–the way his hold on you tightened and his voice pitched higher.

“I—Y/N, I—oh God, I’m—”

You kissed him, hard, your voice hot against his mouth. “It’s okay. Let go. I’ve got you.”

He came with a broken gasp.

The lights flickered.

Just once–flicker, flicker, black–and then back on again. The overhead bulb buzzed faintly, a hum that matched the pulse of his release as his hips jerked forward, holding deep inside you while his whole body tensed. You could feel the warmth filling you in thick ropes, his body instinctively pushing up into you as if he was trying to keep it from spilling out.

And then he went still.

Completely, and utterly still.

He stayed buried in you, face tucked into the crook of your neck, breath hot and ragged as the water pounded softly over your bodies. You felt the way he trembled, felt the heat of his skin and the wild thud of his heart against yours.

He didn’t move for a long time, he just stayed there, clutching you like you were the one thing that was bringing him down slowly.

And then you felt it–the slow exhale against your neck, the soft tremor that followed. His voice came out low, cracked with embarrassment.

“I-I’m sorry,” he whispered, still breathless. “That was so fast. I didn’t mean to-God, I just couldn’t hold it…”

You pulled back, just enough to see his face, his brows drawn together with worry, his mouth still parted from the weight of what just passed between you. And yet, even flushed and wrecked, he looked beautiful. Lit up from the inside out, like he still couldn’t believe any of this was real.

You shook your head gently and brought your hand up to brush a damp lock of hair off his forehead, tucking it behind his ear with the same tenderness he gave you. “You didn’t finish too fast, Bob.”

He blinked, lips parting like he didn’t believe you.

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then whispered against his skin, “You were perfect. I loved every second of it…Because it was with you.” His features softened at your word, that shy smile blooming across his lips, one you felt in your ribs. You saw the glow of it before you felt his body move. He kissed you again, this time gentler, slower–like he wanted to say thank you with his whole mouth.

Then, carefully, he pulled out of you. You both shivered a bit at the sensitivity, and you caught the way his brows knit together, like he didn’t want to stop touching you. But your body welcomed the shift, and your legs dropped from his hips as the moment passed, leaving behind only warmth and steam.

He reached for you instinctively, his hands skimming your waist like he was still trying to keep you close, like he couldn’t quite accept that you were separate again. You smiled at him, brushing your fingers along his jaw, watching the way he leaned into the contact, like it was his oxygen.

”You really like touching me, huh?” You teased lightly, watching his cheeks turn a deeper red, the corners of his mouth curling up shyly.

”…Yeah…I really do.” He admitted. You let out a soft laugh, then looked toward the water still streaming from the showerhead behind him.

“As much as I’d love to stay in here and get all wrinkly,” You said, thumb brushing the hollow of his cheek, “If we don’t rinse off soon, the compound’s water bill is gonna bankrupt Valentina.” Bob let out a breathy laugh, head dropping against your shoulder for a second.

“I guess you’re right, but once we get cleaned up…I want to just lay on the couch with you and hold you for a little while…If that’s okay?” You nodded.

”Of course it’s okay.” You replied, guiding him under the steady stream of water. You each took turns, helping the other wash up. He was gentle when he touched your body as if you hadn’t just taken him completely inside you minutes ago, and he ran his hands over the marks he had made on you, smiling proudly at his work. You matched his care, running soapy fingers down his spine, over his shoulders, through the strands of his newly darkened hair, rinsing the last of the evidence down the drain.

And when the water finally cooled, you stepped out first, digging around the towel closet for a spare. Bob followed right after, grabbing the one that he usually used, with steam rolling off his shoulders, making the air thick and warm as he wrapped the towel around his waist, pausing by the foggy mirror, wiping it off with his hand.

You watched from the side, pulling your towel around you gently, as he lifted his gaze slowly–like he wasn’t sure what would be staring back at him. When he caught his own reflection, something shifted in his expression.

A smile. One of relief. Like a weight had been lifted off his chest.

You stepped behind him, and gently kissed his shoulder, looking at the small little scratch marks you had left on him.

He turned toward you slightly, reached out, and pressed a soft, grateful kiss to your lips–barely more than a breath, but brimming with emotion.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

You smiled into him, nose brushing his. “Don’t thank me yet,” You whispered. “I hope you don’t get the flu from all of this.”

He laughed, his eyes shining as he bumped his forehead against yours.

“If I do,” He said, “It’ll be worth every damn minute.”

And then he kissed you again.

10K notes · View notes

lokissweater · 9 months ago

Text

miss pretty

{single dad!katsuki bakugo x kindergarten teacher f!reader}

summary: katsuki bakugo has never liked mess and always made sure his son and his life reflected just that. with years worth of a sparkling clean and organized home, toys put away and not once scattered about, and a barking knack over any calls of disorder in his life— meeting you, his sons sweet and sugary kindergarten teacher who was the definition of pure and who was for some reason turning his fiery heart into complete goo— was altering his boring strict cycles of no messes around… and for the better.

warnings: cursing, FLUFFF GALORE MY GAWD??, no smut but a lil steamy something, slight angst, afab!reader, katsuki thinks you are an ANGEL, sunshine x grumpy trope, mentions of abandonment, WHOLESOME AFFF, use of y/n, all characters are aged up.

word count: 11.4k

authors note: THIS MAKES ME WANT TO BE A MOTHERRRRR omg this one is sickeningly sweet and i’ve gotten a few requests to do sunshine x grumpy with sir katsuki and i WAS ALLL OVERRR ITTT i hope i fulfilled!!! <333 THANK YOU THANK YOU AS ALWAYS FOR ALL OF YOU BEING SOOO SWEETT TO MEEE I LOVE YOUUUU MWAAAHHH :] <33333

katsuki bakugo hated messes.

“oi!” he grunted, his son’s little head turning to look at him as he munched on his gummy fruit snacks from the backseat. “you better not leave that wrapper in here. take it outside with you when i drop you off.”

“kaaayyy!” his son dragged out happily, completely unphased by his dads snappy personality as he contemplated on which color fruit gummy to eat next.

“and wash your hands too. ask your teacher.”

“mhm!” he chirped.

“and don’t be a brat. pay attention.”

“yup yup!”

and for the most part, his life reflected that almost entirely— raising his son to always clean up after himself and not make bombastic huge messes around the house, begrudgingly understanding that he’s a small growing human, that a little spill of apple juice or two is basically guaranteed… but he just hated mess, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t raise his son right to be a clean and organized man even at five years old— katsuki keeping everything in his life practically spotless.

that was of course, until he met you.

katsuki shoved through the other parents in line as he went up to the front desk in the main office with a grip on his sons little hand, not giving a damn about the glares and huffs of bewilderment he got as there was no way in hell he was gonna wait like an idiot with the rest of them.

the lady at the front desk raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“can i help—”

“where the fuck is room twenty four.”

her eyes bulged open as the rest of the parents in line softly gasped and murmured.

“e—excuse me?—”

he rolled his eyes.

“room twenty four.” he pushed. “where is it?”

“sir— if you need me to help you i’d like you to wait in line until—”

“hah?! absolutely not.” he spat. “if i wait in that fucking line my son’s gonna be late why can’t you just tell me—”

“uh sir if you could—”

katsuki’s son giggled as he continued to spout profanities at the poor front desk lady.

“—sir please no foul language there are children around—”

“i don’t give a shit! just tell me where room twenty four is what the hell is so hard about that?!—”

“oh! that’s my class!”

katsuki snapped his head over, fiery red eyes shooting towards the voice until they landed on yours.

“is he one of my kids?” you smiled sweetly, eyes coming down to look at his son.

“oh—” he let his shoulders relax just a tad as he watched you fix the strap of his sons backpack on his shoulder. “i mean— if your class is twenty four—“

“it is!” you beamed, nudging your head. “i’ll show you where!”

“hiii miiiissss!” his son greeted, happy and silly as he followed you down the hall.

“hi honey!” you gushed, just as excited as he was as you patted over his blonde scruffy hair. “what’s your name?”

“milo!”

“nice to meet you milo! are you excited for your first day?”

“yeaaahh!” he cheered, smile bright as he grabbed your hand.

katsuki’s eyes widened.

“milo!” he snapped lowly. “what’d i tell ya? you can’t grab her hand like that you have to ask—”

“oh it’s alright!” you dismissed, smiling. “i don’t mind it at all! the other kids do it too.”

milo snickered and stuck his little tongue out at his dad, and katsuki rolled his eyes.

“is he yours?” you asked kindly, tilting your head.

“who else would he be…” he grumbled.

“i guess you’re right!” you giggled. “he looks just like you.”

katsuki’s eyes flickered to yours before dropping back down, a permanent furrow in his brows as you all rounded the corner.

“here we are—”

“ooo! ooo!” milo hopped up and down. “miss you have race cars?! dad can i please go?!”

he looked over, a mountain of toys scattered about in the classrooms play area, little kids already making a damn mess and the school day hadn’t even officially started yet.

“the hell you asking me for? ask your tea—”

“miss miss can i please go play with the race cars?!—”

“of course my love! go! go have fun.” you smiled, gently ushering him on before milo zoomed over to the play area and crouched down with the rest of the kids.

“oi!” katsuki barked. “put them away when you’re done!”

he huffed under his breath as he watched his son give him a thumbs up and fucking dump the entire bucket of race cars down on the ‘abc’ play rug, taking one in each hand and dragging them across floor.

“he’s so cuteee.” you grinned. “i’m glad he’s not afraid being it’s his first day.”

“oh fuck no.” he mumbled. “milo doesn’t care. the little runt doesn’t have a filter and does whatever the hell he wants without askin’ sometimes.”

he leaned against the doorsill as he watched milo converse with another kid and share a car, satisfaction in his chest that his son was sharing and being nice.

“but i guess he gets that from me.” he finished off.

you nodded. “but that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

he pursed his lips.

“in my experience, not really.”

you hummed.

“i think it’s definitely a good thing… i’d rather be assertive of things and not be afraid of what the consequences will be.”

katsuki looked at you, properly this time.

“what’s a kindergarten teacher afraid of?”

you shrugged, a slow playful grin spreading across your face.

“parents.”

he snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and you quickly had to look away, a pink buzz to your cheeks at the way his big built arms flexed.

inappropriate inappropriate inappropriate—

“i don’t know how you do it..” he spoke lowly.

“do what?”

“take care of little shits all day.”

you laughed loudly, reeling over a bit as he watched you out of the corner of his eye.

“i don’t take care of them! i teach them.” you quipped cutely. “they’re small, but this is when their brains drink up the most knowledge… and i love to see the progress from the beginning of the year compared to the end! i love it all really.”

pure.

katsuki curtly nodded, your sweet positive ambiance throwing him completely off, as he doesn’t think he’s ever met or surrounded himself around someone who’s directly emmitted the feeling of sunshine and rainbows and candy as much as you did.

and his cheeks flared up for some reason.

“oh!” you looked to the time on your little wrist watch and walked inside your classroom. “it’s almost time to start! i have to wrangle them all in their seats heh!”

katsuki swallowed and nodded.

“milo!”

he turned and upon seeing his dad wave him over, milo dropped his toys and bounded to him.

“don’t give her a hard time alright?” he spoke sternly, nudging his head over at you for emphasis. “listen. listen and learn and be the best one in there.”

“kaaayyy!”

“and you let me know if any of the other kids mess with you or you deal with it yourself. you already know how—”

“beat the crap out of them!” he cheered loudly and katsuki’s hand flew to clasp over his sons mouth before his frantic eyes looked at you.

the last thing he needed was someone to call up fucking child protective services on him.

“he’s joking! he’s joking… fuck.”

you giggled hard and clutched your stomach, your pretty smile sending katsuki for a loop.

“no you’re absolutely right!” you waved your hands in front of your face, reassuring. “treat others the way you want to be treated, so if someone’s being mean to you, bite back milo, okay? and also let me know first though!”

katsuki gave you a wobbly tiny smile amidst his branded serious face, looking at his son then and ruffling up his hair.

“okay, go.” milo ran off. “and don’t let me pick you up with dirt all over your clothes ya hear me?!”

“byeee daaaddd!”

you could tell that behind his harsh exterior— the slight purse of his lips, stiff frame and bouncing leg gave away that he was only worried about his kid and his first day of school, a sight you’ve seen time and time again since you started working as a kindergarten teacher, and one that never failed to warm your heart.

“don’t worry!” you sweetly smiled, and katsuki switched his gaze over to yours. “i’ll watch him especially… okay? to ease the nerves.”

he softly snorted, attempting to play it off but internally relieved as he pushed himself off the doorsill and nodded, thankful that the teacher milo got was as kind as you.

“um…” he mumbled. “katsuki.”

you tilted your head. “katsuki?”

“it’s my name idiot.”

“oh!” you giggled, a blush rising in your cheeks again as you tried to simmer it down. “nice to meet you katsuki! i’ll see you after school then with milo?”

he stiffly nodded, the way his name sounded so sugary off your tongue something he’d never heard before in his life or was used to at all.

“…ya gonna tell me yours or what?”

“sorry!” you sputtered, laughing nervously. “sorry it just— flew! you know—”

you stuck your hand out and offered it to him.

“y/n!”

katsuki untangled his arms and firmly shook it, grip strong and one that nearly made you stumble forward as you caught yourself and smiled.

“i’ll see you katsuki!”

out of all of the kids you’ve taught, milo was by far the cutest one.

the little man was like your personal assistant— a little bee buzzing around as he followed you everywhere in the classroom and helped you clean up after the rest of the kids that didn’t, ‘yelling’ at some of them to and cutely scolding them whenever he’d catch them leave some things behind, and was always on watch for you like a security guard with his little balled up fists on his hips, surveilling the classroom for any misbehaving kids or messes that you’d missed throughout the day.

all traits you no doubt knew he got from katsuki, even if you had just met him. it was pleasantly obvious.

“thanks for helping me out today, milo!” you gushed, pushing another students chair in as they all sat down and chattered for lunch. “you made my job a lot easier!”

“really?!” he squealed, big glimmering eyes beaming up at you before he happily chowed down on some apple slices.

and you noticed then milo’s lunch was insane, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut up and molded neatly into the shape of panda bears, his watermelon and apple slices shaped like stars with carrots and celery lined up with a little wedge of lemon if he wished, tiny rice balls on the side for a little snack you figured in case what he had didn’t fill him up— all so considerate and careful…

“wow!” you exclaimed, kneeling down next to him. “your lunch looks so yummy my love! did your mommy make this?”

“nuh uh!” he shook his head, cheeks filled with watermelon. “my dad did!”

you faltered.

“katsuki made this?”

“who’s katsuki miss?” he asked curiously, sipping on his little juice box after swallowing the fruit in his mouth.

you giggled. “nothing! nothing. enjoy your lunch okay?”

you went to stand, but milo’s hand shot out and caught your wrist.

“can you— can you eat lunch with me?” he mumbled shyly, fiddling with some carrot pieces in his hands. “please.. i always eat with my dad but he’s not here…”

your eyes softened and you quickly nodded.

“of course! let me just go grab my lunch and ill bring it over! sounds good?”

“yaaaayyyy!” he cheered happily, arms up as you scooched a tiny chair over from a nearby table and sat with him, laughing at his cute expression.

you knew you shouldn’t use a little kid to pry… but you were guiltily curious as to know if katsuki was married or not for reasons that made you ridiculously flustered and red in the face over.

and you wanted to be respectful in case he was… since the ogling you did at his muscles this morning through his black ribbed tank was the most embarrassing moment of your career and one you hadn’t seen coming at all, it catching you off guard and feeling horrible if katsuki indeed had a wife.

but he didn’t have a ring on his finger…

“milo?” you spoke up softly.

he smiled big. “yes miss!”

“does your mommy make you lunch as well or just your dad?”

he shook his head. “just my dad! i don’t have a mom.”

your shoulders deflated.

he didn’t have a mom… at all?

you slowly reached over then and patted his blonde hair, smiling warmly as his cheeks went pink. “that’s alright! i’m sure your dad makes you lunches like this every time huh?”

“yeah!” he gasped excitedly. “yesterday he made pizzas and cut them into dinosaurs! it was so cool! and then!— and then this morning for breakfast i had waffles that looked like dynamite blasts!”

“oh my goodness!” you giggled, your heart absolutely thumping over the fact that katsuki was so dedicated to his son like that. “man, i wish my lunches were as cute as yours!”

his little eyes snapped to yours.

“i’ll tell him!”

your brows furrowed confusedly. “wha—”

“to make you lunch! i’ll tell my dad to make you lunch!”

your eyes widened and you frantically shook your head, cheeks blazing as you laughed. “oh no my love! that’s totally okay don’t worry about me silly—”

“i’ll tell him i’ll tell him i’ll tell him!—”

“milo it’s okay! i’m a big girl.” you grinned. “i’m supposed to make my own lunches.”

milo grumbled and plopped a carrot in his mouth, begrudgingly chewing as he sat there in thought.

“…will you at least let me share some of mine?”

you pouted at his generosity, wondering how a kid could be so sweet as you nodded and held your hand up.

“of course sweetie! whatever you wa—”

milo plopped all of his peanut butter sandwiches in your palm and grinned, earning a gasp from you.

“milo this is too much i can’t—”

“eat it! eat it! eait it!—”

by the end of the day, you managed to get milo to take back his sandwiches in exchange for one singular watermelon star piece, him still doing his regular duties of being your little assistant and helping you clean up after everyone before the final bell rang signaling the end of class, you carefully making sure each kiddo got their designated backpack (as there was often a mix up) and art pieces they made for their parents to take home— a permission slip for the end of the year field trip tucked away inside their bags.

and the minute you stepped outside with the rest of the kids, you were surprised to see that katsuki was one of the first parents there as he stood directly across from your classroom with crossed arms, an angry usual scowl on his face that made you laugh to yourself as you led your kids to sit down on a bench in a single file line until their parents physically came to get them or their vehicles pulled up.

“milo!” you tapped his shoulder gently. “your daddy’s over there!”

“DAAADDD!!”

milo jumped up and ran across the grass, his tiny arms out as katsuki smiled softly and crouched down to pick his son up and settle him on his lower abdomen, you wringing your fingers behind your back and walking up to them.

“were you a brat?” he grunted.

“nope!”

“did any kids mess with you?”

“nope!”

“did you leave a mess?”

“nope!”

you giggled, and katsuki’s eyes snapped in your direction.

“how was he?”

“he did so good!” you gushed, patting milo’s back as he grinned. “was my little helper and everything! didn’t leave a single mess behind and helped me clean up after everyone else… he even made sure everyone was paying attention and not misbehaving.”

“yeah! yeah! see dad?” milo poked his dads cheek. “i didn’t lie!”

“never said you lied you little runt.” he scowled. “…but good job.”

“thanks!”

katsuki set him down after milo started kicking his legs and saying something about the swings, him instantly running towards the playground and to the slide.

“did he actually do all of that?” he spoke up.

“oh yes!” you quickly nodded. “i’ve never had a kid do that before so it was really nice of him to!”

you detached your fingers from around your back and fiddled with them.

“you teach him well katsuki.”

he scoffed and turned his head, cheeks pink as he tried to regain his composure.

“damn right i do.”

you giggled then, the memory of milo telling you he didn’t have a mother suddenly popping into your mind as you watched him happily slide down the blue slide head first.

“hey i don’t mean to um..” you timidly began. “i don’t mean to pry but—”

katsuki raised a brow at you and you snapped your mouth shut.

“nothing! nothing nevermind—”

“spit it out.”

“no it’s alright! sorry i—”

he glared and you cowered, smiling bashfully as you bit your bottom lip.

“milo… milo mentioned that he didn’t have a mommy? i was just— wondering if that was true…”

“tch—” he shook his head. “that’s what you were afraid of askin’ me?”

“i told you i’m scared of parents…” you slumped cutely, and he chuckled.

“it’s just me and him.” he answered. “his mom’s never been a part of our lives.”

your heart sunk a little, eyes sad as your gaze shifted to milo playing and racing around with another kid.

“don’t do that.”

you jumped and looked at katsuki.

“do— do what—”

“look all sad and shit.”

he hesitantly reached over and planted an index finger to the crease between your brows, the feeling rough as he tried to gently drag it down and smooth over the lines.

“it’s fine.” he grumbled, letting his arm fall to his side. “it doesn’t bother him. at least i don’t think it does.”

“no!” you spoke quickly, a crazed blush on your cheeks. “it doesn’t! and milo speaks so highly of you… especially the lunches you make him.”

his brows furrowed. “his lunch?”

“yeah!” you nodded excitedly. “you prepare it so so well! how do you get his sandwiches to look like little bears? and his fruit?! every time i try to cut mine into stars they always break in half…”

he huffed out a laugh, finding your little whine funny as he reached over and ruffled up your hair, you smiling cheekily in response.

“do you use molds?” you asked politely. “to shape out the bear?”

“fuck no.” he scoffed. “i do it myself.”

your eyes flew open.

“what?! so that’s really just you? and the dinosaurs too? the pizza dinosaurs? and the waffles? the ones that looked like dynamite blasts—”

“jesus christ how much did that kid tell you?”

your face grew hot as you smacked a hand over your mouth.

“sorry!” you giggled. “i just was thinking— that his lunch was really cute and thoughtful…” you took your hand away from your face. “i’m really glad that you do little things like that for milo to make him happy.”

katsuki stared at you, your swarm of compliments and sweetness and sunshine and butterflies almost suffocating as you looked at him with those pretty doe eyes, his throat oddly closing up the longer he stared right back and allowed you to pull him into your world of wonder and abc blocks and puzzles.

but it wasn’t suffocating in a bad way, not at all.

and… maybe he did want you to pull him in.

“dad dad dad!”

milo ran over, sweaty and red faced as he reached the two of you.

“there’s a dead lizard in the slide!”

“a dead lizard?” you laughed, surprised as you reached for his little water bottle from his backpack on the ground and uncapped the lid, handing it over and ushering him to drink.

katsuki didn’t know why the domestic sight of you doing that made him melt a bit.

a bit.

“yeah miss! it was big and gross.” he breathed out after gulping some of his icy cold water. “but i buried him!”

his dads red eyes snapped down to his and narrowed.

“don’t tell me you touched that thing milo.”

“i did!” he giggled.

“oh my fucking god—” katsuki snatched his hand and started pulling him to the car as milo giggled and stuck his tongue out.

“it’s a prank! some other girl in my class did… but i helped with the dirt!”

you chuckled softly as you watched katsuki stop and roll his eyes, coming back over to you with a hyper milo.

“say bye to your teacher ya little runt. and you’re still taking a shower when you get home!”

“but i don’t wanna take a showeerrr!” milo whined, letting go of his dads hand and running to you, you crouching and extending your arms big with a pretty smile.

“bye my love!” you hugged him tight as he giggled. “i’ll see you tomorrow okay? and give your daddy a break. no more digging up dirt and playing with dead lizards.”

“kaayyyy!”

you both let go and he stepped back, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before bouncing back to his dad.

katsuki choked on his spit.

“oi!” he barked. “you can’t just kiss her cheek milo the hell is going on with you?!—”

“it’s okay don’t worry!” you smiled kindly. “he’s just being sweet is all! i don’t mind.”

“you sure?” he pushed, milo snickering. “i—”

you waved him off and wrung your fingers behind your back, leaning forward.

“i’ll see you tomorrow morning kats!”

and he froze, nodding hard as he quickly took milo’s hand and backpack before walking to the car, his heart completely aflame in his chest and cheeks red as he led his babbling son further into the parking lot and inside the car, buckling him up in his car seat before hopping in himself and starting the engine, unbelieving that he had barely just met you and he was already thinking and acting like a fucking dumbass.

“and then we learned the days of the week! oh!— and we learned numbers! i can count to fifteen dad!”

“that’s good milo.” he responded, pulling out of the schools parking lot and craning his neck to see if he could catch a final glimpse of you and settling once he did, you so pretty and conversing so nicely with another kid until he was out of the lot.

“did you eat all of your lunch? y/n tells me ya shared with her.”

“i did! i did share with her.” he grinned. “she liked my lunch!”

“good.” katsuki gave him a thumbs up through the rear view mirror. “that’s good that you always share. especially with her.”

“yup yup! she’s preeettyyy.”

he rolled his eyes, but a small smile grew at the corner of his lips as he nodded curtly.

“that she is.”

katsuki continued to drop off his son personally at your classroom every morning before school.

even when it had been a couple of months into the year, at this point many students already used to their route to and out of class and their parents just dropping them off and leaving— them not even allowed on campus as security rounded every corner and told any parents who wished to go in that they weren’t supposed to, as per policy.

but not katsuki.

katsuki didn’t give a fuck as he stormed through the main office and ignored the calls of the front desk lady, her already used to the rude asshole who came through the building every morning as he strode by and down the hall to class twenty four… wanting to see you— his son’s pretty kindergarten teacher that was sweet and joyful and someone who was everything he wasn’t, his mind curious and filled with your giggles and smiles throughout the time that he’d gotten to know you and chat with you in the mornings and the afternoons, loving the way you were with milo and treated him like he was literally your own— always watching over him and making sure he had had enough to eat and drink and that his hands were washed when he wasn’t around.

and even katsuki himself— you bringing him candy bags from their classroom parties or donuts that were passed to faculty in the mornings and saving yours for him, treats he always took and ate with no questions asked even though he wasn’t a fan of sugary shit and junk food, always making the exception for you.

he had never experienced honest help like that… he’d never experienced someone caring enough about him and his son like the way you did so perfectly every single day…

and katsuki feared that he was a little obsessed.

“oh! miss y/n!”

“yes honey?” you responded kindly, opening a juice pouch for another student and handing it to them carefully during lunch.

milo dug into his lunch pail and pulled out a small container, sticking his hand up and offering it to you.

your brows furrowed, taking it from him.

“what’s this milo?”

“it’s from my dad!”

you stopped, heart dropping to your ass as you recounted his words.

from katsuki?

“your— your dad?”

“mhm!”

you shakily popped the lid of the container open, eyes widening and filling with hearts once you saw a mix of star shaped strawberries and watermelon and papayas, drizzled over with sparkling strings of honey and singular little blueberries scattered about.

“for me?” you asked softly, crouching down next to milo. “my love— are you sure this isn’t for you? i think your dad cut these up for you—”

“nope! for you!” he gave you a big toothy smile before stuffing his mouth with crackers. “he told me not to eat it and to give it to you.”

he swallowed and reached up, you tilting down your head so he could pat it just like you always did for him.

“i hope you like it miss! they look like the ones you told me looked cute!”

“i— i love them milo.. thank you!”

you picked up a papaya piece and ate it, entirely dazed and love struck as your tastebuds savored over the sweet velvety thick honey, literally blinking back tears at how thoughtful and kind katsuki was.

he didn’t have to do this at all… yet he took the time anyways out of his morning to do this for you.

and your heart nearly fucking gave out.

after school once you got your rowdy kids to sit neatly on the bench and wait for their parents, you extended a hand for milo and he hopped off the bench and took it, you both walking up to a waiting katsuki as he stood there with a soft smile on his face.

“hi kats!”

“hey.” he picked his son up and settled him over his abdomen, milo’s arms clinging around his neck and chin propped up on his dads shoulder as he was exhausted from a days worth of playing and learning.

“i wanted to um—” you peered up at him. “i um—”

his brows furrowed, and just as he was about to bark about you stumbling over your words, he stopped.

your bottom lip was trembling.

you hurriedly wiped your eyes.

“i wanted to thank you—” hic! “f—for the star shaped fruit this morning—”

“why are you crying dumbass?” he mumbled, reaching over and wiping some tears with his rough fingers.

“because it was so nice!” you sobbed, shoulders shaking as you let him wipe your cheeks. “and— and you put honey over it too! you didn’t have to do any of that for me!”

“tch—”

he flicked your forehead softly, not enough to hurt you but enough to get you to snap out of your hiccups as you sniffled.

“it’s just fruit y/n—”

“but it’s not.” you wiped your eyes again. “not to me anyways…”

katsuki slowly lowered his arm, gaze tracing over your pretty face and perfect hair and the way you cried over something so stupid, his brain unable to process the fact that an act as simple as cutting fruit up for you could make you this happy, and it made him want to see what you saw for once— how you saw the world for exactly what it was and appreciated it regardless of how big or small things were, not snippy or angry or spiteful over everyone and thinking everything was out to get him and his son.

“crybaby…” he grumbled. “i’m glad you liked it though.”

“i did kats.. a lot. thank you.” you wiped the last of your tears and smiled. “i’m sorry i cried.”

what a pretty sweet girl…

he shook his head and hoisted milo up, him completely knocked out with drool coming out of his mouth as katsuki felt it run down his shoulder, barely even noticing that though as his entire focus was trained purely on you.

was it okay if he… asked you out? would it be weird? would you tell him to fuck off?

katsuki internally rolled his eyes at his stupid fucking high school boy thoughts, though it didn’t alleviate the gnawing feeling that if you did tell him to fuck off… that he’d be angrily mortified at his fail and probably lose the right to talk to you since it’d be too awkward to.

but you were just so fucking sweet. all of the time.

“listen uh—” he cleared his throat, face growing hot. “i was wondering if ya wanted to eat dinner with me… sometime.”

you stared, eyes big and shocked and katsuki took it defensively and entirely the wrong way.

“forget it.” he snapped. “forget it i didn’t say shit—”

“no! no no—” you quickly shook your head. “no it’s okay i would!”

he stopped.

“you would?”

“of course!” you expressed sweetly, cheeks hurting from how big you were smiling as you tried to simmer down your giddy squeals. “i’d love to have dinner with you…”

his tense shoulders slowly relaxed, an eventual small smile growing on his face.

“a—alright uh…” he sighed. “i’d prefer to take ya somewhere nice but i don’t really have anyone to watch milo—”

you shook your head again, brows pinched. “oh no kats— we don’t have to go anywhere at all! we can order something in at your place and eat with milo? or— or my place?”

“my place.” he replied. “and i’ll cook.”

he cooks?!

“okay!” you giggled, your hand reaching up and patting over milo’s sleepy head gently. “sounds good!”

katsuki and you agreed on the details of the date after and bid each other bashful goodbyes, swooning as you watched him walk away into the parking lot with a sleeping milo in his arms and feeling like none of this was fucking real, for you couldn’t believe someone as handsome and cool as katsuki would ever be interested in someone like you.

and funnily enough, he felt the complete opposite, stressed and extra snappy as he cleaned the house from top to bottom (though it barely needed it), unnecessarily fixed the positioning of the furniture and made milo put away his toys, him not even whining or protesting like he usually did solely because the little man knew you were coming— pretty miss y/n with the pretty smile and the nicest lady he had ever met, and one he secretly hoped would be his new mommy every time he saw you and his dad converse before and after school, thinking you would fit the role perfectly.

especially after his dad had given you those fruits as a present!

“milo!” katsuki called. “come ‘ere!”

his son ran into the kitchen, toy race car in hand. “what!”

“be good today, ya hear me?” he pushed, face stern as he flipped a kitchen towel over his shoulder and sautéed vegetables in his frying pan. “please milo. don’t try to be funny and do somethin’ to scare y/n off.”

milo gave him a look.

“scare miss y/n off? dad you’re gonna scare her off not me!” he giggled. “silly.”

“yeah..” he grunted. “you’re probably right but i’m just sayin’. i’m thinking of the time grandma came over and ya put that fake rat in her purse to try and be funny.”

“ohhh yeeeeah!” he doubled over in little fits of laughter, holding his stomach as he did. “i did do that!”

“see what i mean?” katsuki grumbled, snatching the kitchen towel from his shoulder and throwing it down on the counter top, stepping back to peek in the oven. “you better not do that with y/n please.”

“i won’t!” he grinned. “not when she’s about to be my new mommy!”

katsuki choked as his spit went down the wrong pipe, bending over and coughing uncontrollably in his elbow before spinning around and looking at his son with wide eyes and pink cheeks.

“the hell you just say?”

“what!” milo tilted his head. “that y/n is gonna be my new mommy?”

his eyes grew even wider as he dropped the pan he was holding on the stove and leaned back, running his hands over his face.

“oh you little runt please don’t say that in front of her, alright?”

he pouted. “why not?”

“you’ll scare her off! worse than when you put that fake rat in grandmas purse!”

“boooo!” milo stuck his tongue out and crossed his little arms over his chest. “whatever.”

“oi!”

“what!”

katsuki’s doorbell chimed and milo booked it to the front door.

“missss preettyyyy!!—”

“milo get your ass back here!—”

katsuki swung the door open and swooped his son in his arms just as he was about to pounce on you in midair, you giggling and covering your mouth as you watched the scene unfold before you.

“i’m sorry—”

“hiii misss y/nnn!” milo greeted happily, dangling off of his dad as katsuki tried to stop him from wiggling out of his grip. “i’m so exciteeeddd!—”

“hi my love!” you gushed warmly, smile wide as you extended your arms and walked forward, taking milo in your arms and setting him on your hip. “how are you? you excited to hang out with meee?”

“yes! yes!” he vigorously nodded. “i wanna show you all my race cars!”

“oh i can’t wait to seeee!” you bounced him on your hip and he giggled, you turning your attention and smiling at katsuki.

“hi kats!”

“the little brat is hogging—”

milo blew a silly raspberry at him before wrapping his arms around you and shoving his face into your neck.

you laughed and ran a soothing hand over the little man’s back, katsuki rolling his eyes before stepping to the side and letting you in, shutting the door behind him and leading you over to the kitchen.

and jesus christ you looked beautiful, him noting that pink was what you mainly wore on the day to day as he eyed your small rosy cardigan, you walking through his home and looking around and oblivious to the way he was staring at you like a fucking creep.

katsuki bit the inside of his cheek as he watched your eyes scan your surroundings, stupidly nervous about what you’d think of his house and furniture and minuscule decorations, and annoyed with himself that he’d even give a shit about something like that, trying to occupy himself and ignore it as he looked in the oven and lifted lids of various pots and pans, checking over tonight’s dinner.

“i’m sorry i’m behind…” he grumbled and waved his hand around. “had to clean the house and shower milo since he decided to play in the fuckin’ mud this morning.”

“oh you don’t have to apologize for that kats!” you looked at him worriedly. “you don’t have to apologize for anything i totally understand…”

you hoisted milo further up your hip and grinned. “i’m just happy to spend time with the both of you.”

katsuki felt smoke puff out of his red ears as he nodded and scratched the back of his neck, turning slightly and lifting the lids from his pots and pans again.

“miss preettyyyy!” milo whined. “when can i show you my race cars?!”

katsuki scowled and you laughed.

“now honey! but how about we move some of your toys to the living room so i can spend time with both you and dad? how does that sound?”

“yayayay!!” milo cheered, bouncing on your hip as you smiled cutely and set him down, him running off down the hall and you quickly following after him.

milo talked you through his entire collection of race cars as you both sat down on the living room rug— telling you the model of each and every one, what they did, how fast they went, they places they’d gone, and which were his favorites as you excitedly talked to him about his cars and shifted conversation between him and katsuki, a task he was surprised you did so efficiently, but then quickly realized that that was literally your fucking job everyday dealing with little brats talking your ears off and you attending all of them at the same time.

and when it came around to dinner time, you helped katsuki set up even through his snapping and huffing that you absolutely shouldn’t, you giving him a silly little face as you assisted anyways and set up milo’s booster seat, picking him up and sitting him down before buckling him up while katsuki placed your dishes on the table—

and gourmet fucking dishes at that.

you were bewildered. absolutely bewildered as you gawked over the lasagna platter he set before you, it delicate and fancy looking as he had even draped sauce on your gray ceramic plate in gourmet intricate designs, knowing that katsuki had mentioned to you he was a chef over the several months you’d gotten to know him, but you didn’t know exactly to which extent that chef occupation stretched to.

“kats…” you murmured. “what do you do for a living.”

“i told you idiot.” he passed over a couple of napkins and you gratefully took them, taking one then and wiping down milo’s mouth as he messily ate his cut up pieces of lasagna. “i’m a cook.”

“yeah but what kind? where?”

“why?” he gruffed. “does it look like shit?”

“no!” you giggled. “absolutely not the opposite actually! this is probably the most beautiful lasagna i’ve ever seen in my life.”

“duh.” he responded, but sent you a small smile as he ate. “i’m an executive chef down at a restaurant in the city.”

your jaw dropped. “the city?! you’re so cool kats! oh my goodness!”

his face flushed.

“my dad says his boss is a piece of—”

“don’t say it!” katsuki snapped at his son, eyes wide as you slapped a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from laughing, not wanting to encourage the little man any further.

“milo i told ya not to cuss until you’re ten—”

“ten?!” you giggled loudly and let your hand fall, sticking your fork in your lasagna and eating. “as long as he cusses with you and not at you… i think it should be fine!”

katsuki stopped.

you get it. or you rile up his bad cussing habit. either or he might as well have found his fucking soulmate.

“miss pretty!” milo called.

“yes my love?”

“do you have a boyfriend?”

katsuki smacked a hand on his forehead and you snickered.

“i don’t!” you grinned. “why milo?”

“because i want you to be my new—”

“milo if ya shut your mouth right now i’ll buy you two new race cars tomorrow.”

his son gasped dramatically and pursed his lips shut, eyes big and excited as he tried to contain himself and do as told.

“his new what?” you tilted your head cutely, katsuki’s heart hammering against his rib cage as he stuffed his mouth with food.

he shrugged. “the fuck should i know?”

“but i wanna know!” you pouted, taking your final bites of your yummy dinner.

he swallowed.

“do you want dessert?”

you gasped. “oh my god yes! i do!”

“then i suggest you shut your mouth too.”

you laughed over the table, quickly nodding as you pursed your lips like milo and pinched your thumb and index finger together, running it across your mouth and twisting your wrist like a pretend lock before dropping your hand in your lap, giddy and excited over dessert.

katsuki playfully rolled his eyes and stood, collecting all of your plates and stacking them on top of each other before taking them over to the sink.

“dad!” milo called as he bounced in his seat, katsuki grunting in response.

“what’d you make for dessert!”

“mochi.”

“yaaaayyyyy!” he cheered happily. “can i eat it with y/n in the living room?”

katsuki’s brows furrowed. “the living room?”

“yeah!” milo exclaimed. “so i can keep showing her my race cars!”

he struggled for a moment before eventually nodding. “alright… but don’t make a mess i just cleaned—”

you and milo ended up building a fucking fort once he gave you the all clear, you both saying something about it adding to the ambiance as you used the couch cushions for makeshift walls and milo’s choo choo train sheets for the roof and tent, katsuki before he knew it his entire living room a fucking mess as the three of you sat amongst the scattered about pillows and blankets eating your bits of mochi, milo mainly inside the little tent you made for him as you and katsuki were too big to fit inside with him.

his living room was a mess… but he didn’t mind.

katsuki didn’t mind the mess.

your way of living was entirely different from his, as yours had everything to do with mess due to your full time job with kids— paint all over your hands and face, marker stains on your clothes and sticky glue residue and pieces of cut up construction paper somehow in your hair, all things katsuki despised for years and made sure his house never reflected any of that.

but in that moment, with his living room in complete disarray and the positioning of his couches utterly fucked up? the dishes still in the sink and the table still set?

katsuki didn’t fucking care.

because he had never seen his son so happy. he had never seen him so excited and hyper as you helped him set up and somehow tie fairy lights that katsuki had somewhere up in his attic for holiday seasons around the fort, you looking fucking gorgeous under the dim dark lightning as you read milo one of his favorite children’s books you got from his little shelf in his room— ‘the very hungry caterpillar,’ one of your favorites too as his son followed along with you and giggled whenever you’d make a silly joke only a five year old would find funny.

and katsuki felt warm… that’s all he ever felt when he was around you.

is this what it was like to be a family?

“oh my goodness i almost forgot!” you quickly sat up and handed milo the book, him taking it as you crawled over and reached for your bag. “i brought something for you honey!”

milo gasped and sat up. “really?! what?!”

you pulled out a ceramic cream colored globe with hollowed out stars, a small bulb inside as you scooched on your knees back over to a curious katsuki and milo.

“woah..” his son whispered. “what is it?”

you smiled and reached for the nearest outlet, plugging in the little globe and flicking a switch.

the darkened room illuminated itself then with the soft murmur of a lullaby playing, star shaped shadows slowly shifting around the entire living room as milo gasped and stood, frantically pointing at each moving shadow and gushing while his little mind was trying to process how cool and fascinating this was.

and all katsuki could do was stare at you.

stare at the way you sat back on your ankles and pointed with milo, counting how many stars you could see before it shifted and repeating that for fun, stare at the way both of your eyes glowed with wonder and curiosity, and stare at the way you smiled so gracefully and looked unreal now under the starry lights, his heart on overdrive at how gentle you were and how much you cared about his son.

about him.

and katsuki was sure then he was absolutely sick over you.

you all settled after a while of playing games and eating more mochi, especially milo, the little lullaby knocking him out as he snored next to you in his fort, you and katsuki laying down next to each other as you stared up at the shifting stars.

“i’m sorry i made such a mess in your living room..” you whispered bashfully. “i promise i’ll pick everything up before i leave.”

he shook his head. “don’t worry about it i can pick up. it’s fine.”

you smiled at him warmly before looking back up at the ceiling, feet planted on the blanketed flooring as your mindlessly moved your propped up knees side to side.

“was it hard raising milo on your own kats?” you asked softly, fingers wrung together neatly on your tummy.

“it was at first.” he mumbled. “but i got used to doin’ it on my own.”

you frowned, not particularly happy with the idea that katsuki had to raise a human being on his own without any help or guidance, wishing that he would’ve had someone there to help him every once in a while, or just be there for him.

“you did an exceptional job, okay?” you began. “you should know that... milo is such an honest kid… and he’s so precious too.”

katsuki’s eyes softened, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at you in fear of you noticing his stupid flustered face as he opted for keeping his gaze glued to the starry ceiling, your sugary peachy perfume not fucking helping as he decided to sit up instead.

“he is.” he grunted softly. “don’t know how his mom didn’t see that.”

you faltered and sat up with him.

“what do you mean?”

katsuki eyed you before looking down, hands flat behind him propping himself up as he thought.

“ah… milo happened because of some random hookup i had in college.” he mumbled. “didn’t love her or anythin’, i barely knew her but still told her i’d support her and the baby obviously.”

you nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“i was there through her entire pregnancy and when milo was born… but the minute she got discharged from the hospital and took him with her, i woke up at four in the mornin’ with a knock on my door and milo left abandoned on my doorstep.”

you gasped, hand hovering over your mouth.

“are you— are you serious?”

katsuki nodded.

“she wouldn’t answer my calls, my texts, nothing. i went to her house and found out she took the first flight she could to fuck knows where.” he shook his head bitterly. “but i didn’t give a shit about me i’ll raise him i don’t care. it was never about me.

he looked at you. “it was about milo. i didn’t want him to know that his ‘mom’ left him behind like that, and i didn’t want him to think it was his fault or anythin’… shits ridiculous.”

katsuki shifted his gaze back up to the ceiling. “still don’t know how she could ever do something like that.”

the sound of a hiccup make his eyes widen and snap back to you, your eyes filled with fat tears as your bottom lip wobbled, hands coming up to cup over your mouth and nose as you tried to keep it in.

“you’re crying?”

you nodded, squeaky slight sobs slipping past your throat as you strained to keep everything down.

“that’s so cruel.” you cried softly, embarrassingly drowning in your tears in front of him yet again. “you didn’t deserve that at all kats… milo didn’t deserve that you both should’ve had such a good mommy and— and a good support system—”

katsuki pushed himself up and wrapped his big arms around your shoulders, pulling you in and rubbing a hand up and down your back comfortingly.

“you cry over everything y/n.”

“s—” hic! “—sorry—”

he laid the side of his head on top of yours as you shook, somehow feeling guilty of what he told you just because of how much you were crying.

more than when he gave you those star shaped fruits.

“oi…”

katsuki pulled back and looked at you, reaching up and wiping your tears with his thumbs.

“don’t cry baby…”

baby?!

you funnily sobbed even more and shoved your face in his chest, him chuckling as he wrapped his arms back around you and gently swayed side to side.

“stop it idiot.” he mumbled. “it’s fine. it happened years ago n’ milo and i have always been alright on our own.”

…but he wanted you now.

now that he knew what it was like to be softly cared for by someone precious like you, to feel what it was like to be warm and fuzzy and sunshine and rainbows and candy all of the time… and katsuki wanted you so. bad.

“i know..” you hiccuped. “and i’m really glad but i just wish you had someone.”

you pulled away and quickly wiped your wet cheeks. “m’sorry i cried all over your shirt—”

“don’t give a fuck.”

you breathed out a laugh and dropped your hands in your lap, looking at your fingers as you sniffed.

you were always crying for him.

“y/n.”

“yeah?”

he looked to the side with a blush to his cheeks.

“thanks for comin’ today.”

you smiled brightly and nodded.

“of course kats! how could i not?” you looked behind you to a sleeping milo, reaching over and pulling his blanket a little further up his shoulders. “i want you to know that i wanna be there for you and milo…”

he shifted his gaze to you as you turned back around.

“whether— whether you wanna keep seeing me or not—” you gnawed nervously at the inside of your cheek. “which i hope you do! but— but if not that’s totally fine i just want to be there for you both…”

how were you so pure? so thoughtful?

“why the hell wouldn’t i wanna keep seeing you?” he huffed, grumbly and embarrassed as he pursed his lips. “i’d be stupid as fuck not to…”

you blushed, happy shiny eyes looking at him eagerly like he was everything and more, and he wasn’t used to people looking at him like that whatsoever as your gaze flickered down to his lips and back up.

and you were so pretty.

“y/n.”

“mhm?”

he slowly leaned closer.

“would you be mad if i made a move on you—”

“of course not—”

katsuki lunged and planted his rough lips on yours, you tasting like straight sugar and honey as he placed his big hands on the sides of you head and held you like a piece of delicate glass, kissing and sliding your tongues in each others mouths rather quickly and breathy as he moved one hand from your pretty face down to your waist to grip it.

you placed your hands on the blanketed floor and slowly crawled over to him during the makeout, him reaching and wrapping the rest of his built muscly arms around your waist and pulling you to straddle his lap as he ran his hands up and down your sides and back, wanting to feel you as much as he possibly could and squeeze you tight as he gulped your little self down, brows furrowed and lips red.

katsuki pulled away and ran his fiery wet mouth across your jaw and to the spot right below your ear on the side of your neck, your hands gripping his broad shoulders as he bit and sucked and still squeezed you, manhandling you in a way and eating you up.

your eyes fluttered open once you heard a slight rustle, your line of sight catching milo shifting a little in his sleep.

“k—kats—” you breathlessly whispered, pushing a little at his shoulders.

he grunted.

“milo—” you pointed. “he’s waking up—”

“the fucks that gotta do with us—”

“kats!”

he groaned and pulled his mouth from you, scowling over to see his son only shifted positions and was now directly facing the both of you, tiny eyes closed as he drooled and was probably dreaming about race cars and his dads shark shaped pb & j sandwiches.

“the little runt is fine—” he shoved his face back in and gnawed at your neck again as you gasped.

“nooo!” you whined and giggled softly. “now i’m scared he’s gonna wake up…”

he huffed and officially pulled away this time, red eyes dilated and half lidded as he looked over your pinky cheeks and shy face, the purple and blue mark he made on your neck making the right side of his lips curve up into a little prideful smirk, you too distracted to notice over the way he clutched and loosened up the hold on your waist repeatedly.

katsuki kept you on his lap and scooched himself down, laying on his back and head on the pillow as he nudged you to lay on him completely over his chest and body, you more than happy to do so as you settled your head on his pecs and got comfortable with his strong arms around you— feeling so safe and looked after.

and you hadn’t expected to sleep over… but you just didn’t wanna leave, and katsuki sure as hell didn’t want you to either as you softly and quietly talked over the small tinkling of the lullaby and milo’s soft breathing, shadowy stars still slowly shifting around you as you easily switched between various topics— ranging from serious to silly as you ran a loving hand over his chest and his on your back, the both of you subconsciously lulling each other to sleep until you were just as passed out on the floor as milo.

since then, katsuki didn’t wanna let you out of his sight.

as if he wasn’t already involved enough with milo’s school activities because of you, this man became a fucking member of the pta and volunteered himself for every single event so as long as you were there, helping you out especially with fundraisers and bake sales as his desserts always sold out quicker than anything else and made bank as he snickered and boasted at the other parents that weren’t selling as much, you giving him a silly glare that never failed to shut him right up as he wanted to be good for you and not upset you.

the front desk lady even went from hating him to loving him, katsuki grumbling and chucking her a bag of leftover fundraiser chocolate chip cookies on her desk as he passed by to drop off milo in the mornings, serving as a ticket way in and to get her to shut up now instead of yelling at him from down the hall.

and he continued to give you yummy star shaped fruits.

except now some days they looked like hearts or little flowers, and he always made his fruit assortments different so you wouldn’t get tired of them and added different dippings like caramel or chocolate hazelnut, you gushing and nearly bawling literally everyday whenever you’d open the container and milo giggling at you during lunch.

you also never went a day without stopping by or staying over at katsuki’s house since your first initial date, your days so much fun and filled with love as you ate lunch or dinner with the two of them, laughing at milo’s sporadic comments or katsuki’s barking and scolding while you either played with milo, helped katsuki clean up the house and him the kitchen or you the kitchen and vice versa, or simply cuddle on the couch with kisses shared amongst you and katsuki— the three of you with milo seated peacefully and comfortable in the middle while you watched a movie or lulled the little man to sleep.

and katsuki had never felt so complete as he started leaving messes behind without even realizing or stressing about it, and he didn’t know when the fuck it was that he turned so soft and sappy— the change a bit strange to those who knew him as he was just a teeny weeny less explosive and angry over small things, and more so when it came to you and his son.

“make sure you keep your little bucket hat on honey, okay? it’s hot today and i don’t want you to tire yourself out milo.”

the end of the year field trip for the kindergarteners this year was a voyage to the local wildlife sanctuary, a gorgeous exhibit that sat right next to the national science museum in your city, its main attraction being the 25 foot koi pond and butterfly wonderland that housed various butterfly species and their little habitats— the kids field trip assignment being to count how many they see throughout the day and pick one koi fish and butterfly to draw on their journals.

katsuki, of course, volunteered as a chaperone.

“single file line please my loves!” you called, hand by your mouth. “and don’t seperate from your friends okay?! everyone stay where i can see—”

“oi!” katsuki barked, snapping and pointing at a rogue kid who decided to break free from the line and run across the grass. “the fuck do you think you’re doing!—”

“kats!” you breathed out a shocked laugh. “you’re gonna get me fired if you talk to the kids like that—”

“shit! sorry— i’m sorry baby hold on—”

katsuki booked it across the grassy lawn and caught up with the running kid on the other side, the rest of your class giggling and cackling as katsuki swooped him up with one arm and dangled him upside down while he kicked and swung tiny punches to his abs, katsuki not even flinching.

“do that again and see what happens brat.” he spat, the little kid not having a single care in the world as he giggled with the rest of the class, all of them deviously planning to piss katsuki off as much as possible since his outbursts were just funny.

“okay okay—” you smiled apologetically at him before taking the dangling boy from his arm and setting him back down, fixing over his clothes and backpack before patting his head and standing upright.

“no more running alright?” you placed your hands on your hips. “don’t we wanna see some cute little fishies and butterflies?!”

“yeeeeaaaahhhh!!” the babies cheered excitedly, each of them immediately returning to their designated spots in two lines as you grabbed your line leaders tiny hands and started the walk down the grassy field to the sanctuary.

“lemme help ya with one line baby—” katsuki went to grab one of your line leaders hands until they burst into a crying fit.

“no! no! i wanna hold miss y/n’s hand!”

katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “what’s so bad about me hah?”

“you’re ugly! miss y/n is pretty!”

the rest of the kids ruptured, laughing as katsuki sent death glares to a literal child, about to spout something nasty until his eyes flickered to your pleading face, his muscles instantly relaxing as he casted his gaze to the ground with a grumble.

you giggled and gave him a sweet kiss to his cheek in gratitude, his face flushing as he eyed your deep blue overalls and pinky shirt and the way your sunglasses sat pretty in your hair on top of your head.

“what honey?” you tilted your head.

“none of your business.”

you snickered and nudged your shoulder with his, looking over at milo from somewhere in the line to make sure he was okay before walking up the front gates of the sanctuary.

the wildlife guide met you once you all were cleared and inside the greenhouse, your kids absolutely restless as they ‘listened’ to whatever the guide had to say and just wanting to break free and run around to look at all of the fishies and butterflies like you had promised, and you not even listening either as you drooled over the way katsuki’s muscles looked under his t-shirt.

“any questions sweetheart?”

“huh?” your eyes snapped to the guide, cheeks pink as you quickly shook your head. “oh! no not at all! thank you ma’am!”

“alrighty then! just please make sure to tell your students—”

suddenly your two perfect lines broke apart as the kids started running around and pointing at fluttering butterflies and screaming, the guide looking like she’d seen a ghost as the usual quiet and serene sanctuary was now the epitome of noise.

“i’m sorry! i’m sorry—” you guiltily apologized. “my kids will settle down they’re just excited is all…”

the guide kindly waved you off before walking back to the main office, you turning and expecting to see katsuki standing next to you, but faltering once you saw he was on the other side and pulling one of your kids down that had climbed up the gates of one of the sanctuaries closed off exhibits.

“oh god..” you mumbled, about to make your way over until you spotted milo in a corner alone, staring at one of the koi ponds.

“milo?” you called softly, walking up to him.

your heart sank once he turned and you saw his little tear filled eyes and wobbling lip.

“oh no!” you gasped, crouching down and taking his tiny hands in yours. “what’s wrong my love? are you okay? is it too hot?”

you pushed some of his spiky blonde bangs back from his sweaty forehead as he shook his head.

“i can’t draw!” he sniffled. “and the koi fishies keep moving…”

your shoulders relaxed in relief.

“that’s okay!” you took his journal and pencil, wiping his wet cheeks as you smiled sweetly. “as long as we’re patient with the fishies, they’ll swim back and you can draw them again!”

you opened his journal and flipped to a new blank page, the both of you waiting quietly until a big chubby koi fish swam by.

“there!” milo whispered and pointed, and you quickly drew what you could, just making out the shape of the body before it disappeared again.

“and now we wait!” you grinned up at him. “the fishy will come back around and you’ll be able to draw it again.”

“kayyy!!”

“and you can draw milo. i’ve seen your artwork in class, remember? you always get a gold star!”

he giggled. “i do miss pretty!”

you ran a soothing hand over his back before passing his journal back.

“now you try honey—”

“i love you.”

you froze and looked up, katsuki standing there with a sincere and vulnerable look in his eye.

you stood from your crouched position and looked at him wide eyed.

“i’m not— i’m not good at this kinda shit at all and i always say somethin’ dumb but i do.”

“kats—”

“and i’m sorry it took me so long to say it but i tried to make it obvious with my stupid shaped fruits n’ shit… and i always thought you kinda just knew…”

milo was too busy focusing on catching glimpses of the koi fish to draw with his tongue peeking out to even realize what was going on next to him.

“you’re so patient baby. the way you are with me… the way you are with my kid. i need that in my life and i can’t live without it at this point…” he spoke genuinely. “your fuckin’ fault.”

you giggled and covered your face with your hands, face hot to the touch and bashful at everything he was telling you.

“come here.”

you listened and walked forward, dropping your arms as you wrapped them around his abdomen and his around your head, squishing you in his big chest as he propped his chin up.

“do you love me too or what.” he frowned. “cause if not this is shitty and embarrassing—”

“no i do!” you giggled, pulling away and giving him a cheeky smile. “i do kats you know that… i love you. so much.”

he smiled and pecked your lips. “good, miss pretty.”

katsuki had heard the entire conversation you had with his son, your words seeping with such tenderness and care, and he almost passed the fuck out when he thought about how much of a blessing you were, something he’d be a fool not to snatch up and take as he nearly fucking proposed to you in the middle of the sanctuary like an idiot, not knowing at all how a person that pissed people off for a living was loved by a woman who was the definition of pure.

because how the fuck did an angry dunce like him, get lucky with an angel like you?

“oh my god that dumbass kid is climbin’ the fence again— oi!”

katsuki quickly kissed your cheek before flying to the other side of the sanctuary, you doubling over in laughter as you watched him fight and tug and pull, your student not budging at all whatsoever and the rest of the kids laughing at how red katsuki was getting in the face.

“miss pretty!” milo tugged at your overalls, and you looked down to see him holding up his open journal, a cute wobbly sketch of a koi fish on the page as he smiled big. “i drew it! do you like it?!”

“wow milo!” you gushed, crouching down to his level and taking the journal, examining his artwork. “this is beautiful my love! see? i knew you could do it!”

“thank youuu!” he responded sweetly, his little cheeks blushing as he looked at you like he had another thing he wanted to say.

you tilted your head. “do you wanna tell me something else?”

“yeaaahhh.” he dragged. “please love my dad… i know he’s mean but— but he doesn’t mean it!”

your eyes softened as milo looked down at his shoes.

“and love me too… because i want you to be my new mommy…”

you quickly blinked back tears as to not alarm milo, surprisingly successful at preventing them from slipping down your face.

“i do love your dad honey… and you. the both of you i love so so much.”

he beamed. “really?!”

you nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “and i thought i was already your mommy milo!”

the little man gasped and flung his arms around your neck.

“YAAAYYY!” he yelled. “miss pretty is my mommy! i have a mommy now!”

ever since you came into katsuki’s life, his way of living materialized into something completely different.

because now instead of his house being plain and boring and organized from top to bottom without a single thing out of place— it was warm now… happy. and never went a day without smelling like cookies and vanilla as you and katsuki baked with milo any chance you could, set up more pillow forts and tents with starry ceilings, and slept with milo in his room as he snored content in his little bed, you sprawled directly on top of katsuki like he always had you as you both every day intended to leave after putting his son to rest, but ending up falling asleep on the floor each time.

the three of you were a little family.

and katsuki didn’t know why he hated messes so much in the first place.

because mess signified that something had been there, something sunny and tender, something that signified family as you peppered kisses over both your boys’ faces everyday and katsuki drowning you in his rough ones— your man squeezing you so tight all of the time and anywhere, as milo wasn’t just his son now but yours too as you took him to the park or to the aquarium on your days off, the three of you gently living as both of milo’s small hands were occupied now instead of just one.

katsuki’s life looked like it had been generously cherished and lived in for a change.

and katsuki bakugo loved messes.

so as long as they were from you.

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

@cupcaketeddybehr @soobiary @roachfun @waterfal-ling @saebaey @reneinii @luvvmae @cake-with-the-cream @pixie-dix @2ukika @cramelmacchiao @hy3phiren @umemiaa @wil10wthetree @jameinfrau @pancakeszs @drftnzume @k0z3me @k4zivy @dindjarins1ut @starrnai @tinyray-lovesfood @iloveoldermenn @dazqa @applepi25 @aria-chikage @blu3-l0v3r @rose-tinted-kalopsia @runfrme @unofficialsapphire @dee-writes-anime @megumisluciouslashes @peachyaeger @yourstru1y4ever

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tonycries · 8 months ago

Text

SCREEN QUEEN! - G.S.

Synopsis. To see a movie or to make one? Four times Geto Suguru absolutely ruined you for the cameras, and the one time outside of them.

Pairing. Geto Suguru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! pórnstar! reader, pórnstar!Geto, he is so DOWN BAD, exhibítionism, breéding, Geto’s tattoos, Geto’s PIERCINGS (d, tongue), THREÉSOMES, some Gojo x Reader x Geto, streamer!Gojo, vóyeurísm, Geto gets one taste is PÚSSYDRÚNK, mast. (Geto), oraI (fem + male rec.), spítting, p slapping, some Toji x Reader, PÚRE SMUT, húmping, matíng presses, semi-public, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 10.1k (woah)

A/N. Have a lovely week <3

“Ch-chin up, honey–” Geto’s drunkenly half-lidded stare sticks to you like a greedy second skin. And it makes him snicker, curling his thick fingers around your neck to force your glassy eyes upwards. “Let the camera see that hah- pretty face of yours.”

You mewl, batting your teary lashes up at his towering figure. Pretty glossed lips pressing the most sinful French kisses up his sensitive shaft, “Like this, Sugu?”

And god, that makes him throw his head back with a whimper. It makes him dredge up everything left of his sanity to remember those next few lines of his, praying that those babbling messes of his groans pick up on the microphones.

“Y-yeah, got that right.” he jostles his muscular thighs even more heavily manspread, baring you with a sopping wet swipe of his angry tip against your pout. Poking the bulbous curve of his cool metal piercing just barely- “So you can listen, brat.”

Damn. Geto’s already sure he’d stumbled over his script a few too many times. Already sure he’d forgotten what the next scene was with how he was too dangerously close-

CUT!

Shit.

He had a feeling this would happen.

Because Geto Suguru rarely ever had to take multiple takes whenever he was filming - he was no novice in this business. Far from it, in fact.

Bearing the title of one of the most-watched porn actors in history - and the five-time crowned winner of the most beautiful, as well - the audience loved him, and the directors loved him even more with just how many big, fat cheques he’d rake in easily.

And you?

That gorgeous newbie paired up with him today that was absolutely ruining him.

“Sorry-” Your honeyed tone snaps him out of his syrupy reverie, and the little smile on your face is so innocent compared to just a few seconds ago. “M’still new to this, so I think it was my fault.”

Yeah, ruining him.

“Not at all. S’cute.” Geto’s plastering one of his suave grins all across his mean mouth, and without a second thought, he’s thumbing away that translucent little splatter of precum at the edge of your kiss-bitten lips. Wetting the curvaceous pad of his thumb, “Besides, don’t worry yourself, pretty lady. I don’t think a uh- what was it- clan leader would stutter as much as I did.”

And oh, he wished he could sneak in a few more glimpses of your laugh, music to his ears. Wondering what it’d feel like to have it vibrate around his still rock-hard cock. But alas, swiftly, the director’s clapping a hand down on Geto’s broad shoulder.

“Suguru- my star! What happened back there?” the older man bares him with a toothy grin that said it wouldn’t last there much longer if he made any more mistakes at today’s shooting.

It was the first time in years that he had to have a word of reprimand. And he wasn’t even fucking you today-

“Nothing.”

“Are we sure-”

“Nothing.” Firmer, this time, with a dangerous tinge that no other actor would dare have. His glassy eyes - still foggy from the slide of your tongue, still aching for more of it - fixate sideways on you getting your make-up retouched right beside him. Clearing his throat, “I won’t fumble next time. Promise.”

But shit, only a few seconds before the next take - the high-definition cameras rolling, the heady lighting fixated on the two of you - and he already feels like he’s about to lose it.

“Said you were a rookie, right? You sure about that, screen queen?” he’s leering a slightly-smug grin down at you, the curved edges of his lips twitching at that little industry nickname of yours.

He’d heard it here and there - mainly whenever Gojo was raving about you, but never did he think you would end up being so…so addictive.

Of course, he’s going to brag to his best friend as soon as this is over.

You’re gifting him with a bratty huff, “I’ve only been making videos for a few months, y’know? So I’ve never had to have a blowjob scene with someone so-”

And with a gulp, your syrupy eyes flicker downwards at his achingly hard cock - famed for just how massive Geto was. Already so creamy with a glistening coating of precum drizzling down his thumping veins, standing so thoroughly and thickly upright that it made your drenched thighs squeeze. Yearning to steal another taste of that furiously strawberry-blushed fat tip. “-so big.”

Shit, Geto could feel his fattened cock jolt already.

Hissing, “S-save it for the camera, honey.”

“Okay! Take 2, Act 1 of 1 from Cult Leader Geto.” A ringing voice cuts through your saturated air, and he’s settling back into his poised seated position on that decadently throne-like chair, you on your knees. “ACTION!”

“Messing up such an important mission, hm?” Geto spits, stern voice targeting you at your very dripping core. Sear-like grip making your throat burn, fuming, “Y’know there’s only one way to make up for it, right, honey?”

Your lips wobble oh-so-adorably when he hits them with a splattering smack! smack! smack! of his painfully hard length. Making you mumble, “Wh-what do I hafta-”

And maybe because it was part of the script, maybe because Geto couldn’t last hearing another melodic note of your sweetened voice - he’s shoveling all girthy inches of his swollen cock past your velvety lips.

Unapologetically.

Filthily.

God…it was so easy to forget all the cameras with your tongue.

Pressing the reddened curve of his weepy cockhead to nestle hot and heavy on your tastebuds, your jaw aches with the sheer weight of his hefty shaft throbbing away comfortably on your tongue.

And you swear you can feel big, bulbous tears welling up behind your eyes with how every ounce of blood in Geto’s body comes rushing down into his steaming length. Expanding his rotund head to grow even thicker-

“Shit.” he gasps. “Shit shit shit shit-” Brows scrunching, drooling maw falling slack. Every muscle in his hulking body bows to hunch forwards in his chair, until your tight throat was choking around the thick curve of his swollen tip. One attractively tattooed hand splayed out firmly on the back of your head, “Take it- y-yeah, take it why dontcha? If ya wanna make it up to your leader.”

God, he didn’t know if the cockdrunken way you were nodding was even real - but it made him groan just the same.

Sobbing out a swelteringly hot squelch! of syrupy precum that drips teasingly down the already-messy walls of your mouth. “Heh, maybe ya can even be my s-second-in-command with a mouth like this.”

And he’s giggling out in an almost hysterical way, head throwing backwards when his powerful hips rut up in slow grinds. Back and forth back and forth- that have your now-puffy lips stretching around so widely around his fat cock.

Struggling. Shit, he’s the biggest you’ve ever had.

Geto already knew his agent was going to be on his ass for veering just the slightest degree off the script.

But he didn’t care about that right now.

How could he? Not when the drag of your tongue was swirling around his steamingly hot girth in languid swivels, over and over fighting to trace every one of his prominent veins thumping angrily inside your mouth.

You whine at the saccharine sweet taste of his precum shooting down your throat in wet sputters, “S-Sugu-”

Fuck.

Geto hears himself whimper a pathetic noise as soon as you’re tugging yourself off of his leaky cock, pressing wet peck after peck up the underside of his messy shaft. It’s glossing in glinting lip-prints that he half-wishes he could tattoo. Slipping and sliding to sloppily plant your mouth along the bawling divot at the very end of his rosy pink head.

“Mhm–” he’s drawling, movements as slow as gliding through molasses when one of his strong legs comes to circle around your body. Muscles flexing so tight that if he angled just right he could squeeze that pretty throat of yours. He bites his lip, “Suck on my ah- tip- c’mon, gorgeous. Heheh, yeah gimme a pretty peck, why dontcha?”

With a smug smirk, he’s guiding through trembly digits to thwack! thwack! thwack! his thick hilt in wet splatters across your lips. Only to figure out that he didn’t even have to bother.

Because your sweet mouth was so ravenously reattaching back onto him, starkly raw lips glissading down the bulge of his Prince Albert. Your deft tongue swivels in such a filthy way down the underside of his slit, cheeks hollowing as you suck.

“Spit.”

“S’this-” you hiccup, widened eyes pleading. Spitting out a silvery glob of saliva onto the very edge of his tip, “S’this good, sir?”

Fuck, for a second there he almost forget that every one of your lines are scripted. And he deliriously wonders what if would be like if you called him that for real

“Hmmm, dunno.” His thumb smears across that pool of precum beside your lips - popping it into his mouth tastefully, “Jus’ a bit deeper to make sure. You can do it- c’mon.”

Swallowing up those solidly girthy inches of Geto’s so deliciously. Your nose presses against those drenched tufts of black at his toned pelvis, jittery fingers coming around to massage sultry little circles around his tight, cum-filled balls.

“Heh, think I prefer ya like this-” he’s restless now. Close. Knitting his brows rudely together, abs clenching mouth-wateringly at every wet gyration of his cock hitting the very back of your throat. And he couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop, not even if the director yells cut this time. “-all pliant, n’ shutting up that bratty mouth of yours.” Geto arches his spine so flexibly - a specialty of his - all the way enough to whisper in a hoarse pant of feverish condensation against your ear. “All mine.”

Geto can barely even finish his line - or his train of thought, before with a wracing shudder, he’s cumming and cumming harder than he has in his entire life.

Oozing out the wettest wads of his thick cum, so much of his wispy white seed gushing across in dripping glides into the cavern of your mouth. Back and forth with every jackhammer. The money shot smearing all down your pretty chin.

And fuck, just the way he can feel it sloshing around in a tidal wave inside your mouth makes him groan out your name.

Barely even registering the way it’ll have to be cut out in editing later, no- all he can think about is how heavenly you were milking him. Twisting your tongue to drag out his hazy orgasm, to swipe up even more of it from his piercing, you blink up in satisfaction.

Letting it overspill.

“Heh, fuck-” Geto’s tongue was dangerously loose now, mouth curling up into a simpering smile down at you when he’s bursting out in even more velvety ribbons of cum. It drips halfway down your jaw, washing a perfectly milky lipstain on you. Muttering, “Wish I could fuck you- god, I would-”

He’s cutting himself off with a dampened gasp, just as the chilling air on-set hits his hard erection.

In urgent moves, Geto’s pulling out of your silken soft mouth to drag you upwards with the hand tightened around your throat, crashing his lips into your own with sudden need.

Unsteady. Sodden. French kisses.

This wasn’t in the script - and you whine at the cool metal against his cushy mouth. A tongue piercing. Shit, he had one to match his dick.

Swirling it across your own lips, Geto hears you moan in that sweet voice of yours just as you taste him - taste yourself on him - and he’s sucking on your tongue just as you did with his cock. Pooling all the dredges of salty seed on his own, before spitting it back out-

“Tell yer agent-” he murmurs throatily, two fingers roughly wrangling your mouth shut. To make you swallow. His popping ears ignore the calls from the director for the scene to be cut. Finally completed. And Geto licks up the excess remnants of cum down your lips. “-to let me have ya again sometime, gorgeous.”

CULT MEMBER SLUT GETS TAUGHT A LESSON BY HER LEADER!

37 million views 1.5 million likes

Top comments:

satoruxstrongest: holy shit idk who im more jealous of ꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱

unicorny: I VOLUNTEER FOR THE NEXT MISSION CULT LEADER GETO

hj.eromytits: guys is it just me or does geto sound EXTRA extra whiny in this video~?

tonykrier: No cuz I totes agree

---

Now, it wasn’t normal for Geto to run home freshly after a shooting and…research his scene partner. To spend what seemed like hours upon hours pouring over every single video and picture you’d blessed his obscene mind with.

You.

An up-and-coming new actress, but already dubbed the nickname of screen queen. Loved by many for that sultry sweet smile of yours and just how gorgeous you were when you were all fucked stupid.

Everybody wanted you.

And Geto - oh, Geto was out of his mind.

Shit, he’s thinking through his saturedly needy thoughts, eyes locked on the two sweat-sheened bodies on-screen. It was an earlier one of you and legendary veteran porn actor, Toji Zenin, and the more he eyed the way your bugging pussy so readily swallowed each of his greedily girthy inches - the more he was fucking jealous his agent only booked a simple blowjob scene. Peering at the title-

DILF-NEXT-DOOR GIVES SCREEN QUEEN AN ATTITUDE ADJUSTMENT.

That should be him.

The wet schwf! of clothes upon skin emanate throughout his penthouse bedroom when Geto unthinkingly drags the soft mountains of his palm down his throbbingly hard erection. Eyeing at how Toji was smearing your sopping pussy lips open, giving Geto the perfect view-

Shit, that should be him.

Holding back a low moan, “Fuck-” he scrambles to hit the camera icon on his trembling phone, all but ripping his pants down to set free his ravaging cock. “God- m’so fuckin’ hard-”

He doesn’t even know who he’s talking to right about now - the audience, or you.

But all he can think about right now are those sparking stars behind his lids as soon as he runs the solid curve of his thumb along the bump of his swollen head. Still not fully hard, Geto squeezes his fat hilt just the way he remembers you did earlier today.

“S’all because of y-you, y’know?” he’s gritting through clenched teeth, batting those long dark lashes of his right up at the camera. “Why’d you hafta look at nhgh- m-me that way.”

God, his digits were only half as soft as yours were. And he keens at the rough drag of his fingerprints down the sensitive spots at every ride and curve. Melty mind stumbling through every mindless half-thrust into his fist.

Over and over.

God, he felt like a hormonal teenager all over again.

He’s panting - gasping. Every rutting fuck up into his hand leaving his heavy balls clenching painfully, teeth clamping.

Geto’s never been this needy - this desperate to try and graspingly remember what your moans had sounded like through his phone speaker not too long ago. It’s all he can do to sink his sharp canines down onto his fist, desperately holding back whimpers upon whimpers that threaten to spill out into the open.

Yet, they do, anyway.

“M-make me so fuckin’ horny, honey-” he’s swiping at the lazy trickle of drool down the edges of his drunkenly upturned grin. Puffing away the long, inky hair curtaining his eyes to splay out across the bed. “Such a perfect body ya have- such a perfect pussy. Wish I could fuck it.”

Because that delicious arch in your back was practically burned into Geto’s mind, how your slutty cunt was slobbering down gloss after gloss of your sweet, sweet juices down Toji’s fat cock. He’d been massive - rivaling Geto, honestly - and he couldn’t help but muse whether you’d take him that well, too.

Would you cry out and beg for more?

Would you bat your lashes and tell him to slow down- only to huff and puff in that naughty way of yours when he does?

You were…you were so pretty. And all he ever wanted to do was wreck that equally pretty pussy of yours, and ruin your makeup, and you.

You you you you-

Geto’s wrist aches down his tall shaft, stuttering up and down, he flicks his thumb wetly underneath his sensitive slit. Neatly grazing his manicured fingernail underneath the glazed bump, “I’d ruin ya, y’know?” Geto chokes out, and he doesn’t even have to fake the purring moan in his tone. The way his voice lilts embarrassingly higher in volume and pitch, gliding all the way up to nudge in wet peppered kisses across his chilling piercing. “Would make ya shut up on m’cock- hngh- until ya can feel my piercing branding into ya. Ruin everyone else f-for ya.”

God, the camera was so shaky right about now - and he half-wonders whether he wants to post this. Nothing like the usual professional set-up you’d usually see on Geto’s promotional tweets.

And then shit, just the thought of you actually seeing this video has him almost dropping his phone onto the dampened silken sheets below. His overly saturated mind liked to think that you’d like it, that you might even slip your own soft hand down into your flimsy excuse of panties.

“Fuck- fuck.” Geto bounces his head back onto the plush pillows, thighs shuddering even further open, catching every pearlescent bead of precum being smeared down his thickening length. Filthy. So fucking filthy. Making him arch- “Look what you do- look how you’ve got me- fuck-”

He was practically humping up like an animal now. Out of control. Each moan breaking into a whine in a way that Geto can’t stop even if he wanted to.

And the more he thought about you the more-

“Oh h-honey-” One of Geto’s thumb trails their way down to press down at the very middle of the twitchy curve of his balls. Hard. Hiccuping back a mewl of your name, he’s nodding like he doesn’t even realize. “M’gonna cum hah- m’gonna cum, okay? You’ll hafta take it all t-take it hngh-”

And it’s just a few more merely sloppy grinds before Geto’s spurting out in thick streams of cum. So much of it.

He’s fucking his fist like he wishes it was you. It’s making such a mess down his greedy fingers, coating down to his wrist in a gleaming sheen of creamy white. Easier to make him slip up, up, up, and down his swollen, red shaft trying to dredge up something delicious from the very ends of his weepy divot.

He lets his phone drop, thick thighs straddling upon each side of the screen to jerk his achy cock off like your pretty face was just underneath him. Furious. Fast. A low ah! ah! ah! rasping through each breath.

God, his fingers weaken around his cock. Moving as if on auto-pilot when he circles his trickling wet fingers around his own rosy pink nipples - all glistening down his tattoos as if they’d been laminated, they made for the perfect wet dream - then all the way up to suck on them. Cleaning. Tasting himself.

Fuck, wishing it was your hand.

Wishing you were here.

All Geto could think about is if you were here right now, then he’d swipe his blushing tip down your lips, instead - reel you into a dripping wet kiss just like before. He grunted at just how badly he wanted to taste on your candied tongue again-

Still so sensitive from the shoot with you before, Geto’s breathing out in heaves, pants. Tears prickling at the very ends of his bleary eyes, he bites down furiously on his coral pink lips, trying for the fucking life of him to not cum in blanks right now.

He does, actually.

Again. And again and again- spazzing cockhead jerking out a few wispy wet ribbons of his seed, before giving way into nothing. And if you listened closely to the crackling audio, you could almost hear Geto whimper.

Yet, he doesn’t even notice until his thumb swipes shakily onto that red end button on the video.

Doesn’t even register until he’s pulling up his infamously lewd Twitter account, the voice of his agent ringing in his pounding ears from today on something about “promo for your upcoming video” with every few hasty clicks on-screen.

Geto posts.

And he doesn’t even glance a second time at the screen before darting back into his browser history, searching ravenously for any more morsel of you he could dig up.

Because Geto Suguru might just be addicted.

@GetoTheCursed: For @ScreenQueen

2.6 million views 364k likes

Top replies:

moresenpaimore: holy shit the lighting? the shakiness? the whimpers? ITS ALMOST LIKE HE POSTED JUST AS HE CAME DADDY YOURE SPOILING US!!1!111!!

tjzenin: Good taste, kid. - Toji x.

ScreenQueen: <3

---

“Y’look so pretty like this, sweetheart.” Gojo’s angling your head just enough for the blinking camera to drink in that milky trail of slick trickling down the corners of your puffed-up pussy lips. Musing at how it probably couldn’t capture half as how pretty you are with his massive cock bullied snugly into your strugglingly bulging cunt. “Isn’t that right, Suguru?”

“Heh-” The other man only shifts his legs to manspread more comfortably on Gojo’s plush mattress, leaning back on two elbows. “Don’t I know.”

hj.eromytits: ahhh~ a suguru and satoru stream my life is complete~ screen queen is so sexy too~

444stayze: WE NEED MORE COLLABS LIKE THIS SATORU PLEASE

chocho: she’s so…beautiful

*chocho donated 690 chestnuts*

If Geto Suguru was the king of videos, then Gojo Satoru was the king of streaming. Wracking thousands upon hundred thousands - perhaps close to millions - that watched him strip down and bare the winking camera with his cocky, girthing inches. And today, he just-so-happened to have a special guest.

Two, actually, after hearing about your latest film with each other.

His long-time best friend, and the rookie actress he’d been just as obsessed with lately. And the tons of viewers right now were loving this combination.

Your greedy hips squirm ravenously, jostling Gojo’s cock to swirl in syrupy, circular swivels inside your gooey walls. Yet, you couldn’t do anything with the thick, black blindfold wrapped around your two wrists - a staple of his persona. “G-gojo-”

Smack!

All five of his splayed-out fingers come down harshly in a swat against the curve of your ass, and Geto can’t help but gulp heavily at the sinful way it makes your flesh jiggle.

Gojo’s tangling a vice-like grip into your scalp - eyes wide, wild, where he’s leering down at you. “Now now, you’re s’pposed to look at hah- me.” he whines. Shit- when had you even turned to look at Geto. “And what was it I told ya to call me?”

“T-To-”

Smack!

“Louder.”

“Toru!” you squeal, feeling his leaky tip brush up in a wet nudge against your bulbous g-spot. Expanding even girthier to hit at that little bullseye over and over-

“Such a s-slutty voice ya got on ya.” His sharp hipbones mashing against tender skin, stifling balls stinging your ass, juddering knees bouncing even faster. It was so fucking addictive sheathing himself inside the tight channel of your cunt. So hot and cozy inside that Gojo has to force himself to rip his line of sight onto Geto just behind you, “Does sh-she always sound so sweet, Suguru?”

And Gojo’s not surprised - not even the tiniest bit surprised - to find that his best friend already has his silken button-up ripped open, ringed fingers stuffed into his too-tight pants.

Addictive…you were so addictive.

And he’s almost jealous that he’d introduced you to him on this stream.

Tearing away his clinking belt to knead over his rock-hard erection, drawling the very rounded edges of his fingers down his cupped balls. Squeezing. Hard. Geto looks so utterly like he has to force himself to breathe out something even slightly coherent, “Hmmm, hard to say with the way she was on her knees last time- heheh-”

“Such a dog ya are-” Gojo’s rolling his watery eyes, before pecking a wet glissade of his lips down onto yours. The woosh of donations flood the chat as soon as Geto’s letting out a roughened growl, “Dontcha ngh- a-agree, sweetheart? So mean, hm? The chat certainly seems ta think s-so.”

“Mhm–” you’re crying out - difficult, with the way he was sunken in so solidly inside of you. At Gojo’s sheer mercy.

Mercy that was slowly dwindling away with each and every slobbering fuck up into your dripping cunt, and you can’t help but let your jaw drop into a needy oh when his ragged thrusts get faster. More desperate.

Peppering damp pecks along Gojo’s innocently pink lips, “S-so mean, Sugu.”

“Ya hear that?” Gojo swipes his thumbs across your sloppy folds to bear you even further into the camera, and with Geto’s lolling gaze he could just peek the way your sodden hole was gaping widely. How his peaking veins massage your entrance through and forth- “Our girl says you’re a meanie, Sugu~”

candybah: GETO LOOKS MADDD

k-en.j: she looks so cockdrunk already honestly idk who i want to be here

pumk1nhe1d: Love how Satoru winds him up. Wonder if her poor cunt can take both??

And Geto knew that your voice was absolutely dripping with teasing want, he knew that it meant nothing more than a simple line to get him worked up. But the way Gojo’s jittery arms were engulfing you to stick to him so closely, his knowing smirk flashing Geto’s way had him huffing out a pointed few profanities.

“Fuck that.” he’s spitting getting up onto two unsteady feet to shuffle even closer to where your bodies were rocking the decadent bed violently. Tying back his dark tresses urgently - and oh shit, that’s when you know he’s serious. And one of Geto’s fingers smack! away Gojo’s, searing his own possessive grip onto the blindfold to haul you against his washboard abs. “Open.”

Fuck, it’s just about all that you can do.

Slopping out your tongue to present your glistening tastebuds - right on par for Geto to be splattering a thick wad of saliva.

Letting the translucent slick sift across your mouth, and with years in the game, Geto Suguru already had perfect aim. He could’ve already made an easy, clean work of spitting in your mouth.

But, no, he’s speckling wet little messes around your lips on purpose. Swiping it away with the very back of his slender fingers, “Now, would you care to repeat- that?”

Every truncated drag of his moans is punctuated by a ragged rut of Geto’s hips against the globes of your ass. The remainder of his free hands being sure to press your arched body even further backwards into him.

You feel him throb against your heated skin, his fat girth jostling to make you hump down on everything from the very globular edges of his tip all the way down to where his fat balls were kissing up into you stickily. Gushing out steaming hot wave after wave of precum that formed delicate strings to snap!

Smack!

“C’mon now, sweetheart~” Gojo’s slow tut makes you squeal. “S’not nice to leave someone hah- hanging.”

Batting your teary lashes up at Geto, you’re struggling through your relentless restraints to try and crane up into a kiss. And Geto - ever the bully - makes you work for it, barely moving. “M’m-sorry-”

“That’s not what I asked-” his hot breath puffs up dangerously to fan your ear. Cool rings on his digits burning a blazing pathway up to your neglectedly hardened nipples, making you keen out such whiny sounds when he pinches. “Tell me what you said.”

“S-said-” you’re sobbing out. The double stimulation of Gojo’s ravaged cockheadbumping up into your spongy cervix, and the way that Geto’s thumbs were swirling over in pressurized circles over your tits too much. “-said you were m-mean hngh- didn’t mean i-it ah fuck-”

“Are you sure?”

“You really are s-such a hngh- bully, Suguru.”

“Tch, shut up-” And Geto would never admit the way that he was humping you like such a dog. Panting - heaving, practically - with every sodden grind, his teeth tug harshly on your precious ear lobe. “-at least I’m gonna be the one t-to make her cum.”

Gojo’s rolling his eyes, pecking a sudden crash into the very same spot of your g-spot. “No I will.”

“As if, ya had to borrow my camera t-today jus’ to capture how gorgeous she is.”

Both Gojo and Geto’s lips mesh into yours now, tongues bumping into each other, swirling across yours so lewdly. Sucking and nibbling along any inch of yourself that you would give them. Anything that they could take.

He’s bucking his hips sloppily, drawing wet gashes between your pre-soaked lips, and nudging against where Gojo was buried so deep. Too much.

Murmuring into your lips, Geto giggles - giggles every-so-drunkenly in a way that made the stream chat flood. “Heh, if ya really mean it then cum f’me, honey.”

Fuck- then, you do.

It’s hitting both you and Gojo like a sudden semi-truck.

Yelping out a saturated mixture of what sounded like both their names before your gushy walls squeeze tightly. So fucking cozy that Gojo has to stuff one of his long fingers into your quivering hole just to scissor your entrance open, to fuck you through your high.

His fat girth edging you through peak after peak of bliss, your toes curl, mouth still latched firmly with Geto’s. Spazzing cock bawling out a few silvery strings of white down your back - just barely. “My good girl- good- hah- fuckin’ girl.”

“Awww. Look, Suguru-” The other man titters, bringing up his free hand to swipe across your now freshly wet cheeks. “Ya really are a meanie, huh? You made her cry.”

Geto only rolls his dark eyes, that particular remark making him take it out on you - because oh, he might not be fucking you tonight, but it was so utterly fun to rip out those whiny syllables from your pretty mouth. He’s tugging on your nipple with one hand, the other dipping slowly to swat! at your plump clit. “Well, I also made her cum.”

“Hah? No way, that was me-”

“I’ll beat you up right here, right now, Satoru.”

#1 RANK satoruxstrongest: got two special guests! tonight is going to be fun ww `⎚⩊⎚´ -✧

51 million views 4.8 million likes

Top donors:

unicorny: WOAH when Geto SPIT?? And when they were arguing?? My apologies, sir, I did not know you were about that life (she’s so lucky me next)

honey.bunney: LITERALLY MY WET DREAM OH MY GOD BI PANIC I LOVE THEM

king0fcurses: lmfao weak. Invite me on the next stream and i’d show her a better time.

---

God, times like this, you almost hated your profession.

Because yes, despite everything, the pay you received was staggering - but absolutely no amount of money was enough to compensate for the complete and utter asshole that was Naoya Zenin.

And especially not filming with him.

A nepo baby that had climbed his way through the ranks with the help of his family name; most of his audience came to watch him fail utterly pathetically at trying to boss his co-stars around and ultimately end up whining with just the slightest little squeeze of your cunt.

To watch him be broken and sobbing for mercy - exactly the way you preferred him.

Anything but this-

“-c’mon- just one night, baby-” Naoya’s purring voice sleazes across your ears, and you ignore him to clutch your thin robe even tighter around your body. Thankful that the filming and clean-up was finally over. “Promise I’ll have you seeing stars.”

When he didn’t even have you seeing your climax? You want to ask, but unfortunately hold back - for your agent’s reputation, if anything else.

Plastering on an almost-painful faux smile, “I think we spent more than enough time together on-set.”

With that, you shift off the bed to weave determinedly through the bustling camera staff and the director calling out for the editing crew - you didn’t even know where you were going, at this point.

But Naoya Zenin was persistent, if not anything else.

Catching up hurriedly, his fingers tap down the side of your shoulder, gliding over the peaking strap of that pretty pink bra you’d worn just for the shoot today - something special your very own viewers had picked out.

You stand stock-still in the middle of the room when he murmurs into your ear, “Playin’ hard to get isn’t cute, y’know. Just give in-”

SWAT!

“Excuse me-” You’re grinning through the slight sting at the back of your hand - because oh, it was impossible not to smile at the utter look of shock on Naoya’s sharp features the very instant his hand had been smacked away mercilessly. Fuming. Undeterred, your eyes shift down warningly between his legs, “-before I make sure you can never work in this industry again.”

“W-wait-”

But who would bother to wait before making their escape? Not even looking - not even caring - about where you make your sudden strides to.

SLAM!

The door closes. Hard.

And you breathe out a shuddering sigh of relief when the cacophony of noise from outside bleeds away into nothingness, like a stifling little cocoon inside.

Fuck- where had your feet even taken you?

It takes a few blinking seconds at the rows upon rows of skimpy lingerie and outfits for you to realize that you’d shut yourself in the costume room just outside of your current set. And a few more seconds to realize that you weren’t alone-

“Oh!” you gasp. And you don’t even know whether to look - where to not look at the absolute wet dream in front of you.

Geto Suguru was standing unabashedly in the middle of the room, long hair splayed out across his back - and you could count every swirling tattoo of his. Because he was painfully shirtless. Showing off the sculpted ridges and curves of his muscles that flexed a just a little tighter whenever your greedy gaze was dancing down his bulging biceps, his inked hips, his-

“Cat got yer pretty tongue, honey?”

“Wh-wha-” you sputter. Fingers scrambling upwards to cover your eyes - before realizing how futile that is with how you’ve seen everything already. “Cat got your ability to change in the changing stalls instead of where everyone can see, Geto?”

He cocks his smug head, grinning down at you. “Well, it doesn’t look like you’re complaining, though?”

“You’re too much.”

Throwing that thin cotton t-shirt grasped within his digits somewhere off to the side - perhaps to toy with your sanity even more. He crosses his thick forearms, showing off every bumpy vein of his. “Besides- I was here first- helping out ol’ Nanami with a costume. The more important question should be why the Screen Queen of all people is barging in here?” Lips quirking attractively upwards, “Wanted to see me shirtless again so badly, hm?”

You did.

“You wish.”

You’re rolling your eyes, and you never knew how close someone could get to you just within that split-second. Because you’re already feeling the feverish rush of his ragged breath against your features, skin burning mere inches from yours.

Close.

With a gulp, you’re careening back against the velvety walls. “More like wanted to run away from Naoya Zenin and his dates so badly.”

So close.

“Ah.” Geto’s nodding with understanding. Running a hand through his hair, he easily slips that tiny black tie into his mouth. Moving to bunch up his strands into a ponytail, “Need me to beat him-”

You cut him off, “No no no-” Frantically waving your hands about - partially because you really didn’t want him to leave right now. “I took care of it, anyway.”

“That’s my girl.”

And something about the honeyed way he hummed those words made your stomach lurch, it had you panting out a needy breath into the almost non-existent space between you two. One of his palms splay out on the wall beside your head, caging you in. Geto’s greedy gaze daring for a mere split-second to the CCTV camera by the far corner of the room - eh, Ichiji is probably on break, anyway. “Then I guess, my next question is…”

God, he’s so mean.

So teasing.

Reaching up to trail down the very end of his pointer finger in-between the seam of your robes - doing practically nothing to hide the way that Geto licks his lips at every sliver of your skin revealed.

Down between the valley of your breasts, down to your navel.

Down, down, down.

“-did he take care of you?”

You’re stammering your head into a half-delirious shake, “H-he didn’t make me-”

Geto makes an almost primal snarl at the very back of his throat, darkened eyes widening. He sounds so out-of-breath already. “Make you what?”

“-didn’t make me cum!”

And oh, those words changed everything.

“Then I guess I better make up for my colleague’s incompetence, right?”

Because not only did they have Geto Suguru’s sanity snapping, it had your poor, drenched panties as well - stumbling around your ankles in a useless pile of fabric with only one thorough pull of his deftly curled digits.

“So flimsy.” he’s raising one dark brow, sharp canines glinting against the dim lighting in amusement. “Yet it still wasn’t broken- Goes ta show what a hah- great time ya had with Naoya, huh?”

“Please- D-don’t tease-”

What did you even mean to say- don’t tease you? he wonders. As if he ever could. Half-drunkenly, half-deliriously because Geto couldn’t get fucking enough of anything but the way that your pretty pussy was winking up at him with a glistening sheen. So puckered and ready for him that he wanted to give her a little kiss.

A French kiss.

“Shhh- better keep ‘er quiet f’me, gorgeous-” he’s chuckling, hurried now that his knees clatter to the floor with a loud bang! Maybe it hurt, maybe it didn’t- Geto didn’t fucking care. “Because m’not going easy on you.”

And with a raw drag of his heaving inhales, he’s drinking in your mouthwatering essence. Greedy.

Glissading up the very slit between your puffy pussy lips, he’s curling his thumb meanly into your sloppy hole. Circling around in practiced, purposeful little swipes.

“G-Geto–” he’s quietly admiring the way it rolls off of your tongue, and fuck he’s never been one to be cocky over his own name but right now it was so fucking impossible not to be. Batting long, dark lashes from between your trembly thighs, “So mean, y’know that?”

Oh, you little minx. Geto’s brain flashes back to the stream with his best friend-

And he can’t help the sultry rasp of your name at the very back of his throat, the way his ringed fingers come branding down in such a dangerous swat! right against the plump edge of your clit- barely grazing your sensitively beading peak.

A warning.

“What was that?” he spits. Followed by a literal wad of his syrupy saliva right onto the slope of your hole watching the splatters speckle across your drooling cunt. It felt so possessive. “If I’m so mean, then you should find it- heh, sooo fucking easy to stay quiet, hm?” Wild eyes locked with yours - you’ve never seen this look anywhere in Geto’s films. Anywhere. “Wouldn’t wanna be caught with the big- bad- meanie-”

Shit, it was something to tease him - something to get on your longtime idol’s nerves. But you’d never have expected the effect that it would have.

Because Geto was ravenous when his lips are placing a messy kiss onto your own - your other ones. Meshing a sultry glide of his tongue between your swollen folds, his tongue piercing so cold against your tight ring of muscle.

He wasn’t easing you in.

He wasn’t showing you any mercy or regret when Geto stuffs his face as deeply into the heaven between your legs as he could go. And it almost hurts him when his nose smushes harshly into your sensitive nub, when his jaw aches with just how much farther he couldn’t sink into your pretty pussy.

Groaning, one of Geto’s splayed-out palms wrangles your ever-weakening legs onto his broad shoulders, the other toying taunting circles sailing all over your clit. Because he wanted more more more-

“Ngh- fuck!” Your unsteady fingers dangle their way through his silken strands - as soft to the touch as they looked. And you tug when you feel the silvery cold metal dart against your melty walls - not that it moved him even an inch. “Fuck that feels so good-”

“I know-” he’s smirking up at you. “N’ it sounds like e-everyone out there s’gonna know, too- heh. I don’t mind.”

God, that’s when it hits you to lower the volume of your honeyed moans. Biting down on the knuckles of your free hand, you level him with a glare.

“L-look who’s talking-”

Geto only chuckles through the sopping wet squelches he’s reeling out from your cunt. Fingers now dripping downwards with a final pinch to your clit and onto your hole. “S’not my fault your p-pretty pussy’s so talkative, honey.”

“G-Geto-”

“Shhh, lemme hear her talk. Please?”

You gasp when you feel him plowing a trail of his thick digits into your already snugly-filled channel. Such a tight fit with both Geto’s rummaging fingers and his toasty tongue slurping up every bead of your juices.

They’re swirling around you with reckless abandon, no longer the expert methods and tricks you were used to. No, Geto was pumping his fingers into you solely because he was addicted to the feeling.

To the loud slurps and squelches resounding from down below with his miniscule movements.

“Heheh, yeahhh- so fucking mouthy she is. Might as well have s-someone overhear her.” He grunts, feeling your gummy walls clamp down on him so vice-like. And it takes him every shred of willpower to finally part his sinful way with your cunt, to drag his lips in a final kiss down your wet folds. “Hold on- got an idea.”

Fuck.

An idea from Geto Suguru would never bode well for your sanity.

And you were completely right in assuming so, because in a split-second, he’s reaching down to his pants pocket - pulling out a glinting silver lip ring. One that finds itself placed so prettily near the very edge of Geto’s rawly rubbed pink lips.

One that finds itself wrapped oh-so-deliciously around your clit. Sucking.

More.

“Heh, you’re the first one to hah- see me with this new lip ring- congrats-”

“L-lucky me-” you manage to choke out. Hips rutting up and down up and down from the wall, dragging your slobbering cunt all down to make-out with his gorgeous features - and Geto doesn’t look like he’s anywhere but heaven. “It feels- so so- mmpf-”

Without warning, his thorough digits find themselves rudely shoved between your jaw-dropped mouth. Metal rings cold. Thick. Pressing down at the back of your tongue-

“Heheh- what did I say-” he’s dragging his mouth backwards to tug on your weepy clit. Other set of fingers picking apart your sweetest spots inside, ruthless cadence picking up. “Quiet, honey- be quiet f’me like my good girl why- ah- why dontcha?”

Truthfully, Geto himself is finding it so fucking difficult to concentrate.

He’s so sloppy. So loud.

He feels like he could combust with every shuddering gush of your sweet, sweet juices down the lover half of his face. So much of it that it’s dripping down into a lewd puddle onto the floor.

And he’s forced to swivel his free hand punishingly into your mouth to stop himself from traveling it down to his pants and creaming all over it like some loser. God- no- he had to make you cum. And fast. Before he loses it.

“C’mon, my pretty lady-” Geto bursts out in feverish hot pants breathed into your cunt, mouth rearing everywhere. And the stark contrast between his cool lip ring and his mouth made you shiver down your spine in white-hot pleasure. Hot and cold hot and cold- “Can ya hear that?”

Ah, damn. Just your luck - both your ears perk up at the distance resounding of footsteps. Close.

You tug on his long strands. Through muffled syllables, “G-geto–”

Closer.

“S’alright s’alright-” he’s snickering, sounding for all the world as relaxed as ever like he wasn’t two seconds away from being caught with a fellow actress in one of the most scandalous positions for even a porn company. “-jus’ cum f’me. Cum f’me, honey.”

Your cunt was so sensitive. You’re whimpering through his fingers once Geto presses in deeply onto that magical spot. Stars bursting behind your eyes- “M’gonna cum, Geto- so close. M’gonna- m’gonna-”

You didn’t have to finish your sentence.

Because with only a few bustling thrusts of his digits into that very same bullseye, you’re cumming all over Geto’s pretty face. Splattering his chiseled chin in a sheeny gloss of you, so filthy.

And he lets you - oh, he lets you. Why wouldn’t he?

Not when this is all that he’s been dreaming of ever since he had you that one time on set, not when you tasted so sweet spurting your juices down his tongue. Kittenish kisses lapping up every wet gash of slick, his fingers strain with how furiously he’s fucking you through your high.

“Oh- oh, honey— ” The only mantra that Geto can babble out pussydrunkenly, quirking up his hips to grind his rock-hard erection against your thigh. God, he felt like he could cum in his pants right now. “Tha’s right- use me- use me.”

Forcing his jittery fingers down to your hips in a rough restraint, he’s dragging your drooling cunt up and down up and down up and-

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Hey- ya in here?”

Click! In an instant, Geto’s long arm span is reached over to lock the door.

And god, Naoya’s voice was grating enough that he almost lost his rock-hard erection - if it hadn’t been for that sweetly startled mewl ripping from your throat, that is.

You scoff, fully ready to give him a piece of your - albeit syrupy, orgasmically hazed - mind to the man outside. But with a sneaky finger signaling you to be quiet, he stands back up to his hulking stature. Growling out a biting, “Only one in here’s me, fuck off.”

Only then comes the sputtering, “Wh-why I’d never-”

“Unless ya want your lil’ idol Toji to hear about how you’ve been nothing but a prick to his favorite actress.”

It’s barely even a second later when you hear those footsteps walking urgently away, and not even two when Geto’s hot breath puffs up against your ear. Words slurring and stumbling over one another, gliding his tongue across his lower lip to snatch up every ounce of you. “Don’t you worry-” Before sucking on the very same fingers that were buried inside you, “M’gonna ruin him.”

And that’s all it takes for him to remember something else you’d said about that very man just earlier. Something about a date…as if.

“Kiss me- kiss me kiss me please-” Geto’s mouth hovers over yours. Gingerly placing peck after peck- “Fuck- s-suck-” Not even having to finish his sentence with how your heated lips wrapped around his icy lip ring, dripping with your slick. “N’ I was th-thinking- would ya- only if you’d like- wanna make a movie-”

“Yes.”

Hah, Geto grins. Take that, Satoru.

LOCATION: CCTV room, Jujutsu X company building.

Employee count - 1

“Fuck- fuck-” Ichiji’s struggling to push up his condensation-fogged glasses with one of his slippery hands. Fingers trembling on the keyboard when he’s rewinding the camera footage in the costume room by just a few more seconds. “Oh god- m’gonna get f-fired-”

Again.

And again.

And again and-

“Shit-” he’s shuddering out, head woozy at the sheer overstimulation. Belt clattering against the plastic of his chair for about the nth time this hour. “-she really is a screen queen.”

---

Geto Suguru planned everything meticulously - till every detail was checked off on his seasoned mental list of making the perfect homemade…movie.

Not exactly something that he’d tried out personally before but- but who better to do it than with you? And he swears with every bit of insincere honesty inside of him that this was totally not because he’d been yearning to feel you cumming all over his cock for months now.

Yeah…totally not.

So he planned.

And he had everything - the heady candle-lit bedroom, the fresh silken sheets, the soft music playing from a speaker somewhere across the room. The only undecided thing being the name of your little tryst. Prowling over to you sat on the bed - all it takes is a simple shove to spread you out the way he’s been dreaming of. Humming, “You ready?”

Well, everything except-

“G-Geto, how are we gonna make a movie with no camera-”

Shit, that was the last thing on Geto’s mind right now - just about the furthest thing, despite being the very epicenter of his entire career.

Everything he needed.

But no fucking camera.

Oh.

“Shit.” he’s chuckling - somewhat gingerly, somewhat pussydrunkenly with just a glimpse of you splayed out like this on his plush bed. In another one of you gauzy lingerie sets, leaving barely anything for his overdriven imagination to obsess over. He’s scratching behind his neck, “We can st-”

“No-” And Geto looks just as shocked as you feel right now, skin heating up with embarrassment at your hasty answer.

But oh, that only makes him take it in stride - makes him slide his hand underneath his velvety boxers to knead greedily at his thumping hot erection. Grinning, “The Screen Queen doesn’t want to be on screen? How shocking.”

But it wasn’t.

God, because he could already see that darkening splotch at your silk drenched panties. The way your lower lip wobbled with so much want - he’d already watched enough of your videos to recognize it by now.

He’s nosing down your neck, drinking in each of your little shivers. “How do you want me?”

And all you can say is- “I just want you-”

Swat!

The rounded tips of Gojo’s fingers find themselves placing a pretty peck right on your pulsating clit, sending obscene shockwaves bowing your spine. Right into his arms, “You a-always say the sweetest things, honey.”

You hiss at the cool clash of his proud Prince Albert - and the way that one of Geto’s dangling silver necklaces knock into your chin softly.

And he’s groaning, just throwing his head back at the flurry of stars bursting behind his eyes. Hands gripping onto the edges of his sheets, Geto slides his hips in a slow back and forth against your own. Sandwiching the circular girth of his cock between your sodden folds, they make such a pretty scene.

“Tell me, pretty baby–” His fingers smear at the wet drizzles seeping from either side of your slit. “-do ya get this wet for the c-camera too or s’it jus’ for me?” But you’re only spewing out a few nods and syrupy yeses, gushing all around him that he can’t help but wonder what it would like bursting with him inside-

He doesn’t have to bother waiting long.

Now, usually Geto liked to take his time - would prefer to see you crying and breaking while you beg for his cock more than anything else.

But shit, right now he thinks that a second longer he isn’t buried inside your cunt might make him die-

“C’mon c’mon c’mon-” he’s hissing at the elastic stretch of that first ring of muscle. Easing his way in to bulge your sloppy entrance all full with just the very ends of his bulbous tip. “Take it- please, please take it-”

Geto can’t keep the slight tremble out of his tone even if he wanted to - not with the way your gooey cunt was molding around his shape to suck up every inch of him. And god, was there so much of him. It’s like it was never-ending.

“Shit-” your nails reel red, red marks down the milky plane of his deltoids. “I-I can feel you in my hngh- lungs, Geto-”

He chuckles - all the way into your lungs and he’s not even halfway in, yet? Hell, fuck halfway in, he’d just managed to smear past your swollen pussy lips to rut his fat head inside. Hissing at the clench of your walls around his sensitive slit.

“Suguru-” he gasps, eyes still wrenched down on the way your cunt was greedily gobbling him up. “P-please if you can call that hah- fuckass ‘Satoru’, then call me Suguru, please-”

It’s all that has to come out of your mouth - a sweet, syrupy “Sugu-”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

You feel yourself gulping down every one of his solid inches, a sheer circumference that you never even thought possible- the friction between your gummy walls and his furiously jackhammering cock having you squeal-

Smack!

Finally fully inside you, your pussy lips kiss his thickened hilt like long lost lovers, and his heavy balls shift against your ass.

“Don’t- don’t run-” Geto’s sputtering out a slightly broken plea, pure desperation wafting off of him like a heady perfume. It was contagious. And his rough fingers grip tightly around your waist, jousting up the dampening blankets all around your body when he pulls and pulls and pulls- “Fuck, where’d you think you’re going, huh, honey?”

His tone was just dripping with something dark, something you can only sputter and drool to match when every nook and spongy cranny inside is being filled up with Geto’s fat cock.

And it twitches inside you happily - if heaven was real then it felt like this, Geto muses already thoroughly pussydrunk.

“M’m-not running away-” you’re pouting a slick-glossed pout up at him. One that he can’t help but crane his neck down in an instant to kiss away. “You’re just s-so big- bigger than on camera-”

Fuck.

You would’ve shut your babbling mouth sooner if you’d known what would happen.

Because the rotund edges of Geto’s cockhead only swells up wider, squirting out even thicker wads of his steamingly hot precum with every mindless, saturated grind. Ones just to fit in- more and more, even after he’s finding himself kissing a wet glide down the ends of your cervix. Making sure to brand that edge of his piercing onto every gooey wall.

“God- y’really know how to drive me c-crazy-” Geto’s dark hair curtains either side of your head, and you almost don’t notice the way he swipes up two hands underneath your thighs to press you into a mean mating press. Letting you latch on limply while he leaves to swat at one of your hands cupping your pussy, “N’ move that hand- fuck- m’gonna fuck that outta ya.”

And he does.

The mattress creaks in loud protests when he’s pummeling you with stupidly rude clashes of his weepy tip onto the edges of your g-spot - already expertly mapped out by him now - he’s feeling the sloshy mixture recoil with each thrust. So much of it. “Such a pretty pussy- such p-pretty moans, makes me wanna keep it t’myself-”

God, he’s wanted you for what seems like forever - and he was going to take it.

Panting hotly against your mouth, heavals. Drunk on your messy kisses and the way your pussy lips were bulging with the struggle to take him - but still milking him so needily. “Tie up my h-hair, honey, wanna see that pretty face of yours proper.”

All you can do is blink back the wall of tears that’d made its home in your eyes, trembly fingers taking ahold of Geto’s thin, black hair tie.

But you didn’t expect it to be so difficult.

Because any moment you were even slightly close to bunching up enough of his locks, he’s planting a thorough trail of kisses down your cervix. Before ending with the very showstopper - at your g-spot.

And one look up into Geto’s half-lidded eyes told you one thing…he was doing this on purpose.

Your legs knock-knee in an almost engulfing way around his heavily swallowing throat, muttering out in a tone that you probably thought was threatening - but that Geto found so cute. “I’m onto you, sir-”

Fuck.

Fuck, maybe you were threatening.

He didn’t expect that evil little nickname to slip past your lips - and you didn’t expect Geto to swipe up a devious thumb up your clit in retaliation. Pretty, puckering lips trailing up the valley of your breasts, “I have no idea what you oh- mean, Screen Queen.”

And despite how you were huffing and puffing, your pussy was so clingy all around him. Hips bumping up in slight bucks fully off of the bed in a pathetic attempt to match Geto’s sloppy cadence.

Completely starstruck at the sheer pressurized thrusts you were being ruthlessly dealt with - and you half-lucidly swear you could count stars over your head.

“Do it-” His lips kiss down your winking eyes, ringed fingers cold against your own now. “-do it, honey- you can do it. Might be the Screen Queen but you’re my slut, arentcha?”

God, it’s like his words were hypnotic - maybe they were.

And you dredge up every single bit of will in your trembly body to push past the way that he was absolutely ravaging you inside.

Pound after pound of his swollen cock, the chilling cold metal of his dick piercing helping you discover forbidden sweet spots inside you that you didn’t even realize existed.

So merciless that he’s slipping out a few inches by accident- only to let out a shuddering gasp, eyes shooting almost-comically wide open before sheathing his way in again. Even deeper - you’re being crushed with the weight of one of his knees pressing down on your body.

Over and over-

“Wanna- hah- wanna cum so badly-” your words prattle out delicately. Fingers searing across his scalp, and the way that you tug makes him hiss. It makes him rut, it makes him slam his hips down bruisingly. “Please-”

He leaves a slurping wet kiss on your neck - and another with his fingers onto the hood of your clit. Rolling over with the angled curve of his thumb. Obviously, having you drop a few tresses of his hair- “Heh, maybe t-tie my hair properly n’ I’ll let ya cum- you know s’a staple of my hngh- videos.”

So infuriating, it makes you clench.

That sleazy grin plastered across Geto’s face was unfairly sexy, and so was the way his body was wracking with sudden shivers. Boasting down every curve and muscle, forcing him to fall onto his elbows-

“Hngh- n’ you call me the rookie-” Your smug grin curves upwards at the way that Geto was so tangibly pussydrunk, the way his hips squelch sloppier into your own. The dripping wet noises so obscene that you could feel your cunt drenching even further with each emanating one.

“God, you’re in for it-” he’s spitting out a few slews of swears against your dangling open mouth. Pinching meanly at your clit. “You’re in- hah- you’re sooo in for it-”

But then Geto sees white - and so do you.

Whether from the crashing pleasure of your orgasm, or the way that he was suddenly pumping out thick ribbons of cum into your snugly filled cunt, you have no idea. And you don’t even have the rational brain capacity to even wonder right now.

Because Geto was fucking you through your high like he hated you, rutting up like an animal. And you were sure that if his canines were just a tinge sharper, they’d be drawing blood with how hard he was sinking them into the crook of your neck.

Only deeper, more feral, with every pump of his spazzing cock - gushing out in boatloads of syrupy cum. It thwacks! against the utterly bruised and battered wet surface of your cervix, before dripping down, down, down to your g-spot.

And there’s so much.

Such velvety volumes that ooze down in creamy dredges from the very purse of your pussy lips to form a milky ring around his ruddied base. It inflates your constricting walls from the inside - and yet, still not enough.

He presses one hand down to feel for that bump where you’d been filled to the brim. Sure to add more - to paint your dripping insides white until he was shooting blanks the same way he’d done to simply the thought of you. The idea makes him moan-

No, it makes him whimper.

“Still haven’t hngh f-finished tying my hair, honey.” Geto’s mouth leaves possessive marks down your neck. And his sensitive hips dart with a simple, sullying gyration, smiling, “Either you hngh finally do it properly like a good girl th-this time n’ we make a movie or- we go see one. This weekend. You and me. Your choice, Screen Queen.”

A/N. This got LONG but OHH PIERCED GETO MY BELOVED.

Plagiarism not authorized.

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lacyblades · 2 months ago

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౨ৎ fratboy!gojo had been burning a hole through you with his stare all night. you'd been laughing with some random guy, acting like gojo wasn't even there. besides, the way that dude was looking at you? ew, he though.

you batted your lashes, tilting your head with what you hoped was an innocent smile, up at the stranger. one hand twisted a strand of your hair, the other clutched a half-empty plastic cup — a drink gojo hadn't bothered to get you.

honestly, it was grating on him, having to watch you like that. watching some other guy who was practically drooling over you. so, yeah, in his slightly-messed-up mind, his actions were totally justified.

now, your gaze was fixed upwards again — but this time, it was on him. where it belonged, in his opinion. your lashes were slick with tears, mascara smudged artfully across your cheeks, your hair mussed from his fingers tangling in it.

he'd cornered you in the bathroom, cutting the ridiculously long line and just barging in (scaring the absolute shit out of you without so much as a word). but hey, it was his frat house. his rules.

"j— jesus," he grunted, his eyes rolling back in his head. "you say you're virgin, huh? taking my cock like a damn slut, cherry." your hands were busy too, one sliding up and down his length, the other cradling his heavy balls.

you were practically choking on him, your moans and whimpers swallowed by his thick shaft. at first, he'd actually tried. tried to be gentle, remembering that you'd only he one other time you'd only done this one other time — with him.

but patience had gone out the window fast. now, he was using your face, each thrust of his hips sending the blunt head of his cock slamming against the back of your throat.

gojo thought he'd died and gone to heaven. your mouth was so hot and wet, eagerly engulfing every inch he offered. "you— you're doing s'good," he choked out, his jaw tight. (you might've heard a tooth crack.)

you were gagging, and a part of him was terrified you'd actually throw up, but damn, you were determined. and who was he to stop you? after all, the initial idea had been to take things slow, maybe learn a few new things. this definitely counted as new.

"w— was it worth it?" gojo asks, likely rhetorical. "whoring off to some idiot like that, huh?"

drool slicked your chin, followed by a stream of tears. your cheeks hollowed with each deep stroke, feeling the frantic throb beneath your tongue, the way he strained against your mouth. the pressure built, a dull ache spreading in the back of your throat as he thrust deeper.

you didn't get a warning, just a slight tremor in his grip on your hair before his heavy balls clenched, and he spilled thick, hot seed into your mouth.

it caught you off guard, but what really threw him was the way you swallowed every last drop. every single bit.

his eyes were wide as he helped you stand, watching you brush off your sore knees.

"ch— cherry, you know you didn't have to... i mean, i should've pulled out, i'm sorry—"

you give him a lop-sided grin, "don't be silly. i wanted to."

oh. oh.

gojo might not be your boyfriend, but he sure pressed a soft kiss to your tear-streaked, mascara-smudged cheek like one.

#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo smut #satoru gojo smut #satoru smut #gojo x you #gojo satoru smut #frat house firsts <3 #frat!gojo #cherry!reader

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houseofaegon · 1 month ago

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Ruined ✩ Bob Reynolds

Pairings: Dom!Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolts Teammate!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. no use of y/n. secret hookups, armory sex, unprotected p in v, praise kink, power play, slight sub!bob energy but make it neeeedddyyyyy and feral, desperate!bob, dominant!reader, interrupted sex, yelena being yelena, begging, orgasm denial (sort of), overstimulation, dirty talk.

Summary: The Thunderbolt's press tour is a fucking disaster—Valentina's controlling, the team’s a mess, and Bob Reynolds looks at you like he’s one second away from losing his mind. When you catch him pacing the armory alone, you take what you want. But when you tell him to stay quiet and be good... Bob doesn’t stay quiet. And he definitely doesn’t stay good.

Word count: ~4k

Author's note: need bob reynolds to absolutely destroy me. can't even think or breathe cause he's taking up space in my mind. living in my head rent free and i am not complaining. I'm loooovvvinnnggg these two so much, might make more shots with them cause what the hell???? the dynamic thooooo!!! love me some dom and sub bob <3333333 he's so babygirl i can't take it anymore. if you want to be added to my tag list just comment! <3

masterlist.

"Quiet, Bob."

The words came out as a whisper, but the threat in them made Bob Reynolds shiver under your touch. His back hit the cold armory wall with a clang, head tilting back, mouth already parted on a moan. His shirt was god knows where—somewhere between the racks of rifles and dusty, outdated StarkTech. Your mouth was on his, tongue sliding deep, fingers fisting his curls like you needed an anchor. And Bob? He was already halfway gone.

It had been a long, brutal week.

Valentina had decided that the Thunderbolts—the shiny New Avengers—needed a rebranding for a more "palatable" public. And what better way than a grueling, nonstop, goddamn press tour?

You were paraded like collectibles. Forced smiles. Posed photos. Tactical suits are tailored to make you look sleek. Heroes for the modern age, like she'd said.

Like a fucking boy band.

You were all lined up and put on display like action figure dolls.

"Smile for the cameras," she'd coo, pacing in front of you like a general inspecting her soldiers. "We're selling salvation, not trauma. Wipe that frown off your face, Bucky."

Bucky didn’t even flinch. Just stared through her, arms crossed, his metal hand twitching like it wanted to be anywhere else. Or wrapped around her throat.

Valentina didn’t stop there.

“You,” she snapped at you during the third press op, finger jabbing the air like it might actually hit you. “Need to look grateful, sweetheart. Do you know what I’m paying to make you likable? Not that you aren’t—you’re a doll, really—but come on now, you have to stop glaring at the children like you want to throw them into traffic.”

It was all bullshit. She’d even made Bob do interviews. Bob, whose voice cracked anytime someone looked at him too long.

Yelena had muttered something in Russian that was definitely a curse and didn't even try to smile.

Alexei had laughed too loudly during a morning show segment that made the host flinch, and a lighting rig tripped over.

Ava vanished in the middle of a red carpet appearance—literally phased through the floor and didn’t return for hours.

Walker kept trying to one-up Bucky in interviews. "Sure, Barnes is a legend," he'd say, clapping his shoulder, "but some of us chose to be heroes."

Of course, you snorted a little bit too loud. Loud enough for the mic to catch it. Loud enough for Walker to glare at you and Bucky to smirk.

And Mel? Poor Mel had to endure Valentina's bickering, forcing all of you to pose for pictures while muttering apologies like there was no tomorrow.

You were the first one to be asked for solo shots in the new tactical gear.

"Just a few poses," Valentina said, flashing a big, bright PR smile. "You wear it so well. We want something sleek. Powerful. Sexy, but not, like, thirst trap sexy, you know?"

You didn't miss the way Bob watched. He didn't say a word; he barely moved. But his eyes? They devoured you. Dark, wide, hungry. Like he was seconds from losing it in front of everyone.

Later that day, you'd found him in the dark armory, pacing like a caged animal. Shoulder tense. Breathing shallow.

So you pushed him up against the wall. Fist in his hair. Mouth on his.

And now—

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he growled against your lips, teeth grazing. His hands were gripping your hips tightly, grinding against you, still half-covered by his pants but already leaking, already thick and throbbing for you. “The way you looked in that suit—I couldn’t fucking breathe.”

You rolled your hips against his, slow and punishing. “You could’ve said something.”

“I could’ve snapped.” He laughed, breathless, voice fraying. “I nearly did.”

He didn't even make it to the bench.

By the time you shoved him down, Bob was already panting, pupils blown, knees buckling. He hit the floor with a groan, legs spread, cock heavy and flushed. You were on him in seconds—knees framing his hips, hands pressing down on his chest, owning him.

You thanked God for wearing a dress.

He didn't even see your panties come off. Just blinked and they were gone, tossed somewhere on the floor. His pants already shoved down far enough, his cock already free.

He looked up at you like you were something holy. Divine. Dangerous. Like he'd beg to be burned if it meant you kept touching him like this.

Then you reached between you, lined him up, and sank down in one thrust. He filled you up completely.

Bob swore, loud and wrecked—“Fuckfuckfuck—” his head hit the floor, back arching, eyes wide and pleading.

“God, you feel so fucking good—tight—perfect—I can’t—”

You clapped your hand over his mouth.

“Quiet, Bob.”

He whimpered behind your palm. His hands were everywhere—your hips, your ass, your thighs—like he didn’t know what to hold onto first.

You started to move—fast and rough, giving neither of you time to adjust. You didn’t want slow. Didn’t want sweet. You wanted to feel it. The way he stretched you open, filled every inch, the way his cock hit deep, perfect with every thrust.

Bob moaned into your palm, loud and choked and shameless. His hips bucked up hard, matching your rhythm, chasing every thrust like he couldn’t help himself. His grip on your ass tightened, spreading you wider for him, pulling you down harder.

Your name spilled from his lips again and again, muffled and wrecked.

“You’re so—fuck,—you’re so perfect—need this for so fucking long. I can't even fucking think when you're on me like this—God, yesssss"

You leaned down, dragging your lips along his jaw.

“You like being under me like this?”

He nodded, feverish, muffled praise tumbling behind your hand.

“Mhm—yes—fuck, please—you don’t know what you do to me,” he breathed against your palm, words falling out between gasps. “Been thinking about this—every night—every time you walked past in that suit, I wanted to fall to my knees—wanted to ruin you or be ruined, didn’t even fucking care—just needed you.”

You grinned, filthy and pleased. “And now you’re ruined under me.”

He whined, hips snapping up with such force that it knocked a loud moan right out of you.

“You feel that?” you gasped, rolling your hips in a slow, dragging circle. “That’s how deep you are. You’re so deep, Bob. I can feel you so deep inside me. God—you feel so fucking good."

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he moaned, eyes blown wide, hands gripping your thighs like a man drowning. “Such a good girl. God, you take me so fucking well—look at you—riding me like I belong to you—”

“You do,” you growled, dragging your nails down his chest. “You’re mine right now. You hear me?”

“Yes,” he gasped. “Yes, fuck—yours—always—please god don’t fucking stop—”

You clapped your hand over his mouth again, smirking down at him.

“Quiet, Bob. Don't you dare fucking come until I tell you to."

He whimpered behind your palm, body trembling, trying so hard to behave, to stay still, to not fall apart completely under your touch. But you kept moving—fast, hard, relentless. Your thighs burned. His cock throbbed deep inside you with every stroke.

And just when he was seconds away from breaking—

Hiss. The door slid open.

“Oh my fucking god.”

Yelena’s voice hit like a bullet.

You froze. Bob’s eyes flew open, pure panic, still fully inside you.

Yelena stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, hand flying to her face but only half-covering her view.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered. “The armory? Are you both deranged? This is where we keep weapons, not—whatever the hell this is.”

Bob let out a muffled moan under your hand, utterly betrayed by his body.

Yelena pointed without looking. “Oh my god, this can't be happening. You’re—on top of him. And he’s—Jesus Christ, Bob!”

“Yelena!” you snapped, glaring over your shoulder.

“Alright, alright!” She held up both hands, backing away. “I’ll leave you to your... deep reconnaissance.” She snorted. “Real in-depth work going on here.”

“Yelena! GET OUT!”

“Leaving! Leaving!” she laughed, ducking out as the door hissed shut again. “Just make sure no one ends up disarmed.”

Your heart was still pounding when the door slid shut again, sealing Yelena—and her mouth—on the other side. You didn’t move, still straddling Bob, still full of him, flushed and breathless.

“You okay?” you asked, teasing, one brow raised. “She didn’t scar you for life, did she?”

Bob’s chest was heaving beneath you. He blinked up at you. Something shifted in his eyes.

“No,” he said—low, steady. Then, with startling force, he sat up.

“Bob—?”

His hands gripped your waist, hard. The next second, you were on your back, sprawled across the cool floor, his body covering yours. He was still inside you. Still rock hard. Still throbbing.

“You tease me like that,” he growled, voice rough and frayed, “and expect me to behave?”

Your breath hitched.

“You told me to be quiet. Told me not to come.”

His mouth was at your throat now, kissing, biting, breathing heat against your skin.

“You think I’m gonna ask again?”

You clawed at his back, nails dragging over sweat-slick skin.

“Bob—”

“No,” he snapped, thrusting hard. You gasped, your back arching off the floor. “You don’t get to be in charge now.”

He fucked into you like a man possessed—deep, fast, relentless. All the praise from before was gone, replaced by low, hungry grunts and the sound of skin on skin.

“You wanted this,” he hissed against your ear. “Wanted me like this. Loud. Messy. Mine.”

You moaned, wrapping your legs around him, trying to pull him deeper, and he gave it to you—over and over again.

“You feel that?” he growled, pounding into you. “That’s not deep. This—this is deep.”

You couldn’t even form words. Just gasps. Moans. Scratches across his back.

And he loved it.

He didn’t stop until you were shaking, whimpering beneath him, your control shattered.

He leaned in, panting against your cheek, his voice a rough whisper.

“Now tell me who’s fucking ruined.”

taglist ⊱☆⊰ @notreallythatlost @mandoalorian @urfavfakeblonde @sunday-bug @ruexj283 @mylifeofcalculatedchaos

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fruitmouse · 11 months ago

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looking at pics of me with long hair is sooooo strange now

#lots of love for girlmax in my heart but man. weird #so obviously repressed it’s a little insane. open your eyes boy #‘girlmax’ is. a joke btw. hi hacker gang #but like i didn’t even really take care of my hair correctly it always looked a little odd 😭#very glad with where it’s at now but like #idk. i don’t know why it’s so hard to look at old pictures of me #well i do but #looks away sheepishly #i feel like a completely different person than i was (counts on my fingers) 3? 4 years ago?#i’ve been looking at a lot of old pictures and messages from like middle school/early hs and it’s so #idk #cringe embarrassing etc but also like. weirdly miserable #which is like an obvious trademark of Being Thirteen but it’s so odd because i had no idea where it was coming from #idek if miserable is the word. melancholy?#oh. like the movie #that just hit me like a train actually #DONT watch i saw the tv glow. don’t do it .#/pos i guess #anyway #i’m glad to be who i am today i guess. is what i mean #even if i’m not all the way there i’m definitely closer to being someone i’d actually like to be #weirdly enough i think a lot of it was from living largely on my own for the past few years #not like Real Life Responsibility (trust my father still sponsors my existence. love him) but just like #i dunno #not being terrified of having every aspect of my life and expression picked apart in my own home. or something #i miss my sisters i guess i miss my mom but i do think i needed that sort of. cocoon state for a bit #idk. i think i died for a while & im glad for it #i sideeye That Movie again.#anyways. being trans is nuts #something something finn adventure time ‘im me again’ line something. whatever

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kitteninabunker · 3 months ago

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" lucky charm ! "

contains— female reader, spit, creampie, multiple orgasms (reader), sixsome, full nelson, double penetration, oral sex (m & f receive), anal, unprotected, toji calls a girl a bitch, toji being soft, mlm scene between geto & gojo, reader masturbates, mind breaking, nanami cameo, reader has a belly piercing, no penetration from geto this time

a/n— since u guys and i personally love dork!reader x jjk football team, i decided to write another one! prequel here you'll probably have to read that one first for this to make sense, also do not come for me because i have no clue about what goes on during football >.< this is also kinda rushed, let me specify that this is a college au too

word count— 9.1k… i apologize in advance

the whole football team is truly convinced that dork!reader is their "good luck charm."

ever since that night, when they all took turns with you in the locker room, fucking you until you were a babbling mess, they haven't lost a single game since. and now, with tonight being the night of the championship, and the team's reputation on the line, they aren't taking any chances.

it started out small, toji letting you wear his football jersey to cover up after they tore your outfit to pieces, the oversized fabric swallowing you up as he smirked at the sight. gojo carrying you on his shoulders, letting you wear his football helmet and laughing each time it fell over your eyes with any little movement you made, and geto sneaking you into games for free, so you can be in the stands, cheering for your favorite boys. they loved it, loved knowing their favorite girl was always there, watching, supporting them, belonging to them in a way nobody else could.

oh, and as for their girlfriends? well, the way you were just a bit too loud for their boyfriends whenever they scored a point earned you more than a few nasty looks, not that you cared. they definitely notice you, the way you're always at the football games, always getting their boyfriend’s attention, and they hated it. not because they actually love their boyfriends, but because the idea of some dorky girl stealing their spotlight was unbearable. the truth is, you are pretty, just as much as they are, and worthy of attention. but you're shy, kept your head in a book. it took a hit on your social life, sure, but that didn’t matter. because their boyfriends‘ didn’t seem to mind at all.

the stadium lights burn brightly against the dark sky, a sharp contrast to the biting cold air that nips at your bare legs. the crowd buzzes with excitement, fans bundled up in thick jackets and scarves, but here you are, shivering in your too-short miniskirt and your cropped top, stubbornly refusing to cover up. you'd spent so much time getting ready, doing your makeup, making sure you looked cute for them, and now, standing at the edge of the field, you wonder if you should've picked something less revealing. but it's too late for second guessing, especially when you hear a familiar voice call out—

"there's our girl."

warm hands settle on your shoulder as geto leans in, his lips brush against your temple before he moves over in front of you. the others aren't far behind—toji, sukuna, gojo, and choso—following closely behind, surrounding you with their broad, towering frames. their presence is overwhelming in the best way. "tryin' to look extra pretty for us tonight, huh?" geto murmurs, his thumb wiping off some of the smudged gloss at the corner of your lips with his free hand, he's clutching his football helmet tightly in the other. it's true, you wanted to look pretty for the guys today, glossy lips, cute little outfit, your hair worn down instead of pulled back into your usual ponytail, but with the weather being practically freezing since the sun isn't out anymore, you look silly in your white miniskirt, to anyone that isn't gonna fuck you, anyways, that barely reaches where your thigh and ass meet. but when you catch the way they're all looking at you, as if you're the only thing worth staring at, drooling like starving dogs, it felt worth it.

still, a tiny feeling of self-consciousness bites at you. should you have worn a different outfit? something that wouldn't draw so much attention to you? wouldn't make you feel so aware of yourself? “o-oh, do i offend?” you innocently ask, raking through your hair with your fingers and smoothing down the back of your skirt. "you wouldn't let us go into the biggest game of the season without a little extra luck, would you?" geto asks, mock sadness in his voice as he pouts. you fidget with the ends of your hair, dropping your head to stare down at your shoes on the dark green grass only to notice just how much bigger the guys are than you as they stand around. "don't go all shy on us, y/n." toji chuckles from beside geto, his hand finds your chin as he places a gentle finger beneath it and tilts your head up so you're looking right at him. his gaze holds nothing but affection, and it makes the heat burning your face and the tips of your ears worse.

he's close enough that you catch the faint scent of cologne and sweat on him, his jersey clinging to his broad shoulders. the soft warmth in his gaze makes your stomach twist, and suddenly, you feel too seen, too small in the midst of them. gojo chuckles from beside toji, arms crossed over his chest as he leans in, eyes scanning over you in a way that makes your stomach flip. “what’s with the face, princess?” he teases. “you were all confident a second ago."

your fingers twitch, and you can't stop your hand from moving to your face as you slip your glasses off, tucking them away as the insecurities settle in. maybe you'd look better without them—prettier, like the girls they're usually seen with. but the moment your glasses come off, your vision becomes hazy. toji's handsome features you were just staring at go blurry. you can feel your eyes crossing and you blink, squeezing your eyes shut as if that'll help. before you can fumble for them, sukuna, who’d been watching with a smirk, walks over and plucks your glasses from your hands with an amused scoff. "nice try, sweetheart." he mutters, carefully sliding your glasses back onto your face again, adjusting them.

the moment your vision clears and your eyes go back into focus, choso whistles lowly from his spot beside sukuna. "much better," he coos, ruffling your flat-ironed hair before tilting his head with a dramatic sigh. you open your mouth to protest, you'd rather sacrifice your sight if that meant knowing you looked good, but gojo beats you to it, his usual grin stretching wide as he leans in. "honestly, i dunno why you even tried that, you’re already gorgeous.” he says, “don’t hide this pretty face from us."

heat sizzles on your cheeks, but before you can process gojo's words, sukuna swoops in and wraps his muscular arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him until your chest is pressed against his abs. “m’ so happy our girl came to see us.” he murmurs, pressing a kiss onto your forehead. you wrap your arms around the back of his neck, he drops his head so your foreheads are pressed against each other as the tip of your noses touch. you smile up at him, cupping his face with your hands. "alright, alright, that's enough." you hear toji say as he and the rest of the guys crowd around you two, toji makes the first move, leaning in as he starts kissing your cheek, gojo nuzzles his nose against your neck before latching his lips onto your skin, geto stands behind you as his large hands explore your waist, choso presses soft, lazy pecks along your shoulder, while sukuna smirks and tilts your chin up, stealing a quick kiss right from your lips.

you feel your heart skip a few beats as you pull back from sukuna's lips, his eyes locked onto your flushed face as he stands straight up, allowing everyone to get a good look at you. "look at 'er." toji drawls, his voice laced with amusement. "all dolled up, looking cute as hell." his green eyes drag down your body, lingering just long enough on your smooth thighs and the hem of your miniskirt to make your thighs press together. "almost too good to be true."

sukuna huffs a low laugh beside him, reaching down to toy with the edge of your skirt. "you wore this thing just for us, baby?"

"mhm!" you proudly declare, nodding your head and lightly pinching the fabric of your skirt. your lips tighten in an upside-down smile, you twirl a lock of your hair around your finger and slightly sway. even though you're shy, you crave this kind of attention. and just like that, the insecurity gnawing at you starts to fade. maybe you don't fit in with the cheerleaders, maybe you aren't as loud, as confident, as perfect as they are, but these guys don't seem to mind. in fact, they love it.

"you cold, y/n?" toji's smug expression fades into something softer, pure concern in his voice. his brows knit together as he shrugs off his jersey, pulling it over your head without waiting for an answer, the fabric heavy and warm as it falls past your knees. "there, don't get sick trying to be cute. you already are."

sukuna smacks his lips, watching toji with an amused look. "man, look at you," he drawls, shaking his head. "all soft for her like some lovesick puppy." gojo snickers, elbowing sukuna. "never thought i'd see the day when the big bad toji fushiguro gives up his jersey and his dignity in one move." toji grunts, adjusting the jersey on you like he didn't hear them. "shut up." his hand lingers on your shoulder, tugging the fabric into place, and yeah, they all see it.

"aww, she's blushing." choso calls out, smiling and patting your shoulder.

before you could respond, a sharp, piercing whistle cuts through the air. "enough." coach nanami's voice is flat, unimpressed as he walks up to the huddle with his arms crossed. his usual stern expression is set in place, brows furrowed as he glares at the group. "get your asses in gear. now." the guys groan, shaking their heads as they start to ready themselves for the game. geto sighs dramatically, stepping back. "guess we'll have to pick this up later."

"but don't go anywhere." choso gives you a pointed look, his fingers briefly squeeze your wrist before he lets go. "we wanna hear you cheering for us."

gojo smirks, reaching out to tap your chin. "loud and clear, yeah?"

"yeah," you breathe, barely registering your own voice.

you watch the three of them take off towards the middle of the field, but before sukuna follows, he quickly crouches down until his lips are at your ear. "cheer the loudest for me." his voice a raspy whisper, then he's gone, running after the others, leaving you grinning to yourself. you turn your attention back towards toji who's already staring at you. "aren't you gonna go?" you ask, nodding your head towards the field. "yeah, yeah.” he mutters, but makes no effort to leave. instead, he lets his gaze sweep over you, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. “just let me admire you a little longer. you’re so damn cute wearing my jersey.”

before you can even think of a response, nanami's sharp voice cuts through the moment.

“fushiguro!”

you whip around to see coach nanami, arms crossed, his sharp eyes snapping over at you in toji’s oversized jersey. “what the hell is she doing with that on?!?!”

toji sighs, dragging a hand down his face before stepping back, but not before he tugs the fabric into place, making sure you're covered properly against the cold air. "relax, coach,“ he drawls, already jogging off toward the locker room. “i’ll grab another one.”

coach nanami exhales hard, sighing as he pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. his clipboard slips from his grip, hitting the ground with a dull thud. "dealing with college boys is a fucking nightmare."

he mutters something under his breath again as he bends to grab his clipboard, shaking his head like he's this close to losing it. but you barely notice it, your focus lingers on toji's retreating form, the warmth of his jersey still heavy on your body. it smells like him too, like worn leather, faded cologne, and a hint of sweat, and you fight the urge to bury your nose in it.

"you're unbelievable," coach nanami sighs, dragging you out of your thoughts.

"what?" you blink up at him with giant eyes thanks to your lenses, feigning innocence.

his tired gaze flicks between you and the team warming up on the field, then back to you, deadpan.

"just... stay out of trouble," he mutters, turning on his heel.

the stands are already packed with students, alumni, parents who think their kids are going to make it to the NFL, and locals all gathered for the championship game. the energy is buzzing. you should be focusing on that, but instead, your attention shifts to the sidelines, to them.

sukuna is the first to notice you watching, he smirks, throwing you a wink before rolling his shoulders like he's showing off. you watch how the muscles in his tattooed arms flex, and it gives you a shameful heat between your legs. geto catches on next, and even from this distance, you can see the teasing glints in his eyes. gojo, of course, takes it a step further, making a big show of blowing you a kiss. choso's stretching on the field, his eyes locked onto your figure with intense concentration.

you step onto the bleachers, slowly and quietly walking to an open spot with your cherry slushie and ketchup and mustard covered hotdog from the concession stand—your favorite. as you walk, you notice how the sound of conversation starts to die down, not all at once, but as if everyone you walked by went silent, finding staring at you to be a lot more interesting than whatever they were talking about. you keep your head down, pretending not to notice, but you can feel it. the weight of everyone's eyes on you, the murmurs passed between groups.

by the time you take a seat on the silver bleacher, it's clear, the excitement of the game or the players making their entrance, none of that is what gets people talking.

it's you.

wrapped in toji's jersey, oversized and undeniably his.

"wait, isn't that toji's?"

"yeah... why does she have it?"

"does she know him like that?"

you hear the whispers behind you, feel the stares burning into your back, some confused, some sharp with irritation. your stomach twists, a knot tightening deep in your gut as you clutch the jersey in your fist, gripping the fabric like it might somehow shield you from their scrutiny. you shift your weight, fighting the urge to shrink into yourself and disappear into the crowd. you nervously take a bite of your hotdog even though the energy you feel around you just killed your appetite.

cowering away isn't an option anymore, the cheerleaders have already seen you. and judging by the way some of them are glaring, they're not glad to see you. one of them makes a sharp scoff you can hear since your standing behind her on the bleachers, and it makes your heart sink. their boyfriends are the stars of the show, they should be the ones getting all the attention, but here you are. tucked away in an oversized jersey, the one that belongs to another girl's man, stealing glances and soft smiles that belonged to them. you don't miss the way they're eyeing you, how their perfectly manicured fingers tighten around their pom-poms, how their lips curl slightly.

"god, she's always here," one of them mutters to another under her breath, but it's loud enough for you to hear.

"it's pathetic," another sneers. "she's not even that pretty."

you swallow hard, fingers twitching at the hem of the jersey.

you knew this was coming, they've never liked you. always had something to say about how you looked, what you wore. they picked you apart about everything, and this moment brings you back to memories you'd rather forget. the worst part is, they aren't wrong. you aren't like them. you aren't a cheerleader. you don't have perfectly styled hair or expensive clothes, or the confidence to walk across campus like you own the place. you're just... you.

"focus!" coach nanami barks at the team, blowing his whistle. "game starts in five!"

you squeeze the jersey tighter in your fist, finger's twisting into the heavy fabric. okay, maybe this whole thing was a mistake. maybe you should've stayed home, watched the game from your dorm, spared yourself the humiliation—

"oi."

your head snaps up at the sound of a voice, deep and rough, cutting right through the chatter. the whispers die down almost instantly, and suddenly toji is right there. standing in his newer jersey he ran off to retrieve.

he's not looking at the crowd, not sparing the cheerleaders a glance, not paying attention to anyone except you.

"toji?" you ask, craning your head up as he reaches out, his rough fingers grazing your thigh as he tugs at the hem of his jersey. he's making sure it's still snug on your body and doing its job to keep you warm. "aren't you gonna go play?"

"yeah, i am." he mutters, but his eyes don't leave your face. his jaw tightens, turning his head to the side just for a second before he scoffs. "just didn't like the way those bitches are ogling at you." it takes you a moment to realize who he's talking about, so you shift slightly, leaning past toji's broad frame, and sure enough—you see the cheerleaders. their glossy lips are curled into little sneers, arms crossed, their eyes locked onto the two of you like they're barely restraining themselves from marching over. yeah, the loser nobody hangs out with gets to wear a football player's jersey, so what? you want it to be a silent flex that you took their man. but the practical part of you takes over, and you quickly duck back behind toji. your fingers curls around his sleeve as you press yourself against his chest.

"that's cute," he huffs out a laugh as he feels the top of your head on his abs, shaking his head. "you gonna hide beneath me all night?"

"no..." you, admittedly, felt safe hiding beneath him, as if he were a shield for everyone's current awkward staring.

"wait... are they actually—"

"what? since when?"

toji smirks, knowing exactly what he's doing, he wants them to see. "there," he murmurs, giving the fabric one last tug before letting it go. you blink up at him, lips parted, unsure of what to even say. he just grins, reaching out to ruffle your hair before turning back toward the field.

"don't move," he calls over his shoulder, voice teasing as he jogs to join the rest of the team. "gotta win this game for our girl, yeah?"

you've been holding your breath the entire time.

watching as toji plows through the defenders, and sukuna stiff-arming a smaller player on the opposing team so hard he hits the ground. "too slow, dumbass." he sneers before launching the ball across the field to geto, who catches it effortlessly, barely breaking his stride. choso is calm, his eyes narrowed as he watches the other players. the moment he sees geto launch the ball into the air towards him, he sprints. weaving through the players with percussion and catching it before tossing the ball to gojo.

you can't look.

the pressure it too much, the pounding of your heart against you ribcage is deafening in your own ears as you swallow thickly and squeeze your eyes shut.

then—

the stadium buzzer blares, the announcer screaming into the microphone, "TOUCHDOWN SCORED BY GOJO SATORU!"

they won... your boys won!

the stadium erupts, a deafening mix of cheers and screams shaking in the air as everyone jumps up, hugging and celebrating. on the field, the players swarm each other, a chaotic mix of bodies clashing victory. you catch a glimpse of the opposing team, some shaking their heads, others already trudging off the field in defeat. their coach looks like he's about to lose his mind, throwing whatever was in his hands to the ground before gripping his hair in frustration.

"yes!" you cheer, arms flying up as you beam at the celebration around you. the energy is overwhelming, everyone’s screams ringing in your ears. without thinking, you immediately rush down from the stands and onto the field. to no surpise, gojo is already rushing towards you. your feet barely hit the ground before he grabs you first by your waist, lifting you up effortlessly. "did you see that?! we won!" he laughs, spinning you around.

"i saw!" you giggle, clinging onto his shoulders. the second he sets you back on the ground, sukuna swiftly grabs you next, pulling you into his chest as he smirks against your ear. "cheered the loudest for me, huh? knew you would, sweetheart." his usual smugness is dripping from his voice.

"delusional," geto scoffs, pushing sukuna aside as he wraps his arms around you, hugging your head and inhaling the scent of your strawberry scented shampoo that still lingers in your hair. "i knew you wouldn't let us lose."

choso pulls you in next, his arms are tight but warm as he lays his head on the top of yours, murmuring a quiet, "our good luck charm."

you don't spot toji anywhere as you turn your head to scan the field, then he appears right behind you, tugging you out of geto's grip and spinning you around to look at him.

he's soaked in sweat and breathing hard, but his grin is wide and all for you. he hugs your waist tightly, "we won, baby." his voice is low, warm.

"i know, congratulations!" you breathe, grinning so hard your cheeks ache.

"don't congratulate us, sweet thing." gojo says, playing with a strand of your hair. "we owe it all to you."

"and you looked so damn cute watching us do it." toji adds, his hand squeezing your waist

before you can even roll your eyes, he yanks you up off of your feet. you gasp, legs dangling as his lips crash against yours.

the kiss makes your head full fuzzy, heat and hunger forming in your core. toji's hands are gripping your waist like he can't stand the thought of letting you go. your fingers twist into his jersey—well, his other jersey since you're still swaddled in his old one.

you forget about those lingering stares, the whispered remarks, the cheerleaders who looked at you like they wanted to murder you, the jealous glances thrown your way. the world around you slowly seems to go silent, no crowd, you judgment, nothing—just you and your boys.

"hey, don't hog her, old man," sukuna grunts, yanking you from toji's arms and into his own. his sharp grin is wicked, his hands wandering down to your plump ass and he gives it a rough squeeze,

“sukuna!" you yelp, giggling.

"sukuna," choso warns, but the way his grip on your wrist tightens betrays him too, doesn't want to let you go.

"what? can't help it." sukuna shrugs, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of toji's jersey draped over you, flipping it over your skirt as the cold air kisses your exposed skin. sukuna sharply inhales your scent, hugging you close as his whispering voice sends a sharp jolt through you. "not my fault she's so sexy."

your breath catches, but the guys don't miss it. they never do.

"getting shy, sweetheart?" geto teases, stepping behind you. "you were so confident screaming for us just a second ago."

"s'not fair," you mumble, suddenly aware of the way they're all looking at you with hungry stares. the boys who just won the biggest game of the season and only want one thing to celebrate groping you in front of everyone.

"no?" gojo tilts his head with faux innocence, "then what is fair? 'cause i think we deserve a proper reward, don't you?"

“alright, that’s enough of this,” toji grunts, he hauls you up and throws you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. "let's show her what we really want."

“toji—?!” you squeak, your hands immediately gripping the back of his jersey as you lift your head, turning it to look at him.

“relax, sweetheart,” he says, giving your ass a playful smack that makes you jolt and kick your leg. “time for the real celebration.”

the others don’t even question it, if anything, they’re laughing, trailing closely behind as toji strides off the field with you in tow. you were always meant to end up like this, a girl in her skimpy little outfit being carried like a sack of potatoes on a man's shoulder.

“what makes you special enough to have her all to yourself?” choso huffs, his jaw ticking as his dark eyes lock onto yours. he drags his tongue over his bottom lip, slow and deliberate. with that, you remember how his cock felt in your mouth, the weight of him on your tongue, the warmth of his cock stretching your mouth, the way he groaned when you took him deeper. heat floods your face, your breath hitching at the memory. you swallows hard and immediately advert your gaze which makes him chuckle.

“well, she is wearing my jersey.” toji smirks, gripping your asscheek again as you wiggle in his hold. you feel his arm tightening over you, “keep squirming, and we’ll handle you right here.” he warns, his voice is smooth but you don’t miss the promise.

that shuts you up, you slap your hands over your face even though you wouldn’t mind if they took you right here, on the field for everyone to see.

you turn your head back around just in time to watch the last of the crowd start to clear out—parents, students, faculty leaving the stands and off the field until it’s quiet, until it’s just you and them. the atmosphere is still heavy with the buzz of the win, but none of that matters now. it’s just you and your boys alone on the field, their footsteps are slow behind toji, trailing you both across the field and toward the locker room doors. you can feel their eyes burning into your body. winning the championship wasn’t enough for them, toji’s carrying the real prize on his shoulder right now, anyways.

you know exactly how this night is gonna end.

toji carries you inside of the locker room, arms snug over your lower back. the humid air thick with sweat, musk, and testosterone floods your senses, dragging you back in time. “can you take dick, pretty girl?” your breath catches in your throat as your brain goes back to the first time you were ever here, pressed against sukuna’s muscular body, clawing at his broad shoulders and struggling to hold yourself together as you got your guts rearranged and pounded. your thighs press together as the throbbing between your legs returns, your chest rises and falls too fast, fingers tangling in toji's jersey.

“you’re quiet all of a sudden,” gojo murmurs behind him, looking at you. “what’s wrong?”

you look up at him, head titled slightly with your lips caught between your teeth.

sukuna leans in close, his grin sharp. “she remembers," he clicks his tongue. "don’t you, baby?"

of course you do. how could you forget? it was your first time getting fucked, your first time getting your poor virgin cunt stretched open by huge athletic dick and they didn't even bother to go easy on you. you remember the way you sobbed, begging for the break you never got.

how could they forget?

“she’s getting all shy,” geto teases, reaching out to brush his knuckles down your arm as you cling onto toji’s back.

“actin' like we haven’t seen every inch of this pretty body,” toji chuckles, squeezing a greedy handful of your ass as he shifts his hold, cradling you in his arms bridal style before he lowers you down so you can sit on the bench.

you sit in front of them, shrinking beneath their gazes, surrounded. everywhere you look is a tall, horny body that's already had you and wants you again. deja vu settles into you as you swallow thickly, looking up and giving them doe eyes.

choso steps forward, fingers curling around your waist, thumbs pressing lightly into your hips. he bends to your height, his dark eyes stare into yours as he tilts his head with a soft expression. “do you remember how it felt?” he whispers, voice ghosting over your lips. “right here, on this bench? you were shaking so bad.”

your eyes soften as you nod, slow and shy, lips parting just slightly.

"aww," gojo coos, grinning at you as he crouches beside you. "she's nervous. you're not scared of us now, are you?"

"i'm not," you whisper, voice small.

you say you aren't nervous, aren't nervous for another around of five dicks taking you again, that sounds amazing in your mind, in fact, but your body language gives you away. your fingers twist at the hem of toji's jersey, and your breath stutters when choso's hand grazes your shoulder, his palm warm against your skin.

“she’s remembering how good i felt inside of ‘er,” sukuna chimes, his voice dark with amusement as he leans against the wall, arms crossed. “bet her cute little pussy’s already making a mess in those panties.”

“i think she liked it too much last time,” geto hums. his fingers slip beneath jersey, dipping into the waistband of your skirt, he tugs the fabric off of your belly gently, letting it snap back against your skin. “look at her squirm.” you gasp slightly, feeling geto’s fingertips trace patterns across your stomach.

toji’s hand returns to your thigh as he takes a seat on the bench next you, thumb drawing lazy, possessive circles just beside the edge of your panties. “still so soft,” he mumbles. “you want it again, don’t you?” he’s looking at you, green eyes trailing over your features. “you wanna feel our dicks streching every opening you have out?”

truth is, you’re not shy because they’ve fucked you before. you’re wondering if they’re noticing the acne dotting your cheeks, if they think your braces make you look juvenile, if your glasses—those stupid, ridiculously thick things—make your eyes look comically big. you glance away, chewing the inside of your cheek.

“hey,” toji murmurs, voice dipping low as his hand catches your chin, turning your face gently back to him. “don’t hide. you look so fucking cute like this.”

you glance over at him, lips parted and your breaths shallow. there’s no hiding it right now, they read you an open book. the heat in your chest spreads all the way to your core. a smile curls across your face, right now you’re just a shy, but eager thing. “yeah,” you breathe. “i do.”

“see? there’s our smile.” toji grins down at you, pinching your cheek playfully before standing upright and steppiing back. “hmm,” sukuna hums, already stalking closer. “you’re still wearing too many clothes.” his fingers tug at the hem of the oversized jersey still draped over your body, his jaw ticks, eyes narrowed. “you should be wearing mine.” he mutters beneath his breath, a smug look curling his lips.

“strip.”

the single word cuts though the air. you immediately snap your head up at sukuna as his words cut through the air. your heart skips beats as your lips part. you blink, pulse thudding in your own ears. they—they want you to take your clothes off? right here, in front of them? by yourself? you hesitate for a bit, and the air around you grows hot and still, five sets of eyes are locked in you now, and they all look like they’re about to pounce on you.

“uhmmm,” you scratch your head, blinking. “you… want me to get naked?”

“duh.” geto says, smirking as he crosses his arm. “you’ve got two hands for a reason.”

the others chuckle lowly, the kind of laugh that sends heat crawling up your neck. your eyes flick between each of them, choso watches you with that quiet, shy, pink-colored blush across his cheeks, he’s patient. toji leans back with a knowing smirk, like he’s already seen this play out in his head. sukuna looks like he’s gonna tear those damn clothes off of you himself, his jaw tight. gojo’s gaze is steady and unreadable, but you know he’s growing impatient as well. and geto? he’s already palming his heavy, budging cock through his uniform, shameless and nearly shaking with arousal.

“hm, okay!” your fingers curl beneath the hem jersey as you pull it over your head, gently placing on the bench behind you. you pull your shoes off then your socks, leaving you in nothing but your crop top and your miniskirt. the cool air in the room brushes your exposed skin, hardening your nipples beneath your shirt. you slowly begin to lift your top, rolling the fabric up inch by inch, reaching the soft swells of your breast. their gazes don’t waver, if anything, they darken. then comes your skirt, you hook your thumbs under the waistband, shimmying down your hips, letting it fall to the floor with a soft rustle. now, you’re standing before them in nothing but your magenta thong.

“fuck,” toji exhales, his eyes darkening as he looks you over. “you look even better than i remember.”

they can see the outline of your cunt, the thin strip of your soaked thong barely covering anything. the shiny jewelry in your belly button catches the light, drawing attention to how it glistens so perfectly against your skin. choso silently moves toward you, gently spinning you around until your back rests against his chest. he leans down, brushing his lips against yours in a soft kiss. you follow suit as you move your arm to cup his face with your hand. his palms glide over the soft curve of your belly, squeezing your waist before one hand snakes down past the band of your panties.

you gasp into choso's mouth as your tongue laps around with his, his fingers sliding between your slick folds. you feel their hands all over your body, tracing your hips, brushing your arms, tugging the thin band on your panties that could easily rip. the way you feel so open, right there and available makes you hornier than ever. gojo's in front of you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he pressed his bulge onto your barely cunt through your thin lace thong. your eyes fly open as you feel it, the pulse right beneath you and begging to feel your warm walls gushing around it when you cum. someone's lips are on your neck, their teeth gently scraping your skin. you can tell it's geto's breath brushing against the shell of your ear, his hands palming your soft, plump sss as his fingers curl into the plush of it.

choso pulls back from the kiss, a line of spit connects your lips to his as he stares down at you. "you gonna be good for us, pretty girl?" he huffs, catching his breath after kissing you. "bet that mouth of yours could make us all see starts." before you can even answer, gojo presses his twitching cock through his uniform harder against your wet cunt, feeling your juices start to leak out and seep through the fabrics. "you remember how good we made you feel last time, hm? how sweet you sounded with your mouth full?" he laughs softly as he feels you tremble, pressing a kiss on the side of your face.

choso slides his hand along your waist, eyes soft but dark with lust. "you can handle us," he murmurs. "we'll go slow. or not." his fingers hook beneath the band of your panties as he tugs them down until they pool around your ankles, leaving your cunt exposed for all of them to see. he picks you up, carrying you back to the bench, your back pressed against his back. "spread it, show everyone how much you want it." he whispers into your ear. you spread your puffy cunt apart, showing off your glistening pink insides. "like this?" choso keeps your legs up by locking his arms around the back of your knees, making sure you're absolutely on display and vulnerable.

"fuck, she looks so delicious and innocent." you hear someone murmur. you watch toji crouch down between your legs, licking his lips and staring at your leaking cunt. "been thinking about how sweet this pussy tastes since last time. "aaah!" a whimper slips out of your mouth as he lowers his head and licks a long stripe up your slit. the moan that rips from your mouth is cut short, because sukuna grabs your jaw and turns your head towards him.

"you're not getting off that easy, open up and let me feed you this dick." he doesn't wait for you to nod, his twitching cock is already thick and heavy in his hand as he pressed it against your lip. "and don't use your teeth, we can't have those braces getting in the way, can we?" your body jolts as toji's tongue flicks against your clit, hot and relentless, and you part your lips on instinct, letting sukuna slide past your tongue. the stretch burns, but you moan around him anyway.

"that's it," sukuna growls, one hand tangled in your hair and the other cradling your jaw as he starts to fuck your mouth slowly. "fucking perfect." toji groans between your legs, fingers spreading you wider as he licks you open. "she's dripping," he growls. "tastes like she's been waiting for this."

above you, gojo chuckles, cock already out and twitching in his hand. your lips are stretch around sukuna's dick gojo grabs your hand and sticks his cock inside, you instinctively stoke it as gojo reaches down to your cunt to gather your slick and spread it all around his shaft. your hips twitch against toji's face, trying to grind down and he answers with a rough suck to your clit that makes you moan around sukuna's dick as he grabs a handful of hair from the back of your head and forces your head against his pelvis.

"she's close," choso says as he watches, feeling your body jerk against him as he moves one of his hands to play with your boob. and that's when you feel another tongue making laps around your clit alongside toji's. your eyes fly open as you pull sukuna's cock out of your mouth to watch geto and toji licking your pussy like it's the best thing they've ever tasted.

"guys—aaah!" you whimper, grinding harder against both of their faces and you feel it, you feel yourself squirt as the move move to watch it. "good girl!" toji praises as him and geto lap up your juices, geto moves a bit lower to clean up the mess you just made that's leaking down into your tightest hole. your jaw aches, throat raw from taking sukuna so deep, and your arm burns from how tightly you're stroking gojo, but you don't stop. you can't stop. not when toji and geto are making you see stars with their tongues, their mouths warm and wet, taking turns sucking and licking until your thighs twitch uncontrollably.

and through it all, choso keeps you steady in his lap, hands soft on your tits, fingers rubbing your nipples until they're painfully hard and sensitive.he's murmuring against your temple, saying things you can barely hear over the moaning and slick sounds around you.

then, slowly, the touches start to fade.

toji pulls back from between your legs first, his mouth wet with your slick. "look at you," he pants. "fucking wrecked already." you whimper as geto presses one last kiss on your clit before rising to his feet, eyes dark and hungry. gojo huffs a soft laugh, grabbing your chin and making you look at all of them standing over you now.

"who's taking her first?" sukuna grunts, still stroking his cock lazily in his hand. "she's soaked."

"i'll do it," toji says without hesitation, already peeling off his clothes, his cock thick and hard as it bounces free. "i need to feel that tight little pussy gushing around my cock." choso eases you off his lap and helps you lie back on the bench, legs still trembling and glistening. your limbs feel like jello, but you arch your back on all fours, aching for more.

toji steps between your legs, his hands rough as they grab your hips and drag you toward the edge. he spreads you open with his thumbs, groaning at the sight of your dripping hole. "still so fucking wet," he mutters. "you want me to stretch you out, baby?"

you nod helplessly, tongue still thick from sukuna's cock. your voice comes out soft and ruined. "yes... please." you arch your back deeper snd sway your ass, your cunt clenching desperately around nothing and begging to be filled up to the brim. you look back at toji with glossy eyes as your cheek is pressed against the bench

toji holds the base of his thick cock, dragging his fat mushroom tip between your slick folds as it bumps your clit with makes you mewl. "mmmph, p-put it in already!" you softly beg, which makes the guys chuckle. "she's so cock drunk already, dumb little whore." gojo teases. toji lines himself up and pushes inside, slow at first-but he's big, and you feel the burning stretch all the way to your lungs. your back arches with a cry ripping from your throat.

"fuck, she's tight," toji groans, hands bruising on your hips as he starts to thrust, steady and deep. you feel his tip pushing so far inside of you, poking your gut as you wrap your arm around you belly, feeling the shape of his dick bulging through you. he lands a glob of spit onto your asshole, rubbing it around your little hole with the pad of his thumb as he starts to slowly slip it inside.

the others circle around, watching, stroking themselves, eyes locked on where tojl's cock disappears into your soaked cunt over and over and dragging out covered in a thick sheet of your slick. "look at how she's gripping him," gojo murmurs, his hand sliding down your throat, thumb resting just under your jaw. "bet she's gonna cum just from getting filled."

"won't last long," sukuna smirks, fisting his cock. "not when she's clenching like that."

toji grins down at you, sweat dripping from his brow. he watches as a white ring of your arousal bubbles at his shaft, his cock starts to leak precum which makes it easier from him to slip in and out of you faster as he picks the up the pace. your plush ass jiggles against his abdomen as he yanks your free arm behind your back. "you gonna cum for me first, sweetheart? show them how good i fuck you?"

your body answers before you can. the orgasm tears through you suddenly, violently, your legs kicking, cunt pulsing around toji's cock as he growls and fucks you through it. you're barely holding on, legs trembling, body slick with sweat and spit and cum. tojl's still panting above you, cock twitching as he pulls out and lets your pussy drip down onto the bench, but not before he buries himself until his red tip is flush against your cervix, releasing his own load of hot, stick cum as it squirts out in thick ropes. he licks his lips as he looks at your raw, pink hole—all stretched open and used :( you think maybe they'll let you rest, after they all watched you get fucked like that, there’s only so much a girl can take.

they don't.

"you didn't think we were done, did you?" sukuna laughs, grabbing you by the hips and flipping you over like you weigh nothing. you squeal, dizzy, arms trembling as you brace yourself on all fours. choso is already lying back on the bench, thick cock standing straight up between his legs. "come here, baby," he murmurs, pulling you toward him. you straddle him instinctively, thighs trembling as you lower yourself onto his length, your cunt already dripping and eager as his tip starts to split your entrance open. he groans, head tipping back with his hands gripping your hips to keep you steady. "fuck—just like that."

sukuna's behind you again, his cock resting heavy between your cheeks, "hold her open," he barks, choso's hands slide to your ass, spreading your cheeks apart and holding you open wide for sukuna's gaze. your breath catches. "you ready to take both?" choso groans, lining himself up beneath your drooling pussy while sukuna's cock rests against your tight, untouched hole. he spits, the filthy sound echoing in the locker room as lands on your hole. sukuna rubs the head of his against your rim, letting his precum smear around your hole with the spit. "she's shaking." choso breathes, looking up at with, concerned tangled with lust.

"she can take it," sukuna grins, grabbing a fistful of your hair. "she's our little toy, remember?" you breath catches, then turns into a scream as sukuna pushes histhe first stretch making your whole body tense. choso pushes into your soaked cunt at the same time sukuna starts to press into your ass, both of them groaning low as they stuff you full from both ends. it hurts-it burns-but it's so much, too much, and your body starts to melt into it.

"fuck, she's tight," choso hisses. "gripping me like she was made for this." sukuna moans against your back, lips brushing your spine. "she's squeezing me too," he pants. "she's fucking perfect." their thrusts start slow but get brutal fast. they pound into you like they're competing, their cocks dragging over every sensitive spot until you're screaming, drooling, babbling nonsense. you feel like you're going to break apart. choso’s hand slide to your hips to give your movement, “you’re taking us so well…” he whispers.

gojo's in front of you again, stroking his cock lazily. "look at her," he laughs. "fucked so dumb she doesn't even know what hole is getting filled."he grabs your face, slaps your cheek lightly, and taps his cock against your lips. “open up, baby.” you do, instantly, and he slides it into your mouth. you moan around him as sukuna slams into your ass and choso drives his cock deeper into your dripping cunt from beneath you. drool drips down your chin as he gojo feeds his fat cock to you. "good girl," he breathes, both hands holding your head steady as he starts to fuck your throat. "that's it. choke on it."

your body jolts with every thrust, stuffed to the brim, brain melted into nothing but desperate moans and the sound of skin slapping against skin. you're just a hole for them now, for everyone, used and filled. behind you, sukuna bites into your shoulder and growls through his teeth. his thrust grown sloppier as he chases his high, you feel both of their cocks throbbing in both of your holes and your body jerks from the force of it. choso’s breath is hit against your chest, his moans muffled by your bouncing tits. the bench creaks under all of you. their bodies slapping into yours. then, they both cum at once, sukuna spilling into your ass, choso filling your pussy to the brim. as sukuna buries himself to the hilt in your ass and groans through his orgasm, choso bucks one last time into your soaked pussy and spills everything he has inside you. your body sags, twitching under the weight of it all-cum leaking from both holes, drool sliding from your lips.

you moan around gojo's cock as the hot rush of it floods you, leaking down your thighs instantly. a creamy mess of white oozes out from both your holes, slicking your thighs and pooling on the bench beneath you.

"fuck," sukuna hisses. "you're ruined."

"nah," choso murmurs, feeling his own cum start to force his cock to slip out of your pussy. "she's perfect."

"our perfect little cumdump," he breathes, reaching down to rub your clit with slow, lazy circles. "still twitching."

"and she's gonna take more," gojo growls, snapping his hips hard. "hold still." he groans as he slips is cock from your mouth, slapping it on your puffy lips before sukuna pulls out of your asshole, choso lifts your hips up as his own cum forces his cock to slip out.

you barely register the shift, feel strong arms hook under your knees, yanking you upright with shocking ease. your legs are bent, spread wide, and your arms are suddenly pinned up over your head, trapped behind gojo's neck as he locks you in place.

gojo groans, still fucking your cunt . he pulls out just long enough for geto to kneel between your legs, licking at your clit while gojo pushes into your pussy, still wet and dripping with choso's cum.

"full nelson, baby," gojo breathes against your ear, lips curling. "you ever been fucked like this?" his cock grinds between your slick folds, nudging your overstimulated clit. you can't respond, your voice is caught in your throat. your body bounces in his hold, tits jiggling, cunt clenching around him, already soaking wet and leaking down his shaft. he fucks up into you mercilessly, using you like a fleshlight while you whimper and twitch. "nah, didn't think so. let me show you how it feels to be completely helpless."

you can't even speak, then he trusts up into you, hard. your whole body jolts in his grip, helpless and suspended, your cunt stretched again and again as gojo fucked uo into you mercilessly. your tits brunch, spit and tears streak your face and your pussy drools around his cock, dripping everything choso left behind. "so full," gojo groans. "tight little hole milking me."

geto crouches in front of you, watching your ruined face with a hungry smile. "still drooling," he murmurs, before leaning in to suck your clit between his lips, his hand sliding up to cradle gojo's balls, massaging them gently. "fuck, look at her, gojo pants, snapping his lips harder. "can't even talk."

you can't. not when geto's tongue flicks your clit and gojo's cock hits that spot so perfect inside of you. "g-gojo! m' gonna cum..." geto crouches in front of you, watching your face twist with every thrust. "look how fucked out she is," he says, licking his lips. "still drooling." you look down at geto who's already looking up at you, making eye contact as you watch his tongue move so fast on your clit it's almost a pink blur.

he leans in closer, sucking your clit into his mouth with a rough pull that makes your eyes roll back. he doesn't stop there, his hand slides to cup gojo's balls, massaging them while gojo pounds you like he's trying to rearrange your guts. "still so fucking tight," gojo huffs, snapping his hips up hard. "you're gonna milk another load out of me, aren't you? greedy little thing."

your moan rips out of your throat as he lifts you higher, thighs trembling. his cock pushes in slow, stretching you open, making you feel every inch as he sinks into the mess choso left behind. you can't think. geto's tongue on your clit, gojo's cock pounding into your stuffed cunt, your body jerking from overstimulation and pleasure that borders on pain. "she's full," geto groans, tongue circling your clit while his hand reaches up to massage gojo's balls as they slap against your ass. your moans come in helpless little sobs, your body shaking as another orgasm crashes down on you.

"fuck, i'm close," gojo groans. "you feel that? gonna fill you up too, baby. you're gonna be dripping with all of us." gojo grunts as he buries himself deep and cums inside, warmth flooding you all over again, hips stuttering, and geto groans as he sucks at your clit until your whole body convulses. he laps up gojo's cum and your squirt as it leaks down his ballsack. gojo pulls out, putting you down and laying you back on the bench in the old cum.

when he finally lowers you down, your thighs are trembling, your holes leaking and fluttering.

they leave you there for a moment, gasping, twitching.

then toji grabs your chin and lifts your head. "show us."

you blink, dazed. "h-huh?"

"show us your pussy," gojo grins, sweat-slick and panting. "show us how messy you are."

they help you onto your back, spreading your thighs wide. you reach down with trembling hands, spreading your pussy lips apart to show them how absolutely ruined you are. thick, creamy cum leaking from your holes, glistening, sticky and shiny with sweat and spit.

your shaky fingers are still between your legs, holding yourself open, letting them stare at the mess they've made of you-every fold glistening with slick and cum, leaking down your thighs and soaking into the bench.

"don't close 'em," sukuna warns when your legs start to tremble. "keep it spread, slut. you wanted this, remember?"

you nod weakly, your face burning, throat too raw to speak.

"good girl," gojo grins, ruffling your hair like you're some dumb little pet. "now show us how much you love it. c'mon—play with that messy little pussy, make it nasty."

your breath hitches, but you obey. fingers dipping into the warmth leaking out of you, smearing it over your clit. your legs jerk instantly, the overstimulation sharp and brutal, but you keep rubbing slow, wet circles, cunt twitching as they all watch.

geto crouches beside you again, brushing a thumb down your cheek. "look at that," he murmurs.

"you're so ruined, and you're still getting off. are you proud of yourself, little cumrag?"

"say it," choso mutters, hand wrapping around his half-hard cock again. "tell us what you are."

"i'm-i'm your c-cumrag," you whimper, eyes filling with tears as you keep touching yourself. "just your-fuck—just your hole. i like it. i wanna be used. i wanna be filled-again—"

"she's close again," gojo says with a laugh. "what a filthy fucking girl."

you cry out, hips jerking as you rub yourself harder, the pressure bubbling too fast-your whole body shaking as another orgasm slams through you, muscles tensing so tight you nearly collapse.

"fuck, you're so cute when you break," sukuna huffs.

you go limp, breath ragged, your fingers still slick with their cum and your own.

then, finally, someone lifts you up.

"alright, you did good," choso says softly. "let's clean you up." he carries you into the showers as the others follow. you barely register it, too dazed to move on your own, but warm water starts to rush down your back. you're in the locker room shower, pressed to gojo's chest as he holds you upright while the others wash you off gently, soap slides over your sore body, rinsing away all the filth, but their touches linger-soft, teasing, affectionate.

"we'll get you dirty again soon," geto promises, brushing your hair back from your face with a kiss to your temple.

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pedgito · 1 month ago

Text

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 | Jackson!Joel x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec

summary | Joel's got a superpower. Alternatively, Joel swears he can smell when you're ovulating.

author's note | @gracieheartspedro said something about joel being able to smell when you're ovulating as a joke but i am a very serious person. so serious....i swear lmao

content warning | 18+ MDNI, BREEDING KINK!!!, joel can definitely smell it on you, talks of pregnancy/future together, established relationship, established free-use, possessive!joel, he's creepin' into peepaw status (he's 58 but no defined age for reader so let your imagination run wild), mentions of joel possibly being sterile, unprotected piv, creampies for obvious reasons

word count — 2.5k

Joel could smell it on you.

At least, he liked to make you think he could.

He can, though. He swears.

He’s tapping his bare foot against the hardwood floor as he rocked gently in his recliner, glasses perched on his nose as he flipped through the Space for Dummies book Ellie had gifted him for his birthday a few months ago.

It was dark aside from the table lamp beside him, the glowing, soft orange hue wrapped around him, illuminating the side of his face as he angled the book to catch the light, unaware of your presence until your fingers were plucking the book out of his hand.

Joel offers a small noise of acknowledgement as he looks up in your general direction, welcoming the spread of your legs with his warm, open palm as you rest yourself in his lap.

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” you tell him gently, voice thick with sleep.

It was the middle of the night and not entirely out of character to find him up and busying himself with anything to keep his mind off of the fact that he couldn’t sleep, for some reason or another.

“M’right here,” he responds with a tender touch, his hand curling against the side of your neck as his thumb runs along the line of your jaw, a smile growing as you push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose where they had slipped down, “you up tryin’ to drag me back into bed?”

You laugh softly but decidedly shake your head, curling the fabric of his cotton shirt around your finger until it wrinkles, aware of his wandering hand as it glides up your thigh and under the waistband of your underwear hidden beneath the oversized sleep shirt you had worn to bed that night.

“Didn’t come down here for nothin’,” Joel teases, “whaddya need, baby?”

You two had established your dynamic months ago—you had worn Joel down quite a bit since his initial arrival, turning a hardened man into a softer, kinder version of himself. You often wondered how similar this version of him was to himself before the outbreak, wondering how long it had been since he’d felt safe enough to let his guard down.

It was simple, really.

As long as the house was empty—no Ellie and her friends, you were both fair game to take advantage of, no preamble, no questions.

Luckily, Ellie had slipped out earlier that night. The kid liked to think she was good at sneaking out, always slipping back in before breakfast—Joel and you were both aware, but you didn’t bother to make a deal out of it.

Joel wasn’t her father, as much as he tried to protect her.

You were only a friend, more than just a stranger, but you were in no position to make points or discipline a teenager who was already set in her ways.

Still, Joel often thought about the possibilities of family.

It took him a year before he opened up about Sarah, despite the scattering of pictures throughout his home, another failure in his life that he tried to avoid at all costs.

You couldn’t always tell if he meant it, but there were moments where it was all he seemed to think about, driven by a mix of desperation and lust, it was blinding.

And, he was doing it now.

Joel buries his nose into your chest, snuggling into the space as he sniffs and drags his face up and into your neck, your hand pressing against him as you giggle softly, feeling the tickle of his facial hair against your skin.

“You smell different,” He notes, his voice low, lips parted and pressed against your skin but only barely, pressing a featherlight kiss against your neck.

“Here we go,” you reply fondly, slowly adjusting yourself over his lap more firmly, centered against his slowly hardened cock, watching the fabric tent under your touch as you untie the knot at his waist, “you got some kinda superpower I don’t know about?”

“Nah,” he sighs, his lips curling into a smirk, “I just know my woman,”

Your eyebrow raises in amusement as your mouth forms into a quiet “Oh.”

“Why you came down here, ain’t it?” Joel assumes, “You achin’ baby?”

Bingo.

You nod meekly, sighing in relief as his hands curl against your hips, guiding you slowly over the bulge in his pants, enjoying the show as your eyes flutter shut and your hands grip tight against his forearms, feeling the distinct ridge of veins under your fingertips.

“Greedy as hell,” Joel comments with an air of amusement.

The roughness in his voice sends a pulse of pleasure to your core, awakening that distinct primal need inside of you.

“Well, we can’t have that,” Joel reprimands, somewhere through the distraction of his guided movements, your shirt has been removed and tossed to the floor, his lips pressing at the center of your chest and right between your breasts, “can we?”

There was never a distinction of yes or no, because Joel knew what your boundaries were.

If he had sought you in the night, buried himself inside of you to satiate his own urges, you wouldn’t complain—that was how this worked and why you worked so well.

“I ain’t lyin’,” Joel admits, looking up at you from where his mouth was centered at your chest.

“About what?” you ask curiously, brain feeling hazy and unfocused.

“You get a little sweeter,” Joel explains, pulling away to drag his finger along your sternum, “right here.”

You roll your eyes dismissively, threading your fingers through his hair to push him back against the recliner as you roll your hips in time with his own movements, moaning softly.

“And you know how much I love sweets,” he breathes, turning his head to drag his tongue along the underside of your breast before he’s moving his hands up to squeeze them.

It doesn’t take long before his hand drifts, slipping under the fabric of your underwear to circle your already swollen clit, throbbing with need.

Joel examines you carefully, listening to your breath hitch as he follows a steady rhythm until your hips begin to naturally rocking against his movement—he’s got this all down to a science, knowing exactly when to speed up and pump the breaks and you’re quickly tripping over the precipice of a much-needed orgasm, though he knows it wouldn’t satisfy you.

“I need you,” you beg with a pant, head feeling light as you come down.

“Come here then,” Joel commands softly, his tone clear as he pulls you closer, pressing his hardening length against you more prominently, a breathless gasp escapes your lips, “feel that?”

You nod again, tiredly.

“I need you too,” Joel admits, “all day—all the time…”

You both switch into auto-pilot, rising only long enough to drag your underwear down your legs while Joel shoves his sweats down far enough that his cock springs free, leaking pre-cum into the hem of his shirt as you situate yourself back over his lap.

“Just can’t get enough of ya,” he tells you, voice thick with desire as he dragged the head of his cock through your folds before guiding you down onto him, inch by tantalizing inch.

Your breath hitches, a gasp escaping your lips when he fills you completely.

You always expected the sensation to wane, but the stretch of him surprised you every time.

“Goddamn, I’m lucky,” he gumbles, throwing his head back as you slowly begin to roll your hips, his eyes dark and half-lifted with lust as he watches your face contorted in pleasure, “all mine,”

The sound of his voice—so deeply possessive—makes your heart race.

You can’t help but rock against him harder, relishing in the friction as your hands settle against the sides of his neck, breathing into his open mouth. It’s intoxicating to feel him throbbing inside you, cunt squeezing him like a vice when he grazes that sweet, too sensitive spot inside of you.

“You—you’ve been thinkin’ about it?” you ask curiously, moaning softly as your eyebrows thread together, face scrunched up as Joel reels you in closer, arm winding around your back, pressing your bare chest against him, the reclining chair rocking with your slow, but forceful rhythm.

“About?” Joel hums, noticing the you should know look in your eye, mouth curling into a subtle smirk as one of your hands slip underneath his shirt and claw at his stomach, forcing a low groan to slip from his throat.

“You want it that bad?” Joel asks with a fond, sated smile, “Raisin’ a baby with me?”

You nod silently, distinctly aware of his roaming hands and the one that squeezes at your ass, his mouth gravitating towards your tits again, this time swirling his tongue around your hardened nipple before he takes it into his mouth, thinking about how heavy they would feel in his mouth if this time were to take, if he could actually get you pregnant—he was even sure anymore.

Fifty-eight and likely shooting blanks, the chance seemed slim.

It was just another thing he couldn’t give you.

But, you had faith.

No, not in a higher power or some god.

But, him. Joel.

“God, you make me crazy,” he breathes, the warmth of his breath washing over your skin as you ride him harder, feeling him push into you deeper.

Claiming you.

The chair creaked under the weight of your fervent need, the sound only adding to the symphony of gasps and moans slipping from your mouth as your hands press into his chest and his hands, again, find their way to your hips, keeping you rooted in place as he fucks himself into you, eager to fill your cunt.

“Wouldn’t that be a sight?” Joel begins with a broken grunt, “You’d be prancin’ ‘round this place provin’ to everybody that you’re mine—”

“And—fuck—you’d love it,” you challenge him, “you can’t even stand when guys breathe in my direct—direction, Joel,”

Joel smirks at your calculation, knowing you were correct, “Gotta let ‘em know,”

“Uh huh,” you reply breathily as the sweat on your skin collects under both the heat of the dying fire beside you and the percolating heat of your bodies as Joel leans forward and licks a line up the center of your chest to your throat before biting at your jaw to make you squeal.

He always seemed to have a second wind; a calm before the storm.

It works, his teeth nipping at your skin—incredibly thankful that the adjoining couch was only a short distance and you can both scramble towards it in a hurry, watching as Joel pulls his shirt over his head in one swift and fluid movement, carefully removing his glasses with a gentleness that contracts his heaving chest, placing them on the table before he’s kicking his pants off the rest of the way and shifting between your legs.

There’s adoration that floods your features, giggling softly as his hands twist around your thighs to pull you to him before his hands wrap around his slick-covered shaft and he’s pushing inside of you for the second time that night.

“Can’t keep lookin’ at me like that,” Joel warns through a soft cough as he settles on his knees, moving his hips at a slow pace as you tilt your head, squeezing one of the hands that rest on your thigh, “we’re gonna have a problem,”

“I think we established I am the problem,” you challenge him.

“You really want a future with me?” Joel asks candidly despite the lust so evident in his eyes, his face, the way his tongue swipes against his bottom lips as you moan softly and your grip shifts to his wrist, anchoring him to you, “Because that’s what I’m seein’ with the way you’re lookin’ at me right now,”

“Wow, all that from one look?” you tease, earning a quick snap of his hips for your obvious amusement, “Fuck—oh, I mean…ye—yeah, I do,”

You’ve had this talk countless times, wondering if Joel would ever truly believe it.

That you wanted him. Only him.

Always him.

“Yeah?” he goads, leaning forward to curl his hand around the edge of the cushion near your head as the other digs into the back of the couch, immediately fixing the angle to something much more intense, his hips working faster to drive you over the edge.

“Yeah,” you answer softly, reaching up to drag your hand against his cheek, his gaze drifting toward your joined bodies, your cunt being greedy in the way it takes him in.

"Look at that…” Joel says in a husky, low tone that makes you shiver, “look at how your body wants this—knows exactly what it needs from me,"

You could barely speak, feeling yourself drift, offering a barely audible mumble in response.

"I know, baby. I know,” It was like a comfort, his voice always putting you at ease, “Feels right, huh?"

“Don’t,” you gasp as Joel suddenly becomes more frantic with his pace, eyes stuck on your open mouth and arched back, “don’t—don’t stop,”

“I gotcha,” he promised, “Got you wrapped around me like this—squeezin’ me—pullin’ me in. I ain’t goin’ nowhere, sweetheart.”

“I want it,” you promise with the same intensity, “want all of this, with you.

"You’re gonna get it, baby.” Joel groans, sounding wrecked, “Gonna take every drop I give you ‘cause you’re greedy like that, ain’tcha?”

You nod instantly, two—three—four sharp thrusts before his hands are curling around your hips and holding you to him, no space between your bodies, “M’gonna stuff you so full you won’t even have to worry,”

Joel meets your gaze with fierce intensity, his dark eyes reflecting a blend of hunger and a possessiveness that bleeds true as he comes deep inside of you, feeling his cock pulse as he spills a load he had been holding back for a few days, hoping it would make a difference.

In an instant he slumps back, but not before dragging you toward him, resting against the arm of the couch as you settle into his lap again, his cock softening inside of you but neither of you threatening to move.

“Joel?” you whisper softly, legs still trembling from the intensity of your climax, your fingers tracing lazy patterns down his chest, his hand rubbing gently along the length of your spine.

“Yeah, baby?” He hums, tilting his head to look at you.

“I could go again,” you admit, earning a deep chuckle that shakes his chest and you.

“Never enough, is it?” Joel asks, leaning your head back to look at him before he presses a gentle kiss to your lips, and then another, and another.

“Gotta make sure it takes,” you shrug, “breed me up, baby.”

Joel groans affectionately and throws his head back, suddenly attacked by your own share of kisses as you climb his chest to reach his face.

“God, you’re killin’ me,” he chuckles.

You raise your eyebrows in question before he cracks a playful smack to your ass.

“Go on,” he encourages, “I’ll be up in a few, breed you all damn night if I gotta,”

Until you were satisfied, at least.

Truthfully, Joel just couldn’t get enough of you either.

Too damn sweet.

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fic #tlou fic #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #jackson joel #tlou joel #my writing #fic: sweet treat

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charmedimsure · 6 months ago

Note

Hello! Can I order a Dae Ho one-shot? about the reader who comes to the game pregnant and meets Dae Ho there and they have some kind of connection and he tells her that when they get out of there he would like to be with her and the baby.

thank you and happy new year <3

*slams bell* ORDER UP! (im sorry that was so cringey)

THE THREE OF US || kang dae-ho

pairing: Kang Dae-ho x f!reader

summary: Trying to make it out of the games with both you and your baby's lives, you meet a man who is determined to help.

word count: 6.3k (i did not expect it to be this long thats what she said)

warnings: pregnancy, guns, death, blood, squid game stuff

A/N: i love jun-hee, but the reader replaces her in this fic. reader has no connection to myung-gi (333). if you find any mistakes no you didn't <3

Part 2: After the Games

The second game is about to start, and time is running out for you to find a team. You've approached a few groups, but have been turned away by all of them. Turns out most groups don't want women on their team.

Out of the corner of your eye you spot the man who had won these games before, along with the man who beat up those other players the day before. Figuring you might as well take a shot, you approach them.

Just as you get to them, a handsome man comes running over, pulling a player along behind him. "Sir! I got someone! He'll definitely risk his life to win."

The man he brought salutes the others. "Victory at all costs!"

The shorter man in the group, player 390, smiles and salutes back. "Hey, were you in the Marines?"

"Class 946, sir!"

Player 390 laughs. "Boy, with three ex-Marines, we'll be invincible." He turns to players 001 and 456. "What do you think? I like him."

Great, you think to yourself. Now they get to pick between an ex-Marine and a woman who can barely stand for more than 20 minutes at a time. Still though, this is a good team, and you'll be damned if you don't at least try.

"Excuse me," you say, getting the group's attention. "Please let me join your team."

Player 390 speaks up. "Sorry, we've already got five people."

Fuck it. Time to pull out the big guns.

"Please help me," you plead, leaning back a bit and putting your hand up to your swollen belly. "I'm pregnant."

All five men grow silent as they look down to your stomach.

"Time for team selection is up."

You can feel the stares of your new team on you as the second game is announced. You just look forward, trying to listen to voice.

"The game you will be playing is Six-Legged Pentathlon. You will start with your legs tied together. Each player will take turns playing a mini-game at every ten-meter mark, and if you win, the team can move on to the next one. Here are the mini games. Number one, Ddakji. Number two, Flying Stone. Number three, Gong-gi. Number four, Spinning Top. Number five, Jegi. Your goal is to win all the mini-games and cross the finish line in five minutes. Please decide players for each mini-game."

Player 390 turns to his friend. "It's good that we got a woman." He turns to you. "You can play Gong-gi, right?"

You give him a sorry look as you shake your head.

His smile falters. "Don't girls play Gong-gi anymore?"

You look down at the sand. "I've played it, but I was never good at it."

You can see the disappointment on his face as he nods.

Player 388 takes a deep breath as he turns toward 390. "Actually, I can play Gong-gi."

390 gives him a confused look. "You? And ex-Marine?"

You give 390 a weird look. Is it really that hard to believe that a military man has played a kid's game before?

388 gets embarrassed. "I grew up with four older sisters. I used to play it with them from time to time."

You smile, thinking it's sweet that he used to play games with his sisters.

390 claps him on the back. "That's right. There's nothing a Marine can't do."

Player 456 leans forward to look at all of you. "Everyone else, what game are you confident playing?"

You take a deep breath. Jegi was the game you were best at growing up, but you don't think you'll be able to play it in your condition. You lean forward as well. "I can play Ddakji. At the subway station I flipped the guy's on my first try."

390 nods. "Okay. Miss 222, you can play Ddakji. I'll play Flying Stone. I was a pitcher for my baseball team. I'm good at throwing."

As 456 and 001 decide who will play Jegi and who will play Spinning Top, 388 turns to you.

"Did you really beat him on the first try? It took me at least eight."

You breathe out a laugh and give him a small smile. "Yeah. I probably could have paid off my debt if he had let us keep playing." Your smile falters as you rest your hand on your swollen stomach. "It would have been safer for the baby."

388 frowns sympathetically and scoots a bit towards you. "We will get out of here. And after that, we will go home. You and your baby will be safe."

Although you don't completely believe him, you still give him a smile and thank him for his kind words.

You feel movement in your stomach and let out a small yelp at the unexpected feeling, looking down towards your hand.

"Are you alright? What happened?" 388 asks, concern clear on his face.

With a smile, you lift your head to look at him and the others who have directed their attention to you. "I felt the baby kick."

Player 388 breaks out into a smile as he looks to your belly, seemingly fascinated by what is happening inside of you.

Player 001 lets out a loud laugh. "The baby wants to play Jegi."

You let out a chuckle as the men laugh. You made a good choice asking these players for help.

"All right guys, bring your hands together," 390 says, sticking his hand out in front of him. "All together now."

You need to scoot over a bit, but you put your hand on the pile on top of 388's, who gives you a shy smile.

"On three, we go, 'Victory at all costs.' One, two, three..."

"Victory at all costs!"

The walls open and forklifts are brought in holding boxes with pink bows on top. You watch as the bodies of both teams are separated from each other and placed into each box. One team had made it past the fourth mini-game, while the other had only just finished the second. Both teams were executed.

The bodies are eventually cleared out, but the blood remains on the track. The second team lines up and you recognize the sweet old lady who had given you her egg this morning, as well as her son. Shit, you really hope they make it.

The gun fires and they're off. The first girl, player 095, looks so nervous I'm worried she won't be able to throw the Ddakji. Her first three attempts fail, and she looks as though she won't be able to continue. Player 120 whispers something to her and she nods. She picks up the Ddakji, turns in over in her hand, and smacks it to the floor. Success.

The group celebrates as they move on, and you make a mental note of that little trick for when it's your turn.

Next is player 007, the son. He throws the stone and misses. Instead of panicking like the past groups, they quickly grab the stone and move backwards to the line, saving lots of time. As 007 is preparing to throw the stone again, his mother whispers something to him. A look of anger washes over his face.

"That asshole ruined my fucking life!"

A perfect hit. The entire crowd cheers as they advance to the next mini-game. You smile to yourself. They can do this.

Next is the mother playing Gong-gi. She drops her first two tries. You're guessing it must be at least a few decades since she last played.

"Old hag! What are you doi-"

Player 120 puts her hand over player 044's mouth to shut her up.

You watch as 007 speaks to his mother. With a new look of determination in her eyes, she blasts through Gong-gi until she needs to make the final catch. You and player 388 sit on your heels to get a better look. Her son speaks to her again, and face turns to one of rage.

"Rotten bitch!"

All five pieces end up in her hand.

"She did it!" Player 390 says, getting to his feet, 388 following after him. You try to get up but fall back as you lose your balance. Player 388 notices and holds your arms to help you up, keeping a hand on your back to keep you steady as you stand to watch the next game.

044 fumbles the top as she's wrapping it, but quickly retrieves it and tries again. She fumbles a few more times before stopping. Her team freaks out as she stands there mumbling to herself.

A gasp rings out through the crowd as 120 slaps 044 twice, picking up the fallen top and pointing it threateningly at 044's eye.

"Oh shit," you say under your breath.

Player 044 wipes away the blood streaming from her nose and tries again the wrap the string around the top. She gets it on her first throw and the crowd screams in joy as they move to the next one. Everyone is standing now to watch, chanting along to each step.

Player 120 is handed the Jegi and requests that everyone turns around. Not wanting to mess them up, everyone turns without hesitation. The room is silent besides the sound of the Jegi hitting 120's shoes.

Once. Twice. Three times. Four times. Five times.

It's done! They did it!

The rooms bursts into screams as the team crosses the finish line at the last second. You turn and hug 388 in pure joy as he jumps up and down. He quickly pulls away so he doesn't do anything to harm the baby, but keeps his arm around you as he celebrates with 390.

The teams keep going, with everyone celebrating the wins and wincing at the gunfire until it is finally your turn.

As you walk to the starting position, a hand gently grabs your wrist and you turn to see player 388. "Make sure to be careful. Take it easy and don't strain yourself."

You nod with a small smile and thank him, taking your spot in the outer ring of the small track. You take deep breaths as the harnesses are secured around your ankles.

"It's a little sad that we have no audience, isn't it?" 390 says, worry in his voice. He nudges 388. "Hey, are you scared?"

"No sir!" 388 yells, making you jump a bit as you were not expecting it. "It's quiet and easier to focus without anyone watching."

390 looks towards the other team. "Hey guys! We'll see you again at the finish line! Victory at all costs!"

The other team yells back their thanks and support before the pistol is fired and you're off.

When you approach the first mini-game, you take the blue tile and turn it over in your hand to match 095's. Throwing it hard at the floor, you yell in delight as the red tile flips over.

You move on to the next game, holding your stomach as you walk.

As 390 takes the stone, 388 yells out "Let's get this done the first time! I believe in you!"

"When I played baseball, my pitches might have been slow, but I had excellent ball control." You watch as the stones collide and yell out in victory as you move to the next one.

388 takes the Gong-gi pieces and you all crouch down.

390 faces him. "Dae-ho, stay calm. Even if you mess up..."

Player 388, or Dae-ho, puts his finger over his mouth to shush him before facing the board, rolling his wrist a few times and dropping the pieces. As quickly as he can, Dae-ho flawlessly gets through the game and catches all five pieces. You and your team members look at each other in awe of what you just watched. It seems that even Dae-ho can't believe he did it.

He lets out a scream as the guard confirms that he passed.

"That was amazing!" Player 390 yells. "Dae-ho, my boy!"

As you move to the fourth mini game, Player 390 looks down at you. "You're expecting, so be careful."

You nod but try to keep your pace, leaning on the small green table once you get to where you need to be.

As player 001 wraps the string around the top, Dae-ho bounces excitedly. "We might get through everything on the first attempt!"

Player 001 throws the top and it falls lazily to the floor as you all frown.

"It's okay, we have enough time," 456 says. "Let's go pick it up. Ready, go."

You all move forward together to grab the top. "No fun passing everything without a hitch," 390 says.

"That's right," 388 confirms. "You can't grow without failure, right?"

You guess he's right, but it would've been nice to pass everything easily. At least you still have three minutes left.

001 grabs the top and you move back to your spots. On his next throw you watch helplessly as the top flies behind your group. You would have laughed in any other situation.

Player 001 apologizes and you move back to grab the top, with 001 taking his sweet time to pick it up. To save time, he tries wrapping it as you walk forward again, but he breaks out of the arm link in frustration. This time he throws it as soon as it is wrapped. It doesn't spin, but at least it lands directly in front of him so you don't have to move again.

Player 456 picks up the top as 001 sighs in frustration. "What the hell is wrong with me?" He screams and you gasp when he starts slapping himself and calling himself an idiot.

456 takes his arms to stop him. "Try to remember the times when you had fun playing this."

001 nods and takes the top and string again. You take the time to look at the clock and feel a wave of worry wash over you when you see that you have less than a minute left. This time, 001 throws the top with his left hand and it spins perfectly on its axle.

You yell in joy as you quickly links arms again and move to the last game. Player 390 checks on you again as you move, and you just wave him off. The stress can't be good for the baby, but it's definitely not as bad as a bullet.

456 grabs the jegi and moves the pink soldier out of the way. He throws it up.

One hit. Two hits. Three hits. Four hits...

You watch in horror as the jegi flies in front of 456. Quickly, 001 kicks his foot out, making you all almost fall as the jegi lands on top of 456's left foot.

"Pass."

You all yell out victoriously and quickly move, crossing the finish line with a second to spare.

As you're all hugging each other, you flinch at the sounds of gunshots coming from the other side of the room. The other team didn't make it.

The main room is oddly quiet as you walk in. As happy as everyone was to see people pass while watching the games, they don't seem to be very happy about it now. Player 390 next to you waves at someone, and you look in the direction to see the woman and her son.

"That sweet old lady," he says with a smile. "I miss my mom."

You smile at the lady and bow your head to her as she gives you a big smile and two thumbs up.

As you sit down to rest and wait for the pink soldiers, 001 speaks up. "I'm sorry about earlier, everyone."

"If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have made the last kick," 456 says and you nod.

001 looks at you. "Player 222, are you feeling alright?"

You nod. "Yes. Thank you all for letting me be on your team."

Dae-ho smiles shyly and nods.

"She smashed that ddakji and flipped it on her first try, that was impressive," 390 says, making you smile at the praise. "She did great, even while carrying a baby. We were lucky she joined our team."

Dae-ho nods. "What about your Flying Stone play? You hit it with one shot! With an underhand pitch at that! Bam!" You let out a small laugh as he reenacts 390's throw. "You were like Kim Byung-hyun."

"And you?" 390 says. "Was Gong-gi the only game you ever played?" He quickly moves his hand around to imitate Dae-ho. "I could barely see your hand. It was like a martial arts movie."

Dae-ho laughs. "I'm the only son for two generations. My mom only let me play at home with my sisters."

"And yet they let their precious son join the Marines?" 390 questions.

Dae-ho hesitates. "My father's idea, he wanted me to be more of a man. He fought in the Vietnam War, you see."

"He sounds like a great man," 390 says and Dae-ho nods. "Was he a Marine, too?"

You can see the discomfort on Dae-ho's face and he quickly excuses himself from answering the question, instead standing up to face everyone. "Listen. Perhaps we should learn each other's names. I still don't know your names, gentlemen." He smiles a bit more when he looks to you. "Or your's, Miss. I'll start. I'm Kang Dae-ho. 'Dae' means 'big', 'ho' means 'tiger'."

"'Big tiger.' Cool name," 390 says. "My name is Park Jung-bae. 'Righteous' and 'twice'. My parents wanted me to be twice as righteous."

You go next, stating your name for the group. "I don't know what it means, though."

001 says your name, getting your attention. "When you get out of here, go see a doctor right away. You've been under a lot of stress. You need to get yourself checked out."

You nod. "Okay."

"I'm Oh Young-il," 001 says. He points out how it sounds like his number and the group laughs at the coincidence. Young-il turns to 456. "Oh, Gi-hun, what's your last name?"

"My name is Seong Gi-hun," Gi-hun says.

"'Seong' literally means 'last name'," Young-il laughs aloud by himself.

A loud buzz is heard and the guards enter the room. After revealing the results of the game and announcing the next vote, your team turns to each other.

You look down at the red X on your track suit, and look up to see the blue 'O' on Dae-ho's. He sees your gaze and frowns down at his patch.

"I'm telling you, we'll get out this time," he says to the team, though he is mainly looking at you. He looks down at his patch again and curses under his breath. "A Marine should think strategically and know when to retreat." He puts a hand on Jung-bae's shoulder. "Isn't that right, brother?"

"Yeah, you're right," Jung-bae says weakly. "Marines aren't invincible. We should get out." Despite saying this, the look on his face and the nervousness in his tone contradict his words.

"We have to end the games here," Gi-hun says. He turns to look at you. "I will help you guys when we get out. Please trust me and support this vote."

You smile and nod in thanks.

"Guys, all huddle up again," Dae-ho smiles as he sticks out his hand.

"Victory at all costs."

You frown as the buzzer goes off one last time. There had been some... complications during the voting. This lead to the final vote being 116 for X and 139 for O. Standing next to Dae-ho, you don't miss the look of betrayal on his face as he looks over to Jung-bae with the blue patch on his chest.

Dae-ho lets out a loud sigh as you eat your bread. "Brother! Brother Jung-bae!"

You can see Jung-bae tense up from his spot behind the beds.

With a sigh, Dae-ho stands up and approaches the man. "Hey, just come back here."

"No, I'm good here," you hear Jung-bae answer. You roll your eyes.

"Oh, come on." Dae-ho grabs Jung-bae and drags him to face the group.

He stops and stares at you all before speaking. "I'm sorry. I borrowed some emergency cash, and the creditors are harassing my ex-wife and kid. If I play one more game, I think I'll be able to settle my debt."

"Jung-bae," Young-il addresses the man sadly. "You of all people shouldn't have done it. It's not twice as righteous." He sighs before continuing. "But, looking at the results, even if you had voted against, we would still have been outvoted."

Jung-bae jumps at this. "Right? It's not entirely my fault."

"Alright," Dae-ho steps up. "To be honest, I understand why you did it. The money isn't enough for me either, so when I went up to vote, I did think about playing one more game."

Jung-bae hugs the man. "You did?"

Dae-ho pushes him away. "I said I get it."

The shorter man turns back to the group. "Thank you for understanding. But I voted in favor partly because I feel confident. We did so well as a team, didn't we? If we stick together one more time, I'm sure we'll be fine." He turns to you. "I'll make sure we survive the next game-"

"'The next game'?" Gi-hun cuts him off. "In the next game, we might have to kill each other."

There is silence before Young-il speaks up. "Gi-hun, that's a bit much. There's nothing we can do now, so let's try to stay positive. We should eat, pull ourselves together, and try our best again." He picks up his milk and hands it to you. "Here, you can have mine too. Hang in there until the next game."

You shake your head. "No, that's okay."

"Take it. I don't drink plain milk."

You thank him as you take the milk.

Jung-bae takes the bread out of his pocket. "Have my bread, too. I don't deserve to eat."

You smile as you take it. You have been feeling hungry and one piece of bread would definitely not be enough for you, so you're grateful for the men around you.

"I'll take your milk then," Dae-ho says to Jung-bae.

Before you can stop yourself, a loud laugh escapes from your mouth. The others smile before laughing along as well. You look over to Dae-ho to see a blush covering his face as he smiles.

"Pass it to me."

The guys hand each other mattresses as they move them to under the beds. You had been put in charge of collecting blankets and pillows so you wouldn't strain yourself.

"Is this really necessary?" Jung-bae asks. "I don't like sleeping under there."

"Once the lights go out, somebody might attack us," Gi-hun says as he pushes another mattress under a bed frame.

"What?" Dae-ho asks. "Who?"

"The prize money still goes up if we kill each other. It's part of the game they designed."

"Gi-hun, I think you're overreacting here," Young-il says. "Even if that were true, people wouldn't do that."

Gi-hun turns to face him. "In the previous games, dozens of people killed each other at night. Right here. You have no idea how people can change in this place."

Young-il apologizes and you hand the blankets in your arms to Jung-bae.

"We need to take turns keeping watch after lights-out," Gi-hun says. "I'll take the first, you should decide the order for the rest."

The order decided was that Jung-bae would take over after Gi-hun, then Dae-ho, then Young-il would be last. You tried to volunteer to keep watch but they immediately shot you down, saying you needed the rest more than them.

After a trip to the bathroom with players 149 and 120, whose names you still did not know, you come back to find Dae-ho keeping watch. You try to quickly wipe the tear stains from your cheeks as you walk back to the makeshift shelter. You give a quick nod to Dae-ho before trying to move past him, but he calls out your name, making you stop and turn to look at him.

He looks up at you with concern. "Are you okay?"

You put on a smile and nod. "Yes, I'm fine." As you try to walk away you feel his hand gently grab your wrist to stop you.

"No you're not," he says. You sigh, upset that you've been caught. He moves to the side to give you space and you sit next to him, figuring you're not gonna get out of this. "What happened? Was it the baby?"

You shake your head, feeling tears start to well up again. "It's everything." You put your head in your hands. "I never should have played Ddakji with that guy, I never should have called the number, I should have just stayed at home and prepared for the baby."

Dae-ho gently rubs your back as you cry into your sleeves. Even though you really only just met, he feels connected to you. Maybe it's just because you survived the second game together, but he cares for you and doesn't want anything bad to happen to you. He was stunned when you had walked up to the group before the game and asked to join, immediately regretting picking anyone besides the beautiful stranger that was standing in front of him.

"What about your husband?" Dae-ho asks. "Does he know that you're here?"

You shake your head. "I don't have a husband. I don't even have a boyfriend. It's just me and the baby." You turn to look at him and although he's too kind to ask you how you got knocked up, you can see the question all over his face. "My ex-boyfriend is the reason I got into so much debt. He made a lot of bad investments and when he ran out of his own money, he started using mine. When I told him I was pregnant, he freaked out and left. Didn't even say anything, his stuff was just all gone one day."

Dae-ho feels himself getting angry at this. If he found out a man had done this with one of his sisters, he would do something to him that would probably land him in prison. It takes two people to make a baby. Just because the mother is the one that carries it doesn't mean that the father isn't responsible for the child.

"He's a fucking coward," Dae-ho says, making you snort a small laugh. "And he's an idiot to leave you."

"It's for the best, though," you say. "He wasn't a good boyfriend, I knew that even while we were dating. But he was my first love, and we all do stupid things the first time we're in love." Dae-ho nods, watching as you bring your hand to rest on your stomach. "I only wish that my child would have a father in their life."

"They will have an amazing mother, though," he says, making you smile.

"I hope so," you rub your swollen belly. "Hey, Dae-ho, can I ask you something?"

Dae-ho nods, looking at you with intrigue.

"Earlier you told Jung-bae that you had thought about voting to stay. Why didn't you?" You ask.

The man takes a deep breath. "Honestly, I thought of you. You and your baby. When you told us that you're pregnant, it really hit me that I'm not the only person in here, that there are other lives at risk. If you died, it wouldn't just be the end of your life. Your baby doesn't deserve that. You don't deserve that."

You can't help the smile that blooms on your face at his words, as well as the small blush. "Thank you for thinking of me. You're a very sweet person, Kang Dae-ho." You watch as he gives you a shy smile, a light dusting of pink on his face. "What about you? Do you have a girlfriend waiting for you back home?"

He shakes his head. "No, just me." You give him an incredulous look and he chuckles. "Dating wasn't easy while in the Marines, and I guess I just never found anyone that interested me enough after."

You let out a small laugh. "Sounds like you have high standards."

He chuckles. "I'm just waiting to find the one. They say that when you know, you know."

"That's going to be one very lucky girl," you say, watching as the blush on his face deepens. "I hope you find her soon."

"I can't explain why, but I feel like I will." He smiles down at you with a look that makes your heart skip a beat. After a few moments he takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry I've kept you up for so long, you should get some sleep. You'll likely need your energy for tomorrow's game."

You nod, standing up. "You're right, I've been up too long." You start to move towards your mattress, but stop. "It was nice talking to you, Dae-ho."

He smiles at you. "Goodnight."

You smile back. "Goodnight."

For the rest of his watch, Dae-ho sneaks peaks at your sleeping form, a warm feeling running through him when he thinks about your words.

You awake to the feeling of someone shaking you. Groggily opening your eyes, you see Dae-ho leaning over you.

"The next game is starting soon, we need to get up," he says.

You hear the classical music that has played before every game and nod, allowing him to help you get out of bed. "Nothing to start the day off like a sadistic game and fearing for your life, huh?"

Dae-ho lets out a chuckle as you make your way to the doors. He walks behind you on the stairs to make sure you don't fall, and stands right by your side as the curtains are opened to reveal the game room.

"Welcome to your third game. The game you will be playing is Mingle. All players, please step onto the center platform. When the game starts, the platform will begin to rotate, and you will hear a number. You must form groups of that size, go into the rooms, and close the door within 30 seconds."

"Oh, this game?" Jung-bae says. "We used to play something similar on school trips. We formed groups by hugging."

"I played it too," you say. "But we would hold hands instead."

Together you set up a strategy. If the number is five, you'll all go together. If it's more than five, you'll grab however many people we need. If it's smaller than five, you'll break off into groups. When your strategy is done, you put your hands in the center.

"Victory at all costs."

"Let the game begin."

The platform jerks as it starts rotating, and you almost lose your balance, but Dae-ho is there to grab you and steady you on your feet.

"Ten."

Everyone starts looking around like mad as they try to find ten players.

Gi-hun looks to a player behind him. "How many are you?"

"Four," the woman replies. You recognize her as one of the women who came to the bathroom with you last night.

"That makes us nine!" Jung-bae says.

A man from another group comes running over. "Are you five? We need five!"

Before any of you can answer, another player yells back. "We have five people! Come with us!"

The two groups go running off towards a door.

"We have to hurry!" Gi-hun says.

"There's no time, Gi-hun!" Young-il tells him.

"We need one more!" the tall woman yells. She spots someone by herself near the center of the platform and grabs her. "We have ten!"

"Room 44! Green door! Hurry!" Young-il yells, already running off in the direction of the door.

You run as fast as you can towards the door as Young-il holds it open for everyone to get inside. You feel Dae-ho's hand on the small of your back the entire way to the room. Before you get the chance to even think, the clock runs out, and the lock clicks on the door.

Screams and gunshots can be heard from behind the door, the sad fate of those who didn't make it in time.

Dae-ho turns to you, putting his hands on your shoulders. "How are you feeling? Is everything okay?"

"A bit out of breath, but I'm okay," you say, and he nods. Taking the chance to look around the room, you see that the other five is the first group that passed the pentathlon the day before.

"You're alive thanks to me!" Player 044 yells out, making you jump. She looks over everyone before stopping on you and stepping closer, making you take a step back. Dae-ho holds you close to him as the woman looks down at your stomach. She then looks up at Dae-ho and gives him a knowing smirk before leaving to speak to Gi-hun.

You look up at Dae-ho, who is still holding you to his chest. He watches the woman walk away before look down at you, your faces so close that your noses are only a few inches apart.

Once the bodies are removed from the playing area, you're let out of the room and make your way back to the center platform. The next round is four people to a room, and Young-il goes off on his own to find three more as the rest of you run to a room with a purple door.

Once you're let out, Dae-ho and Jung-bae yell for Young-il before a voice calling Gi-hun's name grabs your attention. You look over with relief to see Young-il jogging up to your group.

"I knew you were going to be okay!" Jung-bae smiles as he pulls Young-il in for a hug. "I knew it. You're not just anybody."

"I was worried," Gi-hun says. "I'm glad you made it."

Young-il smiles. "I'm a likable guy, so I'm good at games like this." He turns to you. "Are you feeling alright?"

You nod with a smile. "Yes, I'm alright. I'm glad you're back."

Young-il gives you a smile, but his face turns serious. "Wait a minute," Young-il says, "if the next number is six, we won't need anyone else, will we?"

"Why not?" Dae-ho asks.

After a moment, Jung-bae laughs. "Oh, in her tummy?"

Dae-ho lets out a loud laugh. "Right, that makes six."

You smile as they joke around, looking down to your swollen belly.

The next round is three, so you, Dae-ho, and Jung-bae run to a room with an orange door. With every round, you can feel yourself growing more and more tired, and your feet are begging for relief from so much standing and moving.

Once you get out of the green room with Dae-ho and players 120, 095, 007, and 149 (you make a mental note to ask for their names once you're back in the main room), you feel exhausted. As you step onto the platform, Dae-ho grabs your arm to support you.

"Now, the final round will begin."

The platform begins to rotate and you lean on Dae-ho to keep yourself upright.

"What do you think it'll be this time?" Jung-bae leans forward to ask Gi-hun.

"Two," Young-il answers, getting our attention.

"Why?"

"There are 126 people left, and there are 50 rooms. So there won't be enough rooms for everyone, only 100."

"Are you alright?" Dae-ho asks you, concern on his face.

You shake your head. "I don't think I can run anymore."

The platform stops and the lighting dims.

"Two."

Before you can tell what's happening, you are lifted off the ground. You hold on tightly to Dae-ho as he sprints to the nearest door with you in his arms. Once inside, he places you on the ground and moves toward the door, pushing his weight against it to keep anyone else from getting in and pushing you out.

You keep your gaze on the man. He saved your life. He saved your baby's life. Without hesitation. Hell, he even voted to leave for you yesterday. This man who only came into your life a day ago has shown you more unwavering loyalty than anyone else has before.

Then the realization dawns on you: you don't want to do this without him. You don't want anything to happen to him. You want to protect him, just as he is protecting you. Not just in the games, but always.

The lock on the door clicks into place and screams are heard from the other side of the door. Once the screams finish, Dae-ho kneels beside you.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

You shake your head, still in awe of the man in front of you. You examine his face and a surge of confidence rushes through you.

"Can I do something really stupid?"

Dae-ho gives you a confused look. "What?"

You grab his zip-up and pull him to you, planting your lips against his. You feel him stiffen and worry that you've made a terrible mistake, but before you can pull away, you feel one of his hands slide into your hair as the other moves to cup your cheek.

For a perfect moment, you're not in this crazy place. There's no debt, there's no death, there's no fear. There's just you and Dae-ho.

You pull away first but Dae-ho chases your lips, giving you a peck before resting his forehead against yours as you both try to catch your breath.

"I promise you that I am going to get us out of here," he whispers to you. You feel his hand move down to your stomach. "The three of us. If you'll let me."

You gasp at his words, tears forming in your eyes as you nod. This time, you believe him. Dae-ho pulls you in for another kiss and you smile against his mouth, feeling him smile as well.

The sound of the door unlocking gains your attention and Dae-ho pulls away. Voices can be heard beyond the door.

Dae-ho stands up and holds out his hands for you to take, helping you to your feet. He wipes the stray tears from your cheeks and plants a kiss on your forehead before lacing your fingers together and leading you out of the room.

Dae-ho tags: @whatthefuckeryfuckityfuck

Lmk if you want to be added to the Dae-ho taglist!

#dae ho #squid game x reader #daeho #dae-ho #kang dae ho #dae ho x reader #kang daeho x reader #kang daeho #player 388 #x reader #squid game fanfic #squid game 2 spoilers #squid game 2 #squid game

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heartyluv · 2 months ago

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Note: Sylus is just the fluffiest man ever. He deserves all the love in the world and I shall be first in line to give it. ♡︎

Creds to @/strangergraphics & @/omi-resources for the banners.

No warmings ◡̈

Word Count: 1,040

Protective!Sylus/Reader Headcanons

♱ Sylus is so protective over you in a way that you thought only existed in all the movies you’ve watched and books you’ve read.

♱ It’s not overwhelming in the sense that it’s too much or suffocating. It’s overwhelming because you never thought someone could ever love you so much that your entire existence is what completes theirs.

♱ Sylus hesitated to tell you how important you were to him. He had difficulty accepting it himself when he came to the realization that you were his endgame, because loving someone meant vulnerability—even weakness.

♱ I feel like the moment he realized you meant the world to him was when he saw how seamlessly you mended into his life and daily routine without judgment. I’m still imagining him as the leader of Onychinus, so he’s still that feared arms dealer that everyone whispers about.

♱ I don’t believe he hid anything from you. He laid everything out on the table. For one, it’s because he doesn’t lie to people and two, putting everything out there left no room for you to find something to leave him for later. Sylus doesn’t necessarily have a fear of being abandoned, but he views it as an expectation. If you knew what and who he was from the beginning, he knew it wouldn’t be long for you to be solidified in whatever decision you choose.

♱ But when you stayed, when you held him and told him that there was nothing unlovable or unworthy about him, you were stuck with the man for life.

♱ “I’ll never disappoint you. Everything I do from this point forward will always and only be done with your wellbeing at the forefront of importance. Thank you for choosing me.”

♱ He definitely has a tracker on you, at least two. One in your phone and another in a necklace he gave you (you still don’t know about that one).

♱ He proposed the idea of you moving in with him a few weeks after you officially became a couple. While every part of you wanted to say yes, you had to be realistic. The relationship was just starting to get serious, but Sylus had already started moving you in without you being aware.

♱ I’m talking he buys an exact replica of your wardrobe, shoes, jewelry and extras. He’s got at least double of your favorite body wash, perfume, lotion, and hair products. Basically, all the things that make your house a home, he brought it to his place. All your books, records, and movie collections are in his home and if they’re classics, he tries to find original copies just because he loves to make you happy.

♱ “When you tell me that you are ready, there’s no need to wait so that you can gather your things. I have everything you need and more, ready for you to come home. Just like me, it’ll be waiting.”

♱ Sylus became so protective of you because you were the only thing in his life that seemed real. He did nothing, as he says, “to earn you love”, but Sylus being who he is, is what won you over completely. You didn’t question him when things felt a little concerning or judge him when it got scary. You stuck by his side, praised him, believed in him, trusted him. You loved him, something he thought he’d never experience.

♱ He appointed a personal driver and bodyguard(s) to you whenever he’s unable to be around you and they’re what he deems the best available. But if he finds better, he’ll replace them without any issue.

♱ He threatens them for sure LOL. I don’t think he’s light about it either. Like he’s gruesome and detailed about what he’ll do to them should they fail in keeping a smile on your face and your safety secured.

♱ And he goes to you for daily reports. You think it’s the cutest thing despite him being so serious.

♱ “Should you have any concerns or complaints about who I’ve assigned to you, bring it to me directly, sweetie. I’ll handle it.”

♱ He buys you everything. He wants you to feel secure in every aspect within his control. Keeping you happy is what keeps him happy because for him, you’re all that matters. So emotionally, physically, mentally, financially and whatever other -lly there is, he’s going to make sure you have the best because it’s what you deserve.

♱ You bring up a gaming system? He’ll buy it. You bring up a hobby you’re thinking about getting into? He’ll have nothing but the best supplies delivered to you. You want a baby? He’s more than willing to start the family he’s been ready to give you since you first time you told him you loved him.

♱ He has hurt people when it came to you. You don’t know this, but times when someone has called you out of your name or disrespected you and you told him about it, he didn’t go as far as to off them, but he made them feel what will happen should they or anyone else dares to ever try it again.

♱ “Your first mistake was believing you had the privilege to be in her presence. Your second and final one was disrespecting her and thinking there’d be no consequence.”

♱ Sylus loves your skin. HEAR ME OUT!!

♱ You’re just so soft, you always smell so good, and he lovessss to feel you. The man is addicted to rubbing you, licking you, touching you, anything he can do to be close to you because unfortunately, living in your skin just isn’t gonna happen. Like he’s addicted to you and only you get to see how serious he is about it.

♱ He hates seeing you cry, especially if it’s about something he can’t directly handle.

♱ “Tell me how to make it better, kitten. Nothing is unreachable when I’m here to correct it. Talk to me.”

♱ Basically, you’re like porcelain to him. By no means does he think you’re weak or that you need saving. But because you let him be your shield, because you allow him to be the one to protect you from all the dangers and the harshness of the world, he doesn’t take that responsibility lightly.

♱ You are his happiness. You are his reason.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #sylus x you #sylus fluff #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace fluff #sylus x reader #lads sylus

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haologram · 26 days ago

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dipped ⌁ c.sc [m]

↳ part of the carat bay collab!

⌁ synopsis: your summers since university have always been spent spinning in odd circles around town, pockets overflowing with cash - until your clerical 9-5 lays you off for 'spring cleaning.' luckily, you find a summer job fast: tending to the 'adults only' section of your local waterpark, and being at choi seungcheol's beck and call. ⌁ genre: stupid big dumb idiots to lovers ; angst, fluff, smut. ⌁ pairing: grad student!choi seungcheol x fem!lifeguard!reader ⌁ word count: 33.8k ⌁ rating: 18+. minors do not interact. ⌁ warnings: swearing, alcohol, smoking (weed), mentions of past sports-related injuries (seungcheol), one weird encounter with a creep (yn and seungcheol) ; wonpil + brian of day6 mentioned as side characters and i'm SORRY i LOVE wonpil + brian okay don't say shit to me ; seungcheol is a flirty fuck and very much rolls with the punches ; yn has many Issues™ (read: no contact with her parents, fucks her roommate, stands by girl code religiously (lies), has a weird relationship with aftercare) ; lots of calling people whores and sluts (listen...just...okay?) ; so. many. insults. ; mentions of joshua x reader because i love making things extra spicy ; yn does NAWWWT like seungcheol (yes she does) ; pet/nicknames: lifeguard barbie, babe, princess, etc || smut warnings: unprotected sex ; making out (they kiss...so much...free me), dry humping/grinding, nipple play (m/f. rec), body worship (m/f rec.) because it's not a haologram fic without body worship and nipple play ; oral (m/f rec.), handjob, fingering (f. rec), cumplay/swapping (?) ; kinda subby!cheol but it just depends on how you see it i guess ; begging ; missionary, creampie ; i think that's it! ⌁ what to listen to: bad romance - lady gaga ; yo voy - zion y lenox ; fear of water - noah kahan ; fine line - harry styles ; there is light in us - mathbonus ; the beach - the neighbourhood ; saturn - sleeping at last ; i'm gonna love you - d.o, wonstein. ⌁ author's note: preface: me posting this is not condoning gyucheol's recent behaviors [read my stance on it here + here.] i am fulfilling a commitment i made before they went on the showterview. that being said: i definitely lost the plot several times and i am so sorry for that :( this is officially seungcheol's debut on haologram! also apologies for the smut, i know it's ass. thank you to @camandemstudios for sponsoring this video fic, and thank you to my lovely wonderful amazing betas that didn't even get to read most of this because i'm insane: viv @heartepub ; aeris @aeristudios ; tomo @tomodachiii 💘 as usual, sun dividers by the lovely @/saradika-graphics here on tumblr! enjoy! (or don't....i don't care [as])

"SO YOU GOT LAID OFF. IT'S FINE, Y/N. WE'LL FIGURE IT OUT."

You hate to say it, but you don't think you've ever hated your roommate more than you do at this very moment.

"It's fine? Joshua, I'm fifteen thousand dollars in debt, okay? I have rent, I have groceries, I have to pay my phone bill! How am I supposed to get by without my job?!"

He looks over the magazine in his hand with a confused look, "Y/N, I pay all that stuff and I just sent in a check a few weeks ago for your student loans. We've been on the same phone plan since you cut off your parents, and you pay our light bill. Which is never over sixty dollars, because neither of us are ever home. Don't play with me right now."

"Joshua!"

He sighs, tossing the magazine back onto the coffee table as you cross your arms on your chest. He's looking at you like you've grown a second head, as if his reaction to this information is perfectly valid and you are the one getting your panties in a twist. Granted, it's only been a few hours since you got home from the horrible Friday of sitting at a desk and getting paid to do nothing but answer the phone and book one or two appointments – but you're in distress, damnit!

"What do you want me to say, Y/N? I've got you? Because you know I do." You hate the way your heart warms at that. It was true – Joshua was your best friend through and through. He'd saved you from so many odd situations – including the time you somehow let a pipe burst in your old student apartment, and he found a way to blame it on the university (read: coaxed Yoon Jeonghan to fuck up more parts of your apartment with a promise of letting him borrow his car for dates.) He'd been a huge rock in your years away from home, and when home was no longer home and your relationship with your parents crumbled.

Joshua was the only sense of home that you had left, and you'd be a fool not to recognize the fruits of his efforts: the apartment you both safely inhabited, the food in your belly and the unlimited storage plan he paid for that allowed you to download multiple oddball games of the Doodle Jump and Candy Crush nature. You huff, choosing to plop down on the couch next to him with a pout on your lip.

"But I like having my own money." You mutter. "It helps me feel like an adult that contributes to society."

"You are an adult that contributes to society, Y/N. Don't be so hard on yourself." He reminds you, before reaching for the television remote. You open your mouth to argue when a soft zztt sound is heard, leaving you and Joshua sitting in the darkness. There is a moment of silence before you feel Joshua shift next to you, the only light coming from the setting sun through the blinds. You put your head in your hands, before Joshua sighs.

"You're not serious." You look up slightly, peeking at him through your fingers. From the low light, you can see the furrow in his brows and it only makes you let out a noise of guilt.

"Sixty dollars, Y/N. You didn't have sixty dollars?" "...I spent it all." Your voice is meek, and he runs a hand over his face slowly, a heavy breath from his nostrils sounding in your ears before he crosses his arms.

"On what? What could have possibly been more important than the light bill? You know we can't cook without it, right?" You feel your face grow hot as he gives you a pointed look, and you sigh. You avoid his eyes as you clear your throat. "You remember when you came home last week and you asked me where your green hoodie was? And I told you it was in my drawer and then you…you found the, uh…" You feel your throat grow tight in embarrassment as his eyes widen, and he covers his face with his hand.

"Let me get this straight, okay? You mean to tell me, you spent your last sixty dollars on that stupid vibrator? You didn't pay our light bill because you wanted to…I can't even look at you right now." He shakes his head in disbelief, moving to stand up when you grab his arm.

"I'm sorry! It has sixteen different settings, you wouldn't understand–" "Y/N, why do you even need that many?!" You let go of his arm, crossing yours with a huff as you stare at your feet. "Can't a girl want options?" "When it's between jerking off and paying your light bill, you don't get a choice. How would you feel if I wasted our grocery money on one of those inflatable fuck dolls?" "Embarrassed, honestly. You're a good looking guy, you can do better." He scoffs out a laugh, and you try to swallow the humiliated laugh that's crawling up your throat but it only slips out the moment he turns back around to look at you. He covers his face, crouching by the side of the couch before running his fingers through his hair and giving you a pointed look. "You know what? I was going to take it easy on you, but you've really just left me no choice." He shakes his head, digging his phone out of his pocket as your eyes widen. You lurch forward, knocking him over in your attempt to grab it out of his hand as he wriggles away from you. "Shua, no!" "Shua, yes! Sixty dollars on a piece of plastic, Y/N! I don't even perceive you as a romantic entity and I could do better!" "Hey! It's silicone!" You shove his shoulder as he manages to click around his contacts, before the phone starts dialing. You manage to climb onto his chest, your legs straddling his torso as your thighs pin him in place, your hand knocking the phone out of his hand just as he presses the speaker button.

"Hello?"

Jeonghan.

"No! Jeonghan–" Joshua manages to flip the two of you over, quickly pinning your arms to your sides as he straddles you. You let out a strangled groan, attempting to kick his back as Jeonghan's staticky, cynical laugh rings through his phone.

"Han, please tell me you still need a lifeguard to take over your spot this summer." Joshua breathes out, semi-out of breath as you manage to free one of your hands, reaching up and twisting his nipple through his shirt. He squeals, pushing your hand away and pinning it above you on the floor as you let out an aimless scream.

"Joshua, I'll see you on Monday, alright? Stop torturing that poor girl, she pays your light bill."

"That's the thing, Jeonghan! She didn't, so you have to let her take your spot. Please! I'll even shell out another week of paid vacation time for you!" Another thing about Joshua? Aside from the incredible efforts he put forth into your friendship, your roommate was also known to manage a waterpark with Yoon Jeonghan every summer; just six miles from your apartment was Carat Bay, where he'd been working since you were freshmen in college.

He also worked as a vocal coach from Monday to Friday at one of the local entertainment companies; but that was just for his Pokémon cards, his caffeine addiction, and the occasional ice cream from the convenience store down the street. Rarely did any of that money see the light of day, simply stacking interest in his savings account while he hoarded the money from his job at the waterpark to make last the whole year.

Out of all the odd jobs the two of you took (because Lord knows neither of you were using your degrees all that much) – his job at the company, the waterpark, and your clerical position were the steadiest. You would occasionally find yourself patrolling random hotel grounds on the weekends as security, or slipping into an apron to fill in for your friend Sana at her cafe for a bit more cash to stuff into your rainy day fund.

Sometimes Joshua would come home smelling like fried chicken (and carrying it, too) or with his face covered in grease from swooping in at Soonyoung's auto repair shop. The nights when the two of you were home were restless – scavenging newspapers and Craigslist ads for anything you could find: house sitting, housekeeping, even weekend nannying gigs.

Every penny that landed in Joshua's bank account was frugally spent – but it was smartly spent. Hence why you, not paying for the one thing he put in your name, is a big deal.

"Fine, I'll talk to you on Monday. I need to run some things by you before the park opens. Tell Y/N to get a bathing suit, preferably not that pretty pink one she wore to Junhui's birthday last year." "Oh, fuck off! I was the life of the party!" You scowl, attempting once more to free yourself from Joshua's grasp but ultimately failing. He giggles, like the lunatic he is, your roommate giggles.

"I'll see you on Monday, pretty girl. You and your nip slips." Jeonghan hangs up before you can retort, your sentence caught in your throat as Joshua smiles down at you smugly.

"I hate you." You grumble, before feeling his lips press to your forehead. You move your head to hit his face, but he swiftly moves back before you can make contact with his chin. "You love me. Now, go fetch me the bill from the fridge, I'll pay it." He climbs off you, letting go of your hand as you scowl. You make it a point to kick his hip, your heel meeting the socket and making him scoff before nudging his toe into your ribcage. "Go!"

The night is full of bickering after Joshua pays the bill, with muttered curses as you bump into things and open the front window to let the cooler night breeze flow through the room. You fan your face with the morning newspaper, with Joshua making a snide remark about you looking at the job offers in the Business section.

You retreat to your room for the night as he picks at you, and the lights turn on just as you pass the bathroom. He's finishing shaving his face in the dark, using the light of a candle to look at himself in the mirror. You roll your eyes, sliding into your room when he catches the door.

"What are you doing?" Your eyes are wide as your dripping roommate pushes past you, beelining for your dresser in the corner. He yanks open the top drawer, throwing a few pairs of your underwear over his shoulder. "Joshua!" "Aha!" He holds up the hot pink vibrator you'd spent the light bill money on, tilting it towards you. "You'll get this back after your first paycheck hits the bank, or when you start prioritizing things."

You scoff, reaching for it as he holds it over his head. "Joshua, give it back! I paid good money for that thing!" You grimace, "and you shouldn't be so comfortable grabbing my intimate items! I put that inside me!" "There are many other things you could put inside you that don't cost sixty dollars, Y/N." He rolls his eyes as you claw at his shirt, your fingernails sinking into his bicep as he shakes you off like a leaf. "Me included." "Joshua!" "Either I keep it or you use it in front of me. Your choice." A part of you wants to believe he's joking, but yet another thing about you and Joshua – no conversation topic was off limits, and there had been quite a few conversations that should've never left the sanctity of your sober minds.

Kinks, fetishes and favorite sex positions included. Did Joshua need to know you wanted to be folded like a pretzel? No! Did it matter when you were drunk off three mango margaritas two years ago at the cabana in that fuckass waterpark he manages? Also no!

So he's not kidding. Not in the slightest, and you can tell he knows he's won as you shrink back with a scowl.

"So, that's a no on the peep show?" He has the audacity to tease you as he slinks out of your bedroom, your vibrator bright in his hand as he presses buttons. "Ooh, this is nice~" "Joshua!" "Goodnight, Y/N!"

You bury your face in your hands, a groan from your lips as you contemplate your choices.

And ultimately, make the wrong one as you follow Joshua back down the hall towards his bedroom.

"Hey, pretty girl."

"Fuck off, Jeonghan." You mutter under your breath, setting your backpack on the table in front of you. Joshua wasn't starting at the waterpark again for another week, but considering you were new and you were taking Jeonghan's spot for the first half of the summer – the three of you were now going to be stuck in the resource office to fill out paperwork for the day.

However, Joshua is out in the park helping the janitorial staff, entrusting you into Jeonghan's devilish hands.

"What happened to the swimsuit? You know we have to test your swimming skills, right?" You sighed, Jeonghan's eyes genuinely concerned as you pulled the hem of your shirt up. You wore an orange one-piece under it, your jeans a little too loose on your hips and held up by a shoestring. "Nice color, but wrong one. We'll give you an official one once we're done here…you're really struggling if you're using a shoelace as a belt, Y/N." Jeonghan snickers, earning a smack from you on his shoulder. He scowls, batting your hand away, "It's not my fault you're here! I'm not the person you pissed off!" "Oh, trust me. He's not pissed anymore." You roll your eyes, your cheeks hot as you shove your hair out of your face. Jeonghan pauses for a moment, the pen in his hand hovering over the first stack of papers in front of him as he stares at you. You avoided his gaze, nibbling on your lip as you watched the hands on the clock tick – before the click of his tongue rings out.

"About time." "It's not the first time, you know that." Jeonghan snorts, shaking his head as he folds his hands together. "When will the two of you admit that it's more? No one just takes care of student loans, rent, groceries…there has to be more." "Jeonghan, I don't want to do this right now. Joshua and I are just friends, and we've only hooked up out of sheer desperation. Trust me, I've tried to have feelings for the guy." You roll your eyes, scoffing out a laugh as Jeonghan rolls his eyes.

"You guys need to stop sleeping together, eventually someone is going to come along and you'll have to explain that weird ass dynamic." He clicks the pen, making you snicker as you lean closer.

"We didn't sleep together this time, not that it's any of your business." You lie as you grab a pen from the cup holder, and he only shakes his head again as your shoulder brushes his. "You're right, it's not. Now, focus. Can you hold your breath for more than two minutes?" The paperwork is easy as you scrawl your signature across pages without reading them. The banter is easy, and the way Jeonghan brings up your nip slip at Junhui's birthday party a year ago makes you shove him into the nearest pool when the two of you step outside. It's way too hot for early May, and you curse yourself as you try to cover your chest with your arms as Jeonghan crawls out of the pool like a demon from a sewer.

"You guys are done already? That paperwork took me hours with Soonyoung." Joshua walks over, his hands tucked into the bright red swim trunks that matched your suit. You roll your eyes, dipping your foot into the pool in front of you. "I didn't read, I just signed. You could be selling me to the Antichrist for a corn chip and I'd have no idea." You shrug, shivering at the cold feeling of the water. He only smiles, sidling up next to you as Jeonghan scowls up at you.

"I hate the both of you, I hope you know that." He mutters, shoving his wet hair out of his eyes and wiping the chlorinated water off his face. "I shouldn't even be here, I should be packing for Bali like I said I would be." "Oh, but we'll miss you so much when you're gone!" You feign a pout, making Joshua snicker as he crouches down next to Jeonghan and offers a hand. "It'll be fast, plus we've got other things to do today, too. We still have to stop by the market and get groceries." He dips his feet in the pool, leaning back on his hands as you bounce on your toes. "On a Monday?" "The market happens to be the least busy on Monday evenings. Not that you would know, since you spend your Monday nights locked in your bedroom with a vibrator and surrounded by Smiski figurines." Joshua rolls his eyes as you scowl, nudging his thigh with your foot.

"When will you drop it? I said I was sorry!" "When you jump in the pool and give me two laps without coming up for air. Go." Unfortunately, your scowling does nothing as Joshua asks one of the other employees to bring a towel out for you. You lower yourself to sit on the edge of the pool, before getting shoved in by a wet hand on your back. It's freezing, and you let out a strangled scream as you come up for air. "Jeonghan!" "When a kid is drowning in the deep end, you don't have time to acclimate. Now, go! Two laps!"

You swallow the rage building in your throat, and file the idea of deep conditioning your hair to the back of your mind as you sink back under the water. For whatever reason, you don't mind the idea of the waterpark job. It's steady, and Joshua always comes home with bottles of sunscreen that free you from yet another minuscule expense. He would bring you to-go cups from the cabana of their Tiger's Blood snow cone, and the occasional cucumber under-eye patches from the spa that catered mostly to the tired mothers that visited the park.

But when you really thought about it – kids were really gross. Peeing in the pools, snotty, stained with multiple colors of syrups from the very same cabana snow cones you enjoyed when they didn't get paid for by your debit card.

The only two pros were the money, and working with all of your stupid, testosterone-fueled friends. At least you wouldn't be alone, and you'd be entertained.

You spend the rest of the afternoon at the waterpark being pushed into random pools and scenarios, and Joshua signs you up for the morning CPR course the next week. He tells you he'll give you a tour on your first day.

"What does Jeonghan even do besides shove people in pools all day?" You mutter as you walk back to Joshua's car, and Joshua snickers. "Whatever he wants. His job is in the Adults Only section of the park, and we have quite a few regulars. You'll love them, and that's the part of the park that makes the most in tips so just enjoy it." He shrugs, before clicking the doors open. You shuffle in, your hair still wet from the pool and you feel gross in your damp bathing suit. The water seeps through your jeans, making every movement uncomfortable as you shift in your seat.

"If I get a UTI, it's on you, Shua." "First of all, I washed my hands before we started messing around last night–" You reach over to smack his arm, earning a laugh as he slips his keys into the ignition. "I meant from the pool water!" "We have showers, Y/N." "Those showers are crawling with athlete's foot and pinworms and you know it."

He only laughs as you huff, and you cross your arms on your chest as he pulls out of the parking lot. His gaze is soft as he glances at you, holding his hand out for you to take.

"I know it's not ideal, but you can't just stay home all day, you know? It'll drive you mad." His voice is gentle, and you sigh as you mess with his fingers.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry about the light bill, really." "Y/N, I love you. I'm not always going to be around, though, and the light bill…you're gonna have to earn your way out of that one. I mean, a vibrator? Come on." "Sixteen settings! Remember how number seven felt!?" You squeeze his fingers, and he only snorts as he swats your hand away. "Shua!" "Yes, it felt great. Now, do you want dinner? I don't feel like cooking and Lord knows we'll be sick for days if you're in the kitchen." "You love me, Joshua Hong." "I do, now tell me what you want."

Maybe it should be weird.

Maybe it should be weird, that you and Joshua are so close despite the three sexual encounters you've had. Despite the fact that you stupidly made a virginity pact and went through with it, and the fact that he came to you after a breakup and things went left, and last night – sitting on his bed with your back against his chest and his cock sheathed inside you as muffled your whimpers with your shirt between your teeth.

And it's even weirder knowing that neither of you have ever wanted it to be romantic. Many conversations about it, even drunken ones – but nothing comes of it because the idea of romance with each other seemingly disgusts the two of you. You're fine with the three times you've hooked up, you're fine with the way he kisses you, you're fine with all of it.

And you know that Jeonghan is right – there will be a time when someone comes into your life and wonders if. If you've kissed Joshua, if you've slept with him, if you've ever had feelings for him.

But that's a problem for later you.

"YES MA'AM, THE CABANA IS OPEN."

It's only been three days. Three days and you're already appalled at the amount of parents that haul ass to get drunk off mango margaritas and spiked Bahama Mama snow cones at nine in the morning. You're also impressed at the amount of beautiful women that line the Adults Only section of the Olympic-sized pool, all sizes of tanning lotions laid out on the ground and floppy hats strewn about.

You find yourself constantly sipping on something – courtesy of the very sweet cabana boy named Chan – and flipping through a magazine from your seat under the large parasol. You look up every once in a while to take a ticket, or redirect someone – but the worst part is dealing with college frat boys who try to flirt and make comments about your swimsuit. You almost want to let them run around the pool – maybe they'll slip.

The job was easy – you walked around every hour, reapplied sunscreen, even snacking on something one of the lovely park mothers decided to slip you. Oreos, handfuls of pistachios, even heavily stacked sandwiches with crunchy chips slipped inside – and you'd had so many over the course of your first three days at the park.

You even dipped your feet in the hot springs at the end of the day before shoving your flip flops on and making the bike ride home – no use in bringing your car all that often, right? Waste of money and gas! Gas that Joshua pays for, but hey. Who are you to waste it?

The owner of the car.

"Jeonghan didn't tell me there was a pretty new girl." You don't bother glancing up, flipping the page of the magazine in your lap with one hand before speaking.

"Yeah, well. Jeonghan didn't tell me all the guys here are either sleazy, fathers, or both." You roll your eyes, stopping your finger over a photo of Zendaya at the Met Gala. "Welcome to Carat Bay, this is the Adults Only section. Any children brought with you must remain supervised outside of the sector. The Saunas and the Hot Springs must be reserved before usage. Is there anything I can help you with?" You absently fish through the coir basket in front of you, before grabbing a lanyard and holding it up. It gets taken out of your hand gently, fingertips brushing yours as you thumb another page of the magazine. "Y/N, you have to actually look at the customers when you greet them." You hear Joshua's voice in your ear, but don't look up as you skim through the outfits on the page. "Y/N." "Mmh, yeah. I hear ya." You nod, sighing as you flip the magazine closed and throw it onto the pile of towels next to you. Glancing up, you see a tall man sizing you up – his eyes a dark brown, lined with thick lashes and the strongest brows you'd seen since you broke up with Wonpil after three years.

Don't leave your girlfriend alone in her apartment right after you fuck, dipshit.

"Y/N." Joshua calls again, and you tear your eyes away to look at your roommate giving you a hard stare. His arms are crossed on his chest, "You said you'd try. This isn't trying." "I'm showing up, aren't I? And the MILFs–" "The mothers, Y/N." You roll your eyes, "The mothers love my nonchalance! They're just here to tan and get drunk, how is…sorry, what's your name?" You blink up at the man in front of you, and he only smiles softly as Joshua pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Seungcheol, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Seungcheol, and he's one of our regulars. He's the only one who really uses the hot springs, so they're already booked out for him." Joshua taps the tablet in front of you, and you narrow your eyes as his name slips off your tongue.

"Seungcheol? Like…Choi Seungcheol? Like…No. 95 on the soccer team at SNU, Choi Seungcheol?" It's slightly bitter in your mouth, and Joshua runs his hand over his face in frustration. Choi Seungcheol looks oddly impressed, maybe with a hint of smugness hidden behind his smile as Joshua speaks.

"Yes, Y/N. All that and also, Jeonghan's roommate. Now, does it matter?" "It does when he broke my roommate's heart freshman year." You cross your arms on your chest, and Choi Seungcheol gives Joshua a seemingly knowing look as he shrugs his shoulders.

"Could be anyone." "Whore."

Joshua gapes at you as you mutter and lean back in your chair, but Seungcheol only smiles, shaking his head. He tucks the lanyard in the pocket of his pink swim trunks before shrugging.

"They do say that your reputation precedes you." He runs his eyes over your shoulders lightly, before they flicker back to your face. You scowl, splaying your hands over your exposed skin as he tilts his head. "But I can assure you, you have nothing to worry about." "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Did you just call me ugly?" You huff, and Joshua muffles a sigh with his palms over his face. You look over at him, "Your friend just called me ugly, Shua." Seungcheol smiles mischievously, before letting himself through the gate. He flicks the brim of your floppy hat, squealing softly as you reach your hand back to swat him away. Joshua peeks at the two of you through his fingers, and you frown as you see the hint of a smile start to show on his lips – before you feel Seungcheol's breath on the shell of your ear.

"Don't let what I do or don't think about you keep you up at night, pretty girl." "Joshua!"

You swat Seungcheol away, who only hums something reminiscent of La Vie En Rose as he practically skips away. Joshua is pursing his lips, trying to hold back his laughter when you throw the magazine you'd been flipping through in his direction. He catches it, before rolling it up and smacking your leg with it.

"Y/N, Seungcheol is a customer. Whether you like him or not, you have to treat him with basic decency. Remember what you're working towards here, and all sixteen of its settings." Joshua turns up his nose as he tucks the magazine under his arm and walks away. You scoff in disbelief, before turning back to see Seungcheol very much doing what whores do – flirting with one of the younger mothers, her leopard print bikini catching your eyes as he crouched next to her.

She's blushing – or maybe it's the heat from the blazing summer sun.

"Ugh." You feel a sour taste fill your mouth as his eyes flicker to meet yours, your own rolling as he winks. Tonguing your cheek, you face forward once more, now burdened with actually having to do your job when you hear Joshua call out to you over his shoulder from a few feet away.

"And you're not even friends with Jaehee anymore!" "A friendship may fade, but girl code never wanes!"

"What do you mean, he's in our friend circle?" You're sitting in the park's office, eating your lunch when Joshua drops the stupendous bomb on you. You've got mayonnaise on your lip as you look up at him, who rolls his eyes as he swipes his thumb over it. You scowl, swatting his hand away before wiping a napkin on your face, swallowing the bite of your sandwich.

"Y/N, Cheol has been in our friend group since college. How do you not know this?"

Mingyu – long-time friend, the group's stoner chef, and waterslide operator for the last three years – butts into your conversation, holding a cup of yoghurt in his hand as he sidles up next to you. You scoff, dipping one of your chips into the salsa Joshua brought from home, before shaking your head.

"I don't hang out with scum." "Because he was always at practice, Y/N. Not because he wasn't part of your life." You chew silently, pursing your lips as you shake your head again. "Because I don't need that sort of energy in my life. I have enough with Soonyoung whoring around, I don't need another one who also broke Jaehee's heart. I don't need another so-called 'friend' that has slept with all my girlfriends and thus left me in the hands of this stupid group of testosterone and Dude Wipe users that make fun of me when I have a nip slip." "Soonyoung slept with all six of them?" Mingyu gapes, and you snort as you shove the last bite of your sandwich into your cheek. Chewing carefully, you nod as he spoons peach yoghurt into his mouth. "Impressive."

"The point here, Y/N, is that Seungcheol is involved in your life. He's a regular, he's Jeonghan's roommate, and he's my friend, our friend. You've never been around him simply because of divine intervention. He's been in our apartment, he knows who you are–" "He knows about the nip slip at Junhui's birthday party that he missed because he stayed running drills on the field." Mingyu snorts, making you frown as you take another chip between your fingers. "I told him not to do it, you know. Now he's a fucking regular here to heal himself because he won't let the other masseuses at his job touch him."

Your ears perk, "What do you mean, heal himself?" "He frayed his hip labrum during practice in college, and he just kept playing. He got hurt during nationals and it was a pretty bad tear, and he had surgery. The heat of the water helps the pain he gets, which isn't all that often but it likes to act up during the summer because that's when he's the most active. He was super bummed about it, and didn't talk to anyone for literal months while he was in physical therapy." Joshua explains, and you feel your chest ache slightly.

You do remember seeing something about his departure from the soccer team through the campus forums, with people sending flowers and gifts to the recovery center he had been at. People talked about it like it was nothing, but even with your disdain for Seungcheol – you listened. You knew he was one of the best players on the team, everyone in the sport-playing world at Seoul National knew that if anyone went pro: it was going to be him.

So you weren't surprised to hear that it hit him like a truck.

"That's…really sad, actually." You murmur, "But it doesn't change the fact that–" "Oh, give it a rest! Jaehee has long gotten over it, trust me." Joshua rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his Topo Chico. You narrow your eyes at him, watching the way a guilty blush coats his cheeks as he sets the bottle down. "What?" "What do you know about Jaehee, Shua?" "Nothing." "She's been off social media for years, and she only posts updates on her birthday and after she got her master's. So how, my good sir, do you know she's over it when she didn't date for the rest of college?" Joshua clears his throat, and Mingyu snickers next to you as you point a chip at your roommate. "Spill." "I saw her a few weeks ago. We just bumped into each other at the market, no big deal."

He tongues his cheek, his forefinger tracing the spout of his drink as you cross your arms on your chest. The door opens, revealing one Kwon Soonyoung in a hideous tiger-print Speedo and sunscreen swiped on his cheeks. You grimace, covering your eyes with one hand before you speak. "Joshua Hong." He scoffs, presumably rolling his eyes. "Can we not do this here? You know I'm a man of my word, I don't kiss and tell."

"That means they hooked up." You hear Soonyoung's voice in your ear, and you jump, your elbow jabbing into his side. He scowls, swatting your hand away. "What? It's not like the two of you are exclusive." "Who isn't exclusive?"

You peek through your fingers, seeing the very same mop of shaggy brown hair now slicked back and dripping onto the break room floor. Pursing your lips, you ignore the way Joshua smiles inwardly before taking a sip of his drink, taking the initiative to say something as said mop of shaggy brown hair shakes and sprays onto Soonyoung – who squeals like he's never been wet a day in his life. "What are you doing here? This is for employees only, you need to leave." "Ooh, what's with the attitude? Clerical Barbie takes over as Lifeguard Barbie and suddenly she loses that customer service voice?"

Seungcheol's brows jump as he pops the cap off a bottle of Topo Chico, and you feel a surge of annoyance flood your stomach as Joshua shakes his head. "Knock it off, Cheol."

He shrugs, strolling around the counter against the counter where you and Mingyu are sitting. You feel your jaw tight as you lean back in your chair, watching him bump his hip to a smiling Mingyu's. You give Joshua a hard look, who only shakes his head as you speak loudly.

"You're not allowed in here, Choi." "Are you going to remove me from the premises? Is that part of your job description, roughing me up a little bit?"

You glare at Seungcheol, who only winks. You manage to hear how Soonyoung bites back his laugh, opting to turn around and face the open fridge and crossing his arms on his chest. Seungcheol sips his drink, pouty lips slightly glistening before you look away.

Mingyu groans, "I don't want to hear this. You're fighting a losing battle over someone you're not friends with anymore, Y/N. You're friends with Soonyoung and he's a bigger slut than Cheol." "Mingyu has a point." Joshua agrees quietly, before an offended scoff fills the air as Mingyu slides out the break room door. "I am not a slut! Why are you slut shaming me?" Soonyoung slams the fridge shut, and you scoff.

"You also slept with Jaehee! Don't think I forgot, I'm still mad that you cleaned up with my shirt! My shirt, Soonyoung!" "She told me you'd be out! I wasn't going to stop mid-stroke because–"

You only raise your hand, cutting him off before you wave it. He tongues his cheek, silently turning his nose up at you as he slips out of the breakroom. Joshua sighs, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples as he speaks.

"You have thirty minutes left of your break. Seungkwan is at your station until that's up, and then I need you to be present. Please." Joshua pleads, before reaching for the containers on the table and carefully packing them up. "I know you don't want to be here, but it's really not the end of the world. And…" You let your eyes flicker up to him, his own pointed and stern. "You are to treat everyone like a visitor. You're to be nice, to be helpful and this…" He gestures between you and Seungcheol. "This? This is stupid. You run in the same circles, you work here and he's a regular. Respectfully, Seungcheol is literally just a whore. I know you're loyal, I know you care…but Jaehee and Cheol are a thing of the past. They've moved on."

Your cheeks grow hot and you don't bother to say anything back, feeling the room fill with tension thicker than the caramel on the sundaes at the Cabana. Joshua gives you a soft look, a gentle smile on his lips before he turns and slides the containers into the fridge.

"Thirty minutes, Barbie."

You nod silently, picking at your nails as Joshua slips out the door. Seungcheol hums from two feet away, and you feel your jaw tight as he slides over a minuscule amount.

"I don't bite." "Have you ever heard the saying: if you run with dogs, you'll get fleas?" You slide off the chair, pushing your hair out of your face. He doesn't reply, only running his eyes over you as you walk towards him. You stop right behind him, your arm brushing the wet compression shirt on his back.

"It doesn't have to be about Jaehee. It doesn't have to be about any of the girls who would talk about you at my sorority parties and the games you would play. At the end of the day, the common denominator is you." He turns around, his nose nearly brushing yours from how close he is. You can smell the chlorine mixed with sunscreen and a hint of something sultry, something that would make you weak in the knees if it weren't for the odd animosity brewing in your belly.

"What are you trying to say? That I can't have fun?" You furrow your brow, "That you're a dog, Seungcheol. And all dogs…they bite."

His eyes flicker around your face, before leaning even closer to you. His lips almost brush yours, the glitter of your lipgloss nearly the only barrier between your lips and his. Something inside you makes you angrily attracted to the proximity, and you force yourself to keep your gaze frozen in place. "Trust me when I say this, yeah?" He nods, your eyes only narrowing. "I don't bite, but you'd love it if I did, sweetheart. The high horse isn't too good of a thing to ride, you know; there are better things."

You feel your chest hot as he moves back, the insinuation of him being the better option trying to force itself into your brain. A ring clinks against the bottle as his fingers circling the spout of his drink as he moves away. Scoffing, you roll your eyes, moving to walk away when you hear his voice in your ear. "Nice swimsuit, by the way." "Fuck off."

"YOU CAN'T BE FUCKING SERIOUS."

It's been two weeks since you started working at the waterpark. You pulled it out of Joshua that he did, in fact, sleep with Jaehee after graduation and that's how he knows she's fine. You don't particularly care, either, because you're still leeching onto it as your reason to hate Seungcheol – for lack of better reasons.

As for the waterpark, things are incredibly easy; it's become even easier to sneak spiked Tiger's Blood snow cones and jalapeño margaritas from Cabana Boy Chan – he's cute and you had been determined to land a date with him by the end of the summer.

Emphasis on had been.

You were all smiles and twirling your hair, making him laugh shyly and dig his chin into his chest. Winks, subtly flirty comments, anything and everything – and he couldn't help but let his cheeks flush something awful, his words stuttered out as you bit your lip and pushed your chest out. He couldn't hide any of his reactions, especially not the way his eyes followed the movement of your tongue when you licked the spiced rim of a jalapeño-mango margarita after hours.

All good things end, though – because Chan hasn't been able to look you in the eye for the past weekend. He kept his head down while making your drinks, apologizing quickly if he moved too fast and your drinks sloshed over the edge of the cups he served them in. Cheeks still red as ever, eyes still shy and roaming – but not a laugh, not a coherent conversation.

Why? Seungcheol.

He'd been making your days a living hell. From requesting a towel or sunscreen every time he saw you – meaning you'd have to trek the entire park to get them for him – to openly flirting with the mothers and students that hung around the park, he was a constant in your newfound day-to-day life. He never directly bothered you, he made it a point to only mildly inconvenience you – but it's much, much easier (and convenient) to say that he was ruining your life by merely existing in your perimeter. Joshua was starting to get sick of your complaining, but couldn’t really do anything because you were still doing your job, exactly as he’d asked.

However – you were not blind. At times like this, at these truly, incredibly trying times: you wished you were – just for Seungcheol. To have him become a blur of a being that crossed your path, maybe even mistaken for those floaters that your optometrist always talked about; would be a blessing in and of itself.

Because unfortunately for you, Lifeguard Barbie, Seungcheol is hot. He's stupidly hot, all broad shoulders and thick thighs and the longest lashes you'd ever seen. The brows and the lips and the arms, Christ, he's a walking wet dream and you hate it. You hate it like you've never hated anything before and for that very reason, you kept each and every forced interaction short and dull.

Until he noticed, and you know he noticed, that you flirted with Chan every chance you got. He saw the way Chan tried to hide his blushing cheeks, your teasing smile that dropped every time Seungcheol neared the Cabana; replaced with a pursed lip as Chan slipped away to take his order. He noticed the way you smiled softly at Chan (and everyone that wasn’t him) and he felt a weird pang in his chest every time – not that you knew about that, though.

Nor did you have to.

After the realization settled in his mind, he kept you longer. Kept running his eyes over you just to see you bristle, kept talking about your swimsuit fitting you just right – even went as far as snapping the strap against your shoulder in passing, just to piss you off. He liked to rile you up, saying flirty things that made your cheeks hot and thoroughly enjoying the way you clenched your fists at your sides as you feigned interest in his needs as a customer at the park. It felt so stupid, and so derivative of the idiotic theory that boys are mean to girls when they like them – it's simply not true.

Despite not getting a word out of Chan unless it was a muttered apology for the weekend, you managed to ease your way back into his brain and ask him what the problem was just as he announced last call. He avoided your eyes, often looking over your shoulders and keeping his lips pursed until you jutted your lip out in a pout and made your way behind the bar. You kept your arms crossed, pressed tight against your chest as he tried to explain through stammered sentences before he just blurted it out.

"Listen, you're great, okay? You're so funny and smart but I can't…we can't do this, Y/N. You have a boyfriend, and I just got out of a relationship...it's not going to work." Chan had rubbed his hands over his face at that moment, your eyes widening at the wild accusation slipping from his mouth. "You…you're so hot, please don't think I didn't–" "Chan…I don't have a boyfriend. Joshua is my roommate." You tried, but his brow furrowed. "No…I'm not talking about Shua. You guys live together? Isn't that weird?" He tilted his head, making you facepalm as he scrambled to correct himself. "I mean, that's not…I'm talking about Seungcheol. He said you two were a thing. Aren't you?" You froze then, your shoulders tensing under the moonlight as you tried to process what he had said. You glanced up at him, your brows knitted in the middle as you asked him to repeat himself.

"What?" "Seungcheol, the Hot Springs regular. He said the two of you have been dating for a few months." You choked on your spit at that, before looking across the park and seeing said stupid, idiotic, sexy Hot Springs regular having a casual conversation with Mingyu. The moonlight bounces off the water, the park nearly empty aside from a few tipsy students enjoying the lazy river under Soonyoung's supervision. Seungcheol was nodding along to whatever Mingyu was saying, before he suddenly tensed and looked over his shoulder – locking eyes with you. And that led you here – telling Mingyu that Chan needed his help filling the Cabana stock and leaving you alone to grit your teeth at Seungcheol.

"Mmh, serious about what?" He plays stupid, eyes all wide and lips pouty and he is so fucking stupid. You scoffed, "You've seriously got some nerve to think I'd ever date you. The weight of the sheer audacity you carry around must be fucking with your brain, because you had no right to lie to Chan and tell him we're together." Seungcheol hums, taking a sip from the contraband beer bottle that wasn't allowed near the bodies of water. You reach down, snatching it from his hand and tossing it into one of the recycling bins haphazardly before putting your hands on your hips. His face is feigning boredom, but his eyes are teeming with mischief and excitement as you scowl.

"Go tell him that you lied!" "And have yet another competitor in the running for the fair maiden's hand? Oh, I'd rather die of listeria." He shrugs, and you crouch down with a look of disgust on your face. "You'll die by my fucking hands if you don't make this right. I don't even like you, much less do I need you meddling where you don't belong." "With your hands, huh? You'd just love to touch me, wouldn't you? Look at you, lean a little more and you'd be on your knees for me." He rolls his eyes, and you clench your fist at your side so as to not smack him upside the head. "Just relax, sweetheart. He's not all sunshine and rainbows, anyway. The kid just got his heart broken, it wouldn't end well." "I think I deserve to find that out on my own!" "And I think you need someone who can handle all this lip you like to dish out. Chan is just too sweet, you'd bulldoze him."

"What, like you could? Please, try stand-up in your next life, not this one." You roll your eyes, and he leans over the edge of the hot spring with yet another bored look on his face.

"Are you done whining? Because I'm trying to relax." "Relax when you're dead, I'm trying to score and you're blocking my shot! Chan is cute–" "So are you, even when you're doing all this talking." You scowl, opening your mouth to tell him off when he lifts himself against the edge of the hot spring. He's eye level with you now, and you try not to look down at the soft muscle of his chest bulging against his shirt as you scoot back.

"Chan is not what you need, Barbie. Sure, he's cute, he makes you your fun little drinks, he's a great guy. I know, I practically raised the kid." Seungcheol leans closer, and you make the mistake of letting your eyes dart to his arms. His fingers are wrapped around the edge of the hot spring, biceps flexed as he holds himself up to you. He doesn’t speak until you force your eyes back up to his, the scowl on your lip only growing deeper as he smirks.

“You made all your assumptions about me around my hookups in college. Whatever they said is law, isn't it? Let’s not forget that you know nothing else about me, and you treat me like you hate me because of someone who isn't even in your life anymore. You could be on fire and Jaehee wouldn’t cross the street to piss on you, sweetheart.”

"And what, you would?” You mutter, and he actually laughs. The bastard chuckles like something is funny and it only makes your skin prickle.

“If that’s what you’re into—” “Fuck all the way off, would you? You think you’re hot shit and everyone wants you, well I don’t. What I want—”

You don’t get to finish your sentence, because Seungcheol catches your arm and yanks you into the hot spring in one swift move. You can feel rage bubbling in your throat as you swipe water off your face, seeing him resting his cheek on the heel of his palm.

“Slipped?” “I fucking hate you.” “Why?”

You don’t answer him, grimacing as you push your hair off your face. He swims closer, cornering you slightly. “Why, princess?”

“Don’t call me that. You’re a jerk, Seungcheol.”

“Am I a jerk because you hold onto battles that aren’t yours to fight or because I actually did something to hurt you? Because last I checked, we’ve spoken a total of zero times before you started working here, so it can’t possibly be the latter. Give me a good reason as to why you dislike me, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“I don’t need to explain shit to you. You’re purposely ruining my chances with Chan because you’re a dick. You call me Lifeguard Barbie, you make comments about my swimsuit—”

“You call me a whore because I slept around in college. If you took the time to talk to me and get to know me, you could have actual ammo to shoot at me. But everything is girl code this, girl code that, right?”

He’s too close for your senses to process, your stomach fluttering as you instinctively push a hand into his clothed chest.

“Back up.” His eyes glance down to your fingers splayed on his shirt, before flickering back up to your face.

"Name one thing you know about me besides the fact that I slept with Jaehee." "That you dumped her." "Wrong. She dumped me." You try not to react as you push your palm into the stone of a man. He doesn't budge, eyes searching your face before your fingers hover over his nipple with the intent to twist it – his fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling it away.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you. You could start something you know you can't finish." His voice is significantly lower, before letting your hand drop to your side. It splashes in the water, and you feel pathetically small as he towers over you. "Not everyone is who they were in college. Just because you might've peaked there, doesn't mean all of us did."

You feel a pang in your chest, your throat tightening slightly as you peer up at him through your lashes. He tilts his head, eyes soft as he speaks.

“You might not like me now, but you didn't give me a chance to begin with. Just let me know if you need someone to take care of you, hm?”

"You two better not start making out, Y/N is on the clock." Joshua's voice rings in your ears, and you feel your limbs fill with gratitude as you scowl. "As if."

Seungcheol lets you push him out of the way, not bothering to watch you pull yourself out of the hot spring as he strikes up a conversation with your roommate. "Are we still having a bonfire for Junhui this year? I managed to get his birthday weekend off, my coworkers are pissed." Joshua laughs that genuine laugh that you'd found comforting for so many years. You squeeze your hair out, fury still lingering in your throat with just a hint of hurt. Something felt weird in your chest, like the acknowledgement of you even existing in college and all the things that happened then makes your heart ache.

You'd agreed to host Junhui's birthday weekend at the cabin your grandfather left you in his will. He'd been there, still; when your parents made it a point to stretch the family ties so thin, even a gust of wind would tear through them and end them forever. You visited him often, going home with Joshua in tow with crates of fruit and cuts of meat he'd get up to grill on wobbly legs. He taught Joshua lots of things, but taught you the most valuable of all – your heart is to be guarded, but not to be solid.

To love and let love, lightly and deeply. To gather affection, to spread it, to be soft and understanding. To be complicit in the bettering of the world, and soften those who have become solid – while not understanding it to the point of solidifying yourself.

To listen, and give the benefit of the doubt.

You feel your heart sink as you walk past Joshua and Seungcheol without a word, not bothering to turn around when you hear Joshua calling after you – when you hear the announcement that the park was closing in five minutes. You beeline for your station, pulling a trash bag out from under your chair and silently moving around the park; picking up half-empty tanning lotions, mini sunscreen bottles, empty snow cone cups while you think about the fact that Junhui's birthday is in two weeks and you're going to have to house thirteen men once Jeonghan gets back.

Which (unfortunately) doesn't include girlfriends aside from Junhui and Minghao, because all your friends are bitchless.

The night ends without you reporting back to Chan, your arms crossed on your chest as you walk into the parking lot silently. You see Joshua and Seungcheol still talking, both men leaned against the back of Joshua's car. Joshua is twirling his keys in his hand, a move you stop by taking them out and sliding into the driver's seat without a word. You rest your head against the seat, sighing before you hear Joshua's voice cut through the slightly rolled window.

"What did you say to her? She's never that quiet. I swear to God–" "Relax, I didn't say anything that didn't need to be said. She wants to believe that I'm the big bad wolf, when you and I both know Jaehee dumped me because she didn't want to be with someone on the soccer team after she dated Brian. Jaehee herself said it would look bad, I was crushed but of course, Y/N doesn't know that. And she doesn't need to know."

Your name sounds so foreign on his lips…but it sounds sweet. Like a cold drink after a long day…like he liked the taste of it on his tongue.

And you think about those words as Joshua makes you move to the passenger seat and drives the two of you home. You remain silent, staring out the window, eventually mumbling something about a shower and finding refuge under scalding hot water and minty shampoo. You find yourself in bed before the clock even hits eleven, your arm draped across your eyes – and you can't sleep.

Unfortunately, the flame of shame due to hating someone that you hardly know over someone you used to know is starting to lick up your back. Someone that has been vouched for over and over again by several people…and they can't all be wrong.

"Merry Christmas." You look up from your pillow to see Joshua toss the same pink vibrator on your bed with a soft smile. He holds up a paper check in his hand, and you just shake your head as you pull your covers higher. You sigh, before feeling the bed dip and Joshua's aftershave fills your nose.

"What's eating you, hm?" "You know what." He scoots closer, his fingers swiping stray curls out of your face as he hums. "He's not a bad guy. I have never steered you wrong, have I?" "You've steered me into your bed a couple times." "The first time was in your bed." "Same difference." He snorts, holding himself up on his elbow as you chew on your cheek. You let out a breath, closing your eyes as you rub a hand over your face. He nudges you, a sigh slipping from your mouth.

"I know he's not a bad guy. Somewhere…deep down, I understand." "Then?" "He's still a guy who slept around, and with a lot of my friends. I've heard more about his stroke game than about him as a person." "So the objectification of Choi Seungcheol is going to be your demise?" Joshua jests, making you snort as you shake your head. "I…You remember my old man? When he would start a fire in the pit and we'd all sit around with beer and he'd make us split one because we weren't supposed to be drinking it anyway?" You smile fondly at the memory, glancing up at Joshua to see him doing the same thing.

"Yeah." "And you remember what he said to me? Every time you and I would get into a weird scuffle or something?" He nods again, "Your heart is to be guarded, but not to be solid. I still think about it sometimes." "I don't like Seungcheol. He's…arrogant." "He's not. He's confident, but even the mighty fall." You shake your head, "Maybe I was wrong to hate him from the start, but he's only proven I was right to do so. You know he told Chan that he and I are dating? I was so close to hitting that, Shua. So close!" "Chan just got out of a relationship, and you know how you are. You'd want more, and he wouldn't be able to give you that." Joshua laments, patting your shoulder as you pout.

You think about how you’ve never wanted more with Joshua for a split second, before an odd feeling of guilt settles in your lower belly. "Yeah, but it still would've been good." "I don't want to think about that, Y/N." He snorts, and you let out a weak laugh as you shake your head again. "I don't want him at the cabin, Shua. I know he's…I know you guys are friends, and I know Junhui is flying in for this but I just…I can't shake the feeling that something might happen." He sits up, brow furrowed. "Something might happen? Like what?" You wince, gazing up at him meekly. "I throw a piece of lit firewood at him?" He bites back his smile, hovering over you. "You're not going to do that. You're too nice." "Are you saying I'm all bark? Because I'll have you know–" "Oh, I know you can bite, trust me." You don't like the glint in his eye, scowling as he snickers. "But you know better, and you'll behave yourself because Junhui is flying in to celebrate with us when he could very well stay home. This is important to all of us, and you're going to be a gracious host. Stuff him full of those jalapeño poppers you make and everything will be fine."

He pats your head, "And if anything, I'll be there. You know I've got you."

He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your hairline before pulling your duvet backup over your shoulders. "Get some rest, okay? Stop worrying about Seungcheol, any more thoughts about him and you might start liking him." "As if."

Joshua quirks a brow, "We both know he's exactly your type. All big arms and thick thighs and he can put you in your place." You scoff, sitting up on your elbows, the strap of your tank top falling down your shoulder. "He is not my type! My type is nice boys who blush when I flirt with them and Chan giggles, Shua! He giggles and now I can't fuck him because I refuse to be a man’s rebound!" You groan as you fall back on your pillows, only hearing Joshua laugh as he slides off your bed. He grabs your foot over the blanket, nearly cackling as you jerk it out of his hold.

"You'll live, Y/N. And remember," He grabs the pink vibrator from where it landed between your legs. "No more of this nonsense. Sixty. Dollars. Set them aside, take them out of the bank, but you're paying that bill." "Ooh, don't arrest me officer. I might like the cuffs." Your voice is full of sarcasm as you move to take it from him, his hand catching your wrist. You raise a brow, only for him to give you a pointed look. You roll your eyes, biting back a smirk as you speak.

"Alright, alright! I'll just use your money, instead." "Like hell you will, I already pay your student loans." He snorts, letting you go and holding the toy out. You take it, shoving it under your pillow as you snicker. "And I am ever so grateful, my wonderful provider. You're such a man, rawr." "You're something else." He rolls his eyes, turning on his heel. “I have the weekend off to start prepping things for the party, so please be civil if you bump into Seungcheol.”

You sigh, bringing your duvet to your chin and turning on your side.

“Goodnight, Shua.” “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Joshua wasn’t lying — he was ‘out of office’ on Friday and Saturday. You had a closing shift on Sunday, so you managed to snag a few episodes of Gossip Girl with him before he made you write down everything that would be needed for the party. Not a peep from Seungcheol, just a grim nod that made you wonder if Joshua had said something to him – and you noticed he arrived only moments after you clocked in.

Almost like he knew your schedule.

“Do not drink, I’m not sure how late I’ll be and I don’t want you driving tipsy.” Joshua had been stern earlier that afternoon, holding your keys high above your head as you tied your coverup around your hips. He handed your keys over, hopping back into his car with a Costco-stock of beer and liquor before pulling out of the parking lot with a soft wave.

And now, you are here. Twenty minutes to closing, not a single interaction with Seungcheol tonight aside from checking him in. You had a bit of a scuffle with a group of friends from the local college, but you easily stood your ground and kicked them out of the park. Aside from that, you had no distractions and you were not flirting with Chan. It seems as though the universe made the decision for you, and all suggestive comments and blushy cheeks went out the window; replaced with Chan mentioning Junhui’s party after you asked if he would be busy that weekend.

“You know Junhui, too?” “You’re not serious, Y/N.”

As it turns out: Seungcheol is not the only person you were unaware of in your friend group, though he had a deeper connection through Jeonghan and Joshua. Chan was apparently a floater — sometimes too busy for the gathered group activities but still an integral and valued part of the friendship. You were just too in your own head half the time to notice, and the other half you spent shotgunning beers with Mingyu.

You told Chan about the plan to host at the cabin, and that you’d come by in a few days with the address and any final requests for food and drinks. You talked until he closed the Cabana, before bidding him a good night and strolling through the park with your hands behind your back. It was empty for five minutes before you reached the Hot Springs, seeing Seungcheol with a grimace on his face as he eased out of the water.

You stopped, feeling his name heavy on your tongue before you cleared your throat – but he beat you to it.

"You here to save me, princess?" “Here to tell you the park's closed, dipshit. Gotta go, Choi.”

He only smirks, leaning back on his hands. The moonlight shines on the pale skin of his thighs and arms, still dripping with water. You wonder how he doesn’t prune up — but it’s Choi Seungcheol. He probably made some deal with the devil to remain perfect forever.

“Five minutes.” You call over your shoulder as you continue your stroll through the section, peeking around every wall and even circling the lazy river twice in case there’s some odd couple making out under the Lover’s Bridge in the corner. You make your way back to the Hot Springs, seeing Seungcheol has disappeared.

A bit of disappointment fills your chest, but you continue on your way back to the entrance of the section and slip out, making your way to the office. You grab your bag, pulling a pair of shorts over your waist and ditching the coverup into the depths of your bag. You fumble with your keys, checking the logs to make sure everyone’s signed out before doing the same thing yourself.

You murmur soft goodbyes to the custodians that you pass while making your way towards the parking lot, swinging your keys around your finger as you slide out from behind the gate. There are only two other cars in the lot aside from yours — a white pick-up truck that’s way too lifted for a city car with two guys lounging in the bed, parked right in front of the water park. There is a sleek black car parked a few spots from your little Volkswagen, someone leaning against the passenger side and facing into the empty parking lot. You make it a point not to make eye contact with the pair who are smoking cigarettes on the truck. Your car is only a two or three minute walk, and you keep your eyes forward.

However, the sound of their lighters flickering isn’t enough to distract them as you make your way past their truck. A whistle is heard, and you see the person leaning against their car flinch slightly before a slurred voice rings out.

“Hey, pretty girl. Can I get your number?”

Your shoulders tense, but you don’t look back as you tighten your hand around your keys. Silence fills the air before you hear feet hit the ground. You feel your legs move slightly faster, before the person leaning against the black car turns around and locks eyes with you.

Seungcheol.

“I said hello.” “I have a boyfriend. Leave me alone.”

You’re lying. You’re lying like a fucking dog and you're sure he can tell by the tremble in your voice; but it doesn’t matter because Seungcheol’s eyes narrow slightly as he pushes off the side of the car. His hands are tucked inside the pocket of his sweatshirt, and he rounds the front of the car. He walks towards you, his jaw tight as he keeps his eyes trained on whichever of the men decided to trail behind you. You practically run to him, your hand instinctively gripping the front of his sweatshirt as his arm wraps around your shoulders.

You appreciate the way a feeling of security blankets over you, his fingers brushing your neck as he nestles his hand across the back of it. He pulls you close, the footsteps that had been behind you stopping. You hear his tongue click above you, before he speaks..

"Juwon? Cha Juwon?" Juwon makes a sound of confusion, "How do you know my name?" You glance up to see Seungcheol's eyebrows furrow, "Because I know your father. I also know you play soccer for Yonsei and you got a full scholarship to their engineering program. What the fuck do you think you're doing? Do you think the committee would be happy to know you're being a fucking creep?"

You peer at Juwon, his eyes wide as he takes a step back. "I don't want any problems–" "It's a little late for that, don't you think? You can kiss your scholarship goodbye. Stop being a fucking loser that makes girls uncomfortable and can't take no for an answer. Get the hell out of here and don't come back." Seungcheol barks, your fingers tightening on the material of his sweatshirt as the man's jaw drops. He quickly turns on his heel, sprinting back to the pick-up where his friend is staring open-mouthed. Juwon doesn't wait for the guy to get in the car, cranking the engine and speeding out of the parking lot as he manages to close the tailgate.

You watch in silence, before realizing how hot your face is. Clearing your throat, you awkwardly pat the spot on his sweatshirt that you'd been gripping and start to pull away.

"Are you okay?" He murmurs, his hand not moving from the back of your neck as he peers down at you. You shift, "Yeah. Fine, sorry." "You're not the one that should be sorry." He shakes his head. "Do you want me to tail you home? Just so I know you got in safe, because I know Shua's not home."

"How do you know that?" "He asked me to keep an eye out for you. I haven't left the park before you have until tonight."

He shrugs, and you feel a frown tug at your lips. "He's such a dad." "He cares. So…yes or no? Either way I'm gonna do it." He shrugs again, a small smile on his lips as you sigh. You nibble on your lip, before running a shaky hand over your face and nodding reluctantly. "Fine." "Or…I could just take you home. I'll have someone pick up your car, free of charge." There's a lilt to his voice, and you tongue your cheek. "We can drive around or something while you wait for Shua to get home. I'll feel better about it, and I'll know you're safe." "Why are you being nice to me? We're not friends." You mutter, looking at the ground. He hums, his shoe nudging the toe of your sandals making you look up. "I don't think you understand that you're the only one with a problem. I have no issue with you, much less do I focus on any of the negative things I've heard about you. So what if I was a slut in college? If you bothered to get to know me, you'd know I'm California Celibate." You snort, feeling the release of tension from your chest as you shake your head. "That's not a thing, and that doesn't make it any better." "It is so a thing! And there's no way it doesn't make it better, especially if that's your main issue with me." He tilts his head, eyeing your face gently. "I know you can't really be that mad that I slept with Jaehee. There has to be something deeper." "Like you ruining my chances with Chan?" "Like me bugging the shit out of you because you're cute when you're angry." You scowl, hating the way your stomach flutters as he smiles widely. "Come on. And then you can actually get to know me, instead of basing all your feelings about me on a failed relationship from college." He doesn't give you a chance to refute it, because some glint in his eye makes your face grow hot as you cross your arms on your chest. "That sounds a lot like a date." "If it were a date…you don't seem like you'd be too opposed." He chides over his shoulder, and you're foolishly following behind him. You frown, and he only shakes his head as he rounds the front of his car once more, opening the passenger side swiftly. Of course – of course Choi Seungcheol is a fucking gentleman.

"I am opposed." You grumble, before slipping into the seat. The car smells so nice – hints of patchouli and bergamot and the sweetness of pineapple. You reach to close the door, only to be stopped by Seungcheol's hand on the outside handle. He peers down at you, before crouching down to meet your eyes.

"I can change that." "I have a boyfriend."

"Yeah, me, apparently." He smirks, before standing up right and closing the door gently. You run your fingers through your hair, closing your eyes as you lean your head back on the seat. He gets in the car quietly, shoving his keys into the ignition and turning the engine over before you open your eyes.

"Why'd you even start working at the park? Joshua always said you'd never work here." He asks softly as he makes a quick turn out of the parking lot, and you sigh. "You can't laugh if I tell you." "You can always lie, because I can't promise you I won't laugh." He jests, making you snort as you tiredly cross your legs at the knee. "I got let go from my job, the clerical one. He wasn't upset, Shua, but I was. And then we had somewhat of a fight because I forgot to pay the light bill in favor of buying myself a little something." You shrug, and he rolls to a stop at a red light. "A little something?" You give him a pointed look through tired eyes, "A big something. Hot pink, battery powered with sixteen settings that make you see stars and suddenly everything is okay in the world. Melatonin with a twist, I'd say." He bites his lip, his eyes crinkling at the corner as he looks away. You snicker to yourself, shaking your head as you look out the windshield. The sky is clear, the moonlight very bright through the dense trees that line the road leading back to the inner city. "What is California Celibate?" You ask suddenly, tilting your head to look at him as he tongues his cheek. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, before shrugging.

"It means I only do what I like." "Oh, so you're just annoying by choice. Got it." He chuckles softly as you roll your eyes. "Casual sex just isn't my thing; it wasn't even in college. It's just…the general foreplay. I like the build up, oral and whatnot. Kissing is fun, too." "Oh, you're such a whore." "Mmh, I like it when you talk dirty. But, I haven't slept with anyone since before I went to nationals and got hurt. I just…stopped, I didn't have the energy to do anything. Much less have sex that made me feel…used." You don't let him see the way your eyes widen. You make an exaggerated gagging sound as he snickers, his fingers flicking his turn signal.

The drive is quiet for a little while, the road winding as he takes you through the wooded area you'd grown up in. You don't mind it, the map on his dashboard GPS still showing your house as the destination no matter the turns you take.

"I'm sorry about your hip, by the way." You speak up, and he shrugs. "Thanks. It's just life, though. It took a lot for me to get over it, but I could either wallow in the resentment or get off my ass and do something with my life. I chose the latter." "Mmh. What are you doing now? What did you major in?" "I'm in grad school currently, and I'm working at a massage spa for the time being. I'm trying to open a business in the future, I think I'd do well in sports therapy and shit like that. I want to work with athletes who have the same situation as me. I don't want to get sappy but it's one of the harshest realities that can hit someone who thinks their life is set in stone, you know?" You feel your heart warm a bit, and you can't bite back your smile as you cover it with your hand. He glances at you, brow raised. "What?" "Nothing. That's nice." He brakes gently, pulling over before putting the car in park. "Tell me."

"It's just cute. To see you care, I guess. Having fuckboy tendencies and a big heart sounds kind of like it's out of a movie. It's not real." He tilts his head, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips. "Cute?" "Don't let it get to your head." You warn, running your hands up and down your arms. His eyes follow the movement, before he unbuckles his seatbelt and pulls his sweatshirt over his head. He holds it out to you, and you shake your head. "I'm fine." He silently presses the button to release your seatbelt, making you huff as you take the sweatshirt and tug it over your head. "It's gonna smell like chlorine." "Washing machines exist." "So does turning the heat on." "But you'd look so pretty in my clothes, sweetheart." You tongue your cheek as he winks, leaning back into his seat and buckling himself in. He moves to fiddle with the shift gear, before pausing and looking back at you.

"Would it make you more comfortable if I wasn't at Junhui's birthday celebration next weekend?" Your eyes widen, "Did Joshua say something to you?" He shrugs, tonguing his cheek. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, especially in a place you've grown up in and have good memories in. I'd hate to sully that for you, if–" "Oh, I'm sorry." You interrupt, rubbing at your face haphazardly. "I'm just in my own head sometimes. I was telling Joshua that I was worried about it because I…" His eyes are soft as he searches your face. "Because you…what?" "I don't like being wrong." You mumble, picking at your nails. "I hate being wrong, actually. So much so that I've had arguments with Shua that last weeks so I don't have to apologize. And if you went, and I saw that everyone vouched for you the way Shua and Jeonghan do, I'd have to give you a chance. I'd have to admit that I jumped the gun, and it's just not something I'm good at. Especially not in front of Shua, because…well, he's Shua." He twists in his seat, "What if you apologize now? Just you and me." You roll your eyes, "What, and you won't tell anyone? I'm not five, Seungcheol." "Cheol." "What?" "Call me Cheol. Seungcheol feels too…formal. Choi Seungcheol, too. Don't like it."

"Anything else, Your Highness?" You scoff, and he smiles as he leans over the center console. "I mean, I'm partial to baby. Honey, even, if you're feeling nasty."

You roll your eyes, looking at him with a brow raised. He returns the look, shamelessly looking at your lips before tilting his head. "What's going on with you and Joshua?" "Nothing." Your answer comes out too fast, and it makes him smile. "Nothing? Or nothing you want to admit to?" "I have nothing to admit to. The guy is my roommate, he pays my bills and signs a fat check for my student loans because he loves me. That's my guy." You shrug, feigning nonchalance as he leans slightly closer, his cologne filling your nose slightly. Same patchouli…same bergamot and sweet, sweet pineapple. He doesn't look like he believes you, and you sigh. "Just ask. Go on." "You haven't slept with him?" "I have." "How many times?"

"I'll answer your question with another one. Why does it matter?" You lean into him, and he shrugs. "It doesn't. Just curious." "Mmh." You hum, your cheeks growing hot as his tongue swipes over his lips again, his eyes trained on the soft pout on yours. "Do you want to kiss me or something?" He smiles, "Depends on if you'd kiss me back." "No." He immediately feigns disgust, turning his nose up, "Ew, who would ever kiss you? That's so gross, and you smell like chlorine. I bet you don't even know how to kiss!"

You gape, a laugh bubbling from the back of your throat as you cover your mouth to muffle the sound. Your shoulders shake as you hold the laughter in, only to look over and see him smiling, almost fondly.

"But I could teach you."

"Like hell you will. Take me home." You manage to spit out, his face contorting into one of disappointment as he scoffs. "You could take me to dinner first, you know. I'm not just a good fuck–" "To my house! I'm sure Shua is home and I have to be up early for my shift." You huff, fanning at your face with your hands as he puts the car in drive with a grin. You wipe at your eyes as he pulls back onto the road, a soft blush on his cheeks as he follows the GPS to a T. It's silent, but it's comfortable – even as you make it to the apartment in twenty minutes to see Joshua still hasn't arrived.

You unbuckle your seatbelt, turning to face him.

"I'm sorry for making assumptions about you and being a jerk. It was unfair of me." You admit softly, and he only shakes his head. "It is what it is. You had your reasons." "They weren't very justifiable reasons, I think. Either way, I'm sorry." "Mmh. Do you want me to wait? I don't like the idea of you being here alone." "Nothing's going to happen to me, you know. I know how to defend myself, but I'll stay for the sake of your sanity." You roll your eyes, and he smiles softly. "I'm sure you do, princess. Thank you for being so considerate." You scoff, "I do! And for the record, I'm an excellent kisser. I don't need you to teach me shit."

The smirk on his lips makes your cheeks warm as he shakes his head.

"Mhm." The car is quiet, your head leaned against the seat before you turn to him. He's staring at the front door, almost as though he's expecting someone to walk through it.

"Is Jaehee the reason you started sleeping around in college? To mend your broken heart and whatnot?" He doesn't stiffen, or seem bothered as he turns to look at you. His eyes are conflicted, and he shrugs.

"I was sleeping around before Jaehee. All the newfound freedom being away from home paired with the fact that some sorority girls really, really like athletes…it got to my head. I got ahead of myself, and I wasn't really looking for a relationship. Jaehee was, but she realized it wasn't the best idea to keep dating within a certain circle. That was the end of it." You nod, clasping your hands in your lap. "I wonder what that's like." "What?" "Sleeping around. Does it make you feel…I don't know, icky? Used, like you said?" "It did. I mean, I was in the mindset of just needing that rush of recklessness, I guess. But the sweat dries, and you still feel like shit after." He nods, tonguing his cheek. "You…dated Wonpil, right? On the baseball team?"

You nod, a soft frown donned on your lips as you scrunch your nose at him. "For three years. Two in college and one after. We broke up for a multitude of reasons, but life goes on and you find other things to worry about, and I missed the freedom I had before we got together. I spent so much time just hanging around and going to movies, to concerts, I even worked at a fried chicken place with Soonyoung and gorged myself on biscuits. In a relationship…you have to answer to somebody and it takes a lot of your time." "Isn't that the best part of it all, though? Spending time with someone you know cares?" "I have friends who care, and I spend my time with them." "What about your family?" You stiffen slightly, your jaw tight as you clear your throat. "I uh…I don't talk to them. Haven't since after high school graduation." "I'm sorry."

You just shake your head, shrugging before turning in your seat. "It's just a sore subject, not your fault. I think…I'm gonna head inside now. I'm sure Shua will be home any minute and he'll start asking too many questions if he sees me get out of your car." He nods quickly, "Sure. Have a good night, I'll get your car here by morning."

You smile, popping the door open slightly. You let it hang open, before leaning over the center console. "Thanks for helping me out back there, and for the ride…Cheol." He turns to face you, eyes widening a bit when he realizes how close you are but he doesn't back away. His smile is soft, glancing at your lips before he speaks. "Anytime."

"Goodnight." You mumble, pressing your lips to his cheek quickly before slipping out of the car and shutting the door. You don't look back, your cheeks hot as you fish your keys out of your bag with shaky hands and shove the house key into the lock.

The air in the apartment is cool – but it's not cool enough as you lock the door behind you and slide down it. You groan, gently banging the back of your head against the wooden door. You don't hear Seungcheol's car pull out of the lot, you're sure he's waiting for Joshua to arrive before he leaves.

You don't want to hear anything from the mouth of your roommate – so you push off the floor and beeline for your bathroom. You look at yourself in the mirror – before putting your head in your hands.

"So stupid."

"ARE YOU JUST GOING TO KEEP IGNORING ME?"

It's been four days since Seungcheol dropped you off at home – and you feel weird.

You can't focus for shit and your heart races a mile a minute every time you see him wink at you and you can't breathe if he's in the break room. Why the fuck is he even in the break room? Who let him in? How do you get him out? How do you get him in your bed? Stop.

"Mhm." You hum, nodding your head as you flip through yet another magazine. The sector was unusually empty for a Thursday night; but you were on break, laying out on the edge of the pool. Your foot was dipped into the water, swirling around as you used the magazine to block out the rearing moonlight – and he was oddly floating by your side, his crossed arms on the edge of the pool and nearly touching your arm. "Tch, that's too bad, princess. I would've asked you to get a drink with me." You try not to smile, cracking your gum as you flip onto the next page of your magazine, "I wouldn't get a drink with you if you were the President."

"I would hope you don't like wrinkly old men, but I digress. Come on, at least look at me."

You put the magazine on your chest with a groan, crossing your arms over your eyes before speaking.

"Seungcheol, if you're going to keep bothering me, you're going to have to get out and go to another pool." "Or, you could get in." "Seungcheol." "Come on, just a dip. We can talk, get better acquainted." He whines, and you snort. You lift your arm up, your heart catapulting it's way to your ass as you scoff. "I'd get better acquainted with a rock."

"Jeonghan has a rock he keeps in his room. Says it's his pet."

"Ugh, Seungcheol." You groan, splaying your arms out as he chuckles. "Sound so pretty when you say my name, princess. Let me hear it again." You scowl, sitting up on your elbows. "You're fucking insufferable." He feigns offense, a hand on his chest as he turns his nose up. "I'd never make you suffer at my hands, pretty. Pleasure pool only."

You gape, before rolling your magazine up and smacking his shoulder with it. "Leave me alone! I'm supposed to be on a break from my grueling job and you're over here drooling like a dog. Go away!" "But I'll miss you when I'm gone." He sounds so pitiful, you almost believe it until you see the hint of a smirk on his lips. You hit him with the magazine again, before scrambling to your feet and huffing. "Leave me alone!"

His laughter fills your ears as you walk away, a whistle making you throw the magazine at him. You don't really mean it. You don't, and you hate that in less than a month, he managed to get under your skin and implant himself in your brain. You don't like the fact that you so willingly got into his car on Sunday night, you don't like the fact that he made you laugh so hard in his passenger seat, and you don't like that you let your intrusive thoughts let you plant a fat one on his cheek before you ultimately ran from the problem (him) and into the sanctity of your apartment where a certain battery powered object awaited you and your running mind.

Joshua had been in and out of the park for the last few days, and hadn't gotten a chance to catch you alone despite his pointed looks. He was the one who signed at the door when your car was delivered by whatever mystery tow company Seungcheol had, and he even called your phone twice before finding you passed out in your bedroom with your phone on the nightstand. You managed to slip out of the apartment before he could ask any questions since Monday, and you could tell he was growing frustrated as you spotted him across the park.

"Y/N!" His voice rang through the park just as you turned on your heel, eager to return to the odd solace of Seungcheol's teasing. You grimace, running a hand over your face as you turn to see him walking your way with a look on his face that says what has gotten into you?

And you don't know, but you certainly know what you'd like to get into you.

Stop it.

"Hey, Shua. What's up?" Your voice is tight, but the way he crosses his arms makes it seem like you're in trouble. "What's up? Is that really what you're leading with?" You clear your throat, "What are you talking about?"

He rolls his eyes, leaning closer, "You like Seungcheol." You gasp, "How dare you! I would never like a scum-sucking harlot like Choi Seungcheol." "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Barbie." You hear Seungcheol's voice near you, scowling as he winks before making his way past you to the cabana. You scrunch your nose at the deliciously broad expanse of his shoulders, before looking up at Joshua – who looks skeptical.

"Right…anyway. Junhui and Jeonghan are flying in tonight, and I'm leaving early to pick them up." He starts, and you watch the way he looks over his shoulder at the cabana. "You can…get a ride home, right? I mean…don't think I don't know that you hitched one with Cheol on Sunday." You groan, running your hand over your face. "I had no choice." "Your car was running perfectly fine when you went to work on Monday." "Maybe I got it fixed and that's why it got delivered." "Maybe our Ring camera showed the two of you sitting in front of our apartment for twenty minutes before you kissed his cheek." The Ring camera.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling your face grow hot in embarrassment as Joshua chuckled above you. "You like him." "I do not! I was merely apologizing for being a jerk, okay? God forbid a girl apologizes to her…to…you know what I mean!" "I don't believe I do, sweetheart. But, I'll leave you to it, and I expect you guys to be safe." "I am not going to fuck Choi Seungcheol, Joshua." You grumble, but the confidence in your voice is questionable as Joshua envelopes you into a soft embrace. You begrudgingly wrap your arms around his waist, "Drive safe." "I will. I'm really sorry to leave you like this, but at least now I know he'll get you home safe." He murmurs in your ear, before planting a kiss on the side of your head. "I'll see you at home, okay? I'll be late, so don't wait up." "Bye, Shua." You pull yourself from his arms, before feeling his hand pat your back as he skirts around you. You sigh, not managing to catch the way Seungcheol's eyes had narrowed at the prolonged contact between you and your roommate. Not that he cared, he didn't.

You spend the rest of your shift avoiding Seungcheol more, scrunching your nose at his winks and smirks and stupid fucking shoulders that you wanted to sink your teeth into.

You want to say you don't know where the 180° came from, but you do. You know that the jokes in his car, the soft discussion of what he wants for the future and what he aspires to inspire…the understanding that he was human, too…all of it. All of it contributed to the weird buzzing in your limbs when you caught a whiff of his cologne as he passed by or the way your shoulders tensed when you heard the lilt of flirting in his voice as he snuck up on you.

It's only worsened by how well he fills out his stupid clothes, the material of his shirts straining against those arms that make you want to pass out. Your skin prickles when you hear the intercom crackle, announcing the park has officially closed just as you start making rounds to see if there are any stragglers. Your pace is quick, your feet bare against the hot cement and rounding corners with a speed only God could rival.

…Until you slam right into Seungcheol's chest.

"Shit, sorry–" "What are you running from?"

He winces, rubbing the heel of his palm against his chest where your shoulder hit. You have a sheepish look on your face, "Sorry, I'm doing rounds." "I can tell. Warn a guy." "Well if you had left like everyone else did–" "You wouldn't have a ride home. Let's not play this game, beautiful."

You tongue your cheek, crossing your arms when you feel his fingers under your chin.

"Are you really going to ignore me like this? I thought we were forming a connection. You wound me, babe." "I am not your babe."

You swat his hand away, only for him to catch your wrist and pull you close. "You could be." You let out a noise of frustration, "If you're going to stop me from doing my job, I can't go home. If you really care, you'll go wait in the car." He smiles, your stomach fluttering like an idiot as he runs his eyes over your face. He tilts his head, his voice soft as his fingers loosen around your wrist. "What if I want to walk with you?"

"Seungcheol." "A little louder, princess." You smack his chest, "Get out! Let me do my job!" He laughs as he squeezes your wrist gently before dropping it. "I'll be at the gate." "Fine, whatever." You cross your arms as you skirt around him, your chest tightening as you realize that come tomorrow afternoon – you'd be stuck in a cabin with him and all your friends. Him, and his shoulders and his lips that are so plump and kissable and his stupid thighs that look like they could crush a watermelon–

"Stop it, Y/N. Jesus Christ, it's like you're a Victorian man." You mutter to yourself as you round the Lazy River, your eyes darting all over it. "Stupid man and his stupid…hot body and his dumb face and I hate him." The grumbling doesn't stop as you make your way into the office, grateful that today was a day you stayed out of the pool (aside from your leg) and you duck into one of the bathrooms to change into a t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts, nearly tripping as you tug a pair of underwear over your ankles. Your eyes fall on Seungcheol's sweatshirt at the bottom of your bag, and you tongue your cheek before pulling it out and tugging it over your head.

You clock out accordingly, making sure to greet the custodians as you walk by them, shoving your hands in the pocket of the sweatshirt when you hear soft whistling at the gate. Your eyes flicker up to see Seungcheol leaning against the brick wall, swinging his keys around his finger and typing a text with one hand. He shoots it off, tucking his phone into his pocket when you open the gate. "Who was that?" You ask abruptly, locking the gate behind you as he raises a brow.

"Who was who, babe?" "On your phone, and I'm not your babe." You turn back to see him smiling, running his tongue over his teeth as he shakes his head.

"No one, sweetheart." "Right…no one." You roll your eyes, crossing your arms on your chest as you start walking into the empty parking lot. His car is a few feet away, and you quickly make your way over to it when you feel your phone start buzzing in your pocket. You pull it out, seeing Joshua's contact flashing across the screen. You answer it, putting it on speaker and static noise fills the air.

"Yo." "Hey. Did you get a ride with Cheol like I said?" Seungcheol tilts his head at you as you lean against the hood of his car. You roll your eyes, "Yeah. He's standing right here, looking like an idiot as usual." Joshua's laughter is heard through the static of the call, "Be nice to him, he's doing you a favor. I just got to the airport, this place is fucking packed. I'll call you when I'm on the way home, okay?" "Yeah, Shua. I'll see you." "See you, sweetheart. Be nice!" You hang up, shoving your phone back into your pocket and looking to see Seungcheol's jaw a bit tight. You raise a brow, but don't manage to speak as he opens the door. "Hop to, princess. I've got to deliver you home before this carriage turns into a pumpkin." "Do you also turn back into a rat or is that just my wishful thinking?" He snorts, "Get in the car."

You smile inwardly as you do so, his hand softly shutting the door behind you. You watch as he rounds the front of the car, before slipping into the driver's side and cranking the ignition. His fingers fiddle with the dashboard, before you hear the click of the doors locking and his seatbelt being clicked in. Your eyes close as you lean back onto the headrest, crossing your legs at the knee.

You expect him to pull off, but you open one eye to see him fishing his phone out of his pocket. He tongues his cheek, reading something on the screen before turning it off and tossing it into his backseat. "What's that about?" "You really are the jealous type, huh? Cute."

He smiles cheekily, pulling out of the parking lot as you frown.

"I am not jealous of anything. I am…merely concerned." "Aw, you care about me, princess?"

His pout is mocking you as you scowl, "I cannot believe I'm going to be locked in the middle of the woods with you for the weekend. Junhui better appreciate the ground I walk on for the rest of his life." Seungcheol smiles softly, "It is very kind of you to put up with so many people for a weekend. Especially when a handful of them saw that nip slip last year." "Oh my God, they will not let that go. So what, I have nipples. Shua has literally…" You trail off, seeing his brows slightly furrowed as he flicks on his turn signal. You clear your throat, "They're just boobs. They act like we're virgins from the 18th century." "Mhm." He nods, tapping the gear shift at a random rhythm. You follow his fingers, only to see his other hand white-knuckling the bottom of the steering wheel. "What made you room with Joshua, anyway?"

You shrug, "He's all I have left, I guess. My family and I…are complicated, and Joshua helped me through all that. All our friends are still waiting for us to get together but it's literally never going to happen. Just because we slept together–" "Right, right." He interrupts, and you raise a brow. "Anyway, there is nothing romantic there. Shua's great and all but we both admit that desperate times called for desperate measures." "Mhm." His lips are pressed into a tight line as he turns into the same road lined with dense trees. You tilt your head, before leaning forward in your seat.

"Are you alright? You're gripping the wheel awfully tight." "Ah, sorry. Sometimes I don't notice."

He clears his throat, loosening his grip on the wheel. You lean back cautiously, before closing your eyes. The car is silent, before you hear the click of his tongue.

"If you have something to say–" "Are you sure there isn't anything romantic between the two of you? I mean, I wouldn't room with a girl and take care of her like Shua takes care of you unless I had feelings for her."

You try not to let a frown fight its way onto your lips, remembering Jeonghan's voice in your head.

"You guys need to stop sleeping together, eventually someone is going to come along and you'll have to explain that weird ass dynamic."

"Yeah, you have a point." "So?"

You feel the car jerk to a halt, before you notice you're now pulling over into the same spot from Sunday night. The trees hide the car perfectly but you still get a stream of moonlight, and he puts the car in park to face you, unbuckling his seatbelt. You do the same, before you let your tongue dart out to wet your lips and a sigh slips out.

"Shua is the only person I have that has seen me go through it all. He met my grandparents, he helps me out more than anyone ever has. He helps me just turn my brain off and not worry about anything. I appreciate him as a roommate, and a friend. There is nothing romantic, and it's only been three times that we've slept together. I don't think we'll sleep together again, it's going to be too hard to explain if anyone were to come along and want to be with either of us romantically. 'Hey, my best friend that lives with me, pays my student loans and all my bills also fucked me on the couch you're sitting on. Isn't that funny?'"

He nods, tonguing his cheek. His fingers trace the grooves in the gear shift, PRNDL.

"Why did you kiss me on Sunday?" "Lapse in judgment. Don't make it sound like we made out, you literally said I'd be a bad kisser." "You said you weren't."

He leans on the center console, chin in his hand as he peers up at you through his lashes. You don't like the way your throat feels dry at the pleading look, possibly intentional…possibly not.

You force a scoff, "Because I'm not."

He tilts his head, "How do you expect me to believe that without proof?" "You want me to prove to you that I'm not a bad kisser." "Mhm." "And you want to do this right before we're going to be locked in a cabin together for a weekend with all our friends?" His smile is soft as he nods, "Who said they have to know?" "They will. They always know when someone in the group is getting some, that's how bitchless everyone is." "You're not getting anything, I just want to see if you're a bad kisser." "This is exactly how Jeonghan got Jeon Minseo to date him for three years, you know." "You just love talking about other guys." He rolls his eyes, and you scoff. "And you're putting the moves on me! You don't even like me! How are you not still a whore that I should be wary of?"

"You don't know if I like you or not." He says, "you don't know how to ask questions, only make assumptions based on dated misinformation." "Why would I ask you if you like me when I don't like you? Let's not forget, you cockblocked me! I could be getting the pipe of my life right now!" You scold him, and a small smirk pulls at his lips.

"I mean, I could break my celibacy–" "Don't piss me off." "Then shut me up."

You only realize how close he is when you look back at him, his eyes still wide and watery and stupid as you rub your face in contemplation. A huff escapes your lips as you click your tongue, before you turn and lean into his face. His eyes flicker to your lips, shifting in his seat.

"If you tell anyone–" "I won't. This is just for you and me, I promise."

You and me.

His hand is warm as he cups your cheek, and you struggle not to roll your eyes at the way your skin prickles. His breath is minty against your lips, and you let your eyes meet. Your face feels hot as he smiles softly, his thumb brushing the skin of your cheek.

"We don't have to–" "I want to." "Yeah?" You don't respond, opting to close the gap between you and slotting your lips with his. It's soft, it's natural – how easily you fall into rhythm with him. His lips are soft, tongue skilled as he slips it into your mouth. You didn't realize how much you were leaning into him as you sucked on his tongue, a soft groan from his throat making your heart race in your chest. Your hands grip the edge of the center console as his hand tangles in your hair, holding you against him as he nips at your lips. You move back, pressing a chaste kiss on his lips before clearing your throat.

"Proof enough?" "I think I need more, actually. Insufficient data and whatnot–" "Oh, shut up."

You scoff inwardly, feeling your cheeks hot as you move to pull away further, but he only follows. "Just one more." "Seungcheol–" "Please."

You roll your eyes, letting him slot your lips to his once more. It's like he's addicted, the way he leans over the center console even further just to be closer to you. Your hands grip his shirt, keeping him close as you move back. He chases your lips, but you move your hand to cover his mouth as he furrows his brows.

"Joshua's going to wonder where I am–" "Ugh." He falls back into his seat, running a hand over his face. "I forgot about him. It's not like he's your keeper." You snort, before awkwardly shoving your hands back into the pocket of the sweatshirt. "He's not, but he does have access to our Ring camera. If I show up with your spit all over me–" "We can wipe you down." "Seungcheol…this is just not a good idea." "Why?" You nibble on your lip, crossing your legs at the knee. Your thighs are tense under your shorts, clamped together as you try and push any thought of arousal to the back of your mind. You can feel him looking at you, and you pick at your nails inside the pocket of his sweatshirt.

"Just…take me home, please." He doesn't respond, only watching as you pull the seatbelt over your chest. The heat of his stare suddenly disappears, and you hear the click of his own seatbelt as he clears his throat. He doesn't say anything, even as you peer at him out of the corner of your eye, his hands fiddling with the shift gear before you feel the car steer back onto the road.

For a moment, there is nothing to say – but you feel small. You feel like you've done exactly what you'd been telling yourself you wouldn't, falling for charms that shouldn't have worked on you the way they did on all the other girls. You think about the way your sorority sisters fawned over him – his body, the way they bragged about being folded like a damn lawn chair at his leisure, the way his tongue made them lose their minds and almost always crawl back for more.

Sure, he's…honest. He told you he didn't like casual sex, he told you he didn't like the way it felt after.

But you know that only means he pushed the feeling aside time and time again, because he still did it. You knew more about how well he ate pussy than anything else, and you felt odd as your heart sank in your chest. You don't know of a single girl that he ever intended to be serious with – so what makes you any different? And why do you give a flying fuck about being different to him – you don't even like him.

Of course you don't like him. He's arrogant and annoying and…profound. And gentle, and smart and funny and flirty and so fucking stupid. He's so stupid, Choi Seungcheol.

"What are you thinking so hard about?" "I don't want problems this weekend, Seungcheol." "You won't have any. Don't worry about it." His voice is slightly tight, but you turn to look at him. He looks fine to the naked eye, his jaw relaxed, shoulders set back as he flicks on his turn signal. You nod slowly, feeling the car roll to a halt for a stoplight. He glances up at the red light, before his eyes flicker to yours. He raises a brow, and you just shake your head. "Sorry." "Nothing to be sorry for, Y/N." You don't like the way your name rolls off his tongue, it's nothing like the first time you heard him say it. He says it like there is nothing else to be said, your name being the stamp that ends the teasing, the trolling…and his brand of flirting. You shift in your seat, before seeing the gate of your apartment complex come into view. "You can stop here, I'll just walk the rest of the way." You murmur, and he tongues his cheek. He waits for the gate to open, the two of you peering over to see Joshua's car parked in front of your apartment. He's home, and you hear the familiar sound of thunder rolling overhead.

Seungcheol stops the car, the air thick like he has something to say. He doesn't, his finger unlocking the door and you mutter a thanks as you push it open. You set your foot out, but feel rooted in your seat. Your hand is tight around the handle of the door before you put your leg back into the car and close the door. Seungcheol makes a sound of concern, leaning forward slightly in his seat. His finger taps the center console, and you glance up at him.

"Cheol?" "Yes?" "Do you like me?" The words taste like metal in your mouth, but you chalk it up to chewing on your cheek too hard. He's silent, his fingers tracing the stitching of his center console before sighing.

"It's hard not to." He starts, and you feel your brows furrow on your face as you turn to face him fully. "You based yourself on what you heard about me, but if I had done the same thing…I think I still would've liked you a bit." "What?" "Joshua talks about you a lot. So does Jeonghan, Soonyoung…Mingyu, even. Just because I didn't get a chance to befriend you the same way they did because I was stuck in my own world…doesn't mean I don't know things about you. I know a lot about you, down to the fact that you learned how to swim in a lake after your sister threw you in. I know you don't like it when your food touches, I know you like to lie and say you're an inch taller than you actually are." "What's one inch?" You grumble, before shaking your head. "You're avoiding the question." "No, I'm answering and simultaneously telling you why you should give me a chance." "You lied to Chan–" "And you lied to Joshua when you said you said you'd never like a, what was it? A scum-sucking harlot like me? You're no better." "I don't like you, Seungcheol." You grit, "And I didn't lie. I said the truth, I could never–" "You're wearing my sweatshirt. You stare at me like you've never seen a man before in your life, don't think I don't notice the way you literally follow me with your eyes. Not to mention, we just kissed, not even ten minutes ago. You want to act like I'm not even worth the time, like I'm not worth your time but you act so differently when it's just me and you. You tell Joshua one thing, but you bite back your smiles when you talk to me. I was honest with you about my past, and what I want for my future. It's not enough for you to even try to change your mind and I can respect that, and I think whatever game you're playing needs to end now because I'm not strong enough for this seesaw. So, I'm getting off. How's that for never?"

His jaw is tight now, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he closes his eyes. "I'm not coming this weekend, so tell Junhui I'm sorry. Please, go inside. It looks like rain."

You don't know why your nose burns as your jaw clenches, your hand gripping the strap of your bag so tight anyone would think you'd seen it run away before. A drop of water hits his windshield as you run your tongue over your teeth, a tear falling onto the light grey fabric of his sweatshirt before you haphazardly tug it off. You throw it into his backseat before pushing his door open, slamming it behind you as you get out and make your way to your apartment door.

He doesn't pull away even as you get inside, and you feel your chest tight as you throw your keys into the bowl on the foyer table. Joshua's voice can be heard stopping abruptly in the kitchen as you toe your shoes off quickly, and you see the flash of a blond head as you hide your face and practically sprint to your room as tears flow down your cheeks.

"Y/N? Are you okay?" You don't respond as Joshua calls after you, slamming your way into your bedroom and locking the door behind you.

YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT THE SINKING FEELING IN YOUR CHEST AS YOU SAT IN FRONT OF JEONGHAN'S APARTMENT – AWAITING HIS ARRIVAL INTO THE RENTED VAN THAT WOULD PAVE THE WAY TO THE CABIN.

"Hey, honey." His voice is soft as he leans in the passenger window, and you hum in response. You don't look up from the book in your hand, even when you feel his cool fingertips thumb at your earlobe. "You don't look very happy." "I'm fine, Jeonghan." You spent a few hours sobbing silently into your pillow the night before, before Joshua and Junhui took your doorknob off to get in. You didn't tell them anything, only apologizing to Junhui for being a mess on his birthday weekend – and you almost threw up as you let Seungcheol's notice slip past your lips. Joshua's eyes had narrowed then, and he'd disappeared from your bedroom as Junhui hugged you tightly with whispered assurances that you were going to be okay.

Junhui wound up falling asleep on your bed next to you, your face swollen when you woke up the moment the morning sun started peeking in through your blinds. Joshua had taken it upon himself to pack your bag, leaving the green duffel at the edge of your bed in case you wanted to put anything else in it.

You spent an hour dunking your face in ice water to minimize the swelling, but it wasn't going down. Joshua only smoothed your hair and told you to get in the car after brushing your teeth. You told yourself that you'd be fine, that everything would be fine – until you saw Seungcheol's name flash across Joshua's phone screen the moment you got in the van and felt a sinking pit in your stomach.

Yearning is a bitch.

"Well…you might wanna go pee or stock up on something. You know the drive is very long, and I don't think Shua's gonna want to stop anywhere." He says softly, and you look up to see a very gentle look in his eyes. Almost like he knew something, and you had no doubt that he did as he opened the door and carefully unbuckled your seatbelt. "Come on." You obliged, quietly dog-earing your page and slipping out of the car. You cross your arms on your chest as you follow Jeonghan up to his apartment, not seeing Seungcheol's car anywhere nearby and feeling a bit of a weight off your shoulders. Jeonghan opens the door for you, following closely behind as you wander into the kitchen. Joshua and Junhui are packing things in coolers – sliced fruit, sandwiches…

And Seungcheol is quietly cutting things up for them in the corner, his hands covered in fruit juices and the kitchen covered in bottles of orange juice that seemed to be freshly squeezed. You can't see his face, covered by the shaggy mop of hair you'd gotten used to seeing dripping wet. Mingyu is hovering above the sink, furiously washing dishes as you slip past him – hearing him ask about Junhui's girlfriend and why she's not here.

You don't manage to hear the answer as you sidle up to Joshua, your hand gripping the back of his shirt as he peers down at you.

"How are you feeling, honey?" "Fine. Don't call me honey."

"Noted. How are you feeling, hoe?" You snort, pinching his side as you peer into the cooler. Grapes, sliced oranges, a few yoghurt parfaits you know aren't going to make it past the hour – not if Mingyu was anywhere near the coolers. You feel something cold against your cheek, and flinch to see Jeonghan holding a cold spoon to your face. You take it, silently patting it around your eyes as Joshua bumps his hip to yours.

"You're in my way, sweetheart." "Joshua." "I've called you these things for years, what's the deal? Scoot." You roll your eyes, sticking your tongue out at him before skirting back out of the kitchen. You hadn't been to Jeonghan's apartment all that often, only twice to sleep off one too many tequila shots and you were gone by morning. You wandered a bit before making your way down the hall. A few doors are left open, and you spot the bathroom when you stop. The other door left open is a bedroom, and you look over your shoulder before tucking the spoon in the back pocket of your shorts and peeking inside.

A large bed is in the middle, dressed in black bedsheets with a forest green comforter. There's a throw blanket bunched at the foot of the bed, and the smell of the room is familiar…patchouli, bergamot…sweet, sweet pineapple. Seungcheol's bedroom. You glance over your shoulder again as a laugh erupts from one of your friends, before you slip into the bedroom. You keep your hands tucked behind your back as you look around – framed photos of him, Jeonghan and Joshua, of the soccer team at SNU, of his family. A small white dog with a cherry clip in the fur has a small shrine all to herself on his dresser, Polaroids of her tucked into the mirror labeled Kkuma with dates. The walls are lined with awards, his degree placard, and a framed piece of newspaper from the SNU Hawk Review Committee. Star Soccer Captain Choi Seungcheol takes SNU to Nationals!

You feel your heart sink a bit, seeing his smiling face printed in the corner. There was yet another Polaroid stuck into the frame – him, holding the silver semi-finals trophy of the same year. Your fingers tremble as you take it into your hand, wiping the caked dust off the photo. You place it back, wiping your fingers on your shorts before sniffling inwardly.

You glance up to see everything else scattered across his desk – textbooks, open notebooks with scrawled notes and his laptop open to an anatomical sketch of the human hip. You read a few of the notes, not understanding anything on the page when your eyes flicker up to see a piece of paper sticking out from one of the folders on his desk. You carefully pull it out, feeling your nose burn as you read the familiar SNU headline.

Ex-soccer captain Choi Seungcheol loses scholarship due to injury.

You remember this article. It had been printed without authorization from the committee, and you remember the editor lost her mind. All copies were to be returned to the yearbook office by that afternoon, but it seems he managed to keep one. You run your finger down the photo of him in the corner, a black-and-white version of the Media Day photos that everyone looked forward to from the Athletics Department.

"You really shouldn't look through people's things. It's rude." You feel your skin prickle at his voice, but you don't bother looking up as you carefully slide the article back into the folder it came out of. You clasp your hands behind your back once more, your eyes scanning over the medals that lined the wall. Most Valuable Player, Best Forward, Best Leadership…

Most Likely To Go Pro.

"Y/N." "I don't like it when you say my name like that." You don't look away from the wall, your eyes glued to the picture of his graduation. His mother is holding his cheeks tightly, his face pink from the summer heat and holding a large bouquet of flowers in the crook of his elbow. You reach for it, tracing her face with your fingertip.

"Your mom?" "Yes." "She's beautiful." "Thank you." He's closer now, his hand taking the photo from yours and placing it back on his desk. Your eyes move to his face, his eyes slightly swollen as he clears his throat. You feel your stomach knot up, your lips parting as he stares at the photo.

"They're waiting for you." "Come with us. There's room in the van, I'm sorry–" "I'll meet you there, don't worry about it."

I'll meet you there.

He tongues his cheek, and you feel your face grow hot as he peers down at you by the slope of his nose. He tilts his head, "Junhui and Jeonghan asked me. I'm not going to give you any problems, so don't–" "I'm sorry." You interrupt, "please, don't act like this. I don't like it." "You don't like me, so what does it matter?" His voice is soft, and you try not to react as the sting of tears fills your eyes. A honk makes you jump, his laugh tired and hollow. "Go on, Y/N. They're waiting for you." You blink up at him, "Cheol–" "Just call me Seungcheol. They're waiting, and you'll be late. Go, hurry."

You ignore the pang in your chest as you listen to him, not feeling the heat of his gaze as you slip out of his bedroom.

Seungcheol feels like a fish out of water.

His car is silent, the grey sweatshirt you ripped off last night still thrown in his backseat. His duffel sits in the passenger seat, where the scent of your perfume mixed with sunscreen lingers. He feels his chest heavy as he maneuvers his way through the paved roads of the woodlands, the sun setting in the distance.

He can still feel your lips on his. He spent the entire night staring at the ceiling, feeling his chest ache every time he thought about the sweet taste of the cabana mocktails on your tongue. He ran his fingers over his lips constantly, the smell of your shampoo on his fingertips. He held the tears in as long as he could, but even the mighty fall – and he cried silently, trying to hold his sobs in so as to not wake up Jeonghan in the next room.

He remembers the first time he met you – a time you probably don't remember. It was in passing, though, and you hardly managed to speak to him so he didn't expect you to – at a party. It was Jeonghan's birthday, and it was being hosted at his fraternity's sister sorority house. All of your friends were there, and you greeted everyone eagerly while taking presents and hiding them in your bedroom. You were wearing a pair of tight black jeans and a red halter top, your hair flowing loosely as you bounced around like a spider on crack.

It was just after Jaehee dumped him. He attended at the incessant begging of Jeonghan, who wanted him to get out of his slump; and wound up being introduced to you by Joshua before you sheepishly apologized and ran over to tend the drink station. He remembers the way your eyes were sparkly with excitement, your smile wide and lips glossed to high heaven. He wasn't even sure you registered his name, but he certainly knew you thought he was cute. You peered at him over the top of red solo cups, even pointing every time you thought he wasn't looking to ask about him to whoever was around you.

Seungcheol remembers the way your earrings swung as you danced, the way you sang the loudest for Jeonghan when you wheeled the cake in…the way you snuck off with Joshua in tow and a joint in your hand. And he remembers how sweetly you bid him goodnight when you found out he was leaving around midnight, even walking him to his car barefoot. You smelled of tequila and sweet almond oil, and he remembers filing you away to the back of his mind, purposely never to be thought of again lest he lose his mind. Everything he knew about you was from your friends. He made it a point not to bump into you, not to run in the circle all that often because he truly believed that crushes cannot be healthy in a friend group. He saw the way you narrowed your eyes if you saw him when you would attend soccer games to support Wonwoo and Junhui, the way you scoffed if you saw him after Jaehee must've told you something.

He saw how guarded you became, even if you didn't know him. He wasn't sure you knew who he was before Jaehee – but you also seemingly didn't care to hang out with him. You were always busy doing something else when he would hang out with the group – your mutual friends rolling their eyes when you'd call to bail because Wonpil wanted to hang out, or because you wanted to spend the night in (read: sleep with Wonpil), or because you simply didn't feel like hanging out.

It was truly, truly divine intervention that the two of you never saw each other – and he thought he'd escaped the idea of ever even being in the same room with you. He thought he'd tricked life, until he walked into the waterpark and saw you sitting at the gate in that bright red swimsuit – and all his memories of that first night came rushing back. He didn't consider anything but dishing back exactly what you served; the idea of sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of your thighs and covering the expanse of your neck with his lips only flooding in when he walked into the break room and saw you arguing with Soonyoung. You were so standoffish and mean and he didn't understand why he liked it. For years, girls fell to their knees without him even saying anything. Girls threw themselves at him left and right simply because he was on the soccer team, or because he was cute, or because they'd heard about him through the grapevine. But you? Claiming girl code, actively trying to make it a point not to be too available for him even as an employee at your job – he loved it. He loved how you scowled inwardly every time you walked past him, only to smile quickly at any passing mother or coworker. He loved watching the soft swing of your hips as you did rounds at closing, your soft humming to the loud cabana music incredibly cute.

He liked seeing you squirm, too. Calling you Barbie, calling you princess and seeing the way your brow would furrow and your nose would scrunch before you told him off…he lived for it. He felt a bit of pride in his chest when he saw you checking him out, even more so when you did it the night he pulled you into the hot spring.

And he remembers the odd, rolling boil of jealousy in his stomach when he found out the dynamics between you and Chan; and it only got worse when he came across the knowledge that you and Joshua had slept together. He felt his throat tight as you spoke about it, your voice shy and he felt the ugly head of comparison trying to rear its ugly head in; and he felt stupid to feel so jealous, because you weren't his and you were pulling every move in the book to make it known that you would never be. He remembers the fury he felt in his chest when your eyes were full of fear that same night, the way your fingers gripped his sweatshirt as he told off that stupid guy in the parking lot, and he hated it. He tried not to think about what could've happened if he hadn't stayed the way Joshua asked him to.

He hates the way the title boyfriend referred to him temporarily, and falsely. He wants it, the real one; to be awarded the title of your boyfriend and never have to let it go, only upgrade. He wants to make you laugh and brush your hair for you and hold you against his chest during thunderstorms. He wants to hold your hand and kiss your cheek and pay your student loans and Seungcheol wants to make you proud.

He thinks about how he hasn't dated or slept with anyone in years, calmly rejecting women and carefully avoiding situationships. He thinks about how he aimlessly flirted with the mothers at the park with zero intention of doing anything, just to feel the heat of your jealousy-fueled glare on his back. He thinks about how for the first time in ages, he wants to. He wants to date you – he wants to take you out to dinner and take walks on the beach and fill his room with framed photos of the two of you and take you home to meet his parents. He wants to embarrass you in front of them by kissing you like a mad man and he wants to serve your plate at family dinners and he wants to fill your cup every time it starts running low. He, admittedly, wants to sleep with you – he wants to make love to you, to feel you fall apart for him, to hear you moan and whine and make you cry on his tongue. He wants your shampoo to permeate his bedsheets, he wants the room to smell like you forever and he wants to run his hands over your hips and thighs and just kiss you until you can't breathe.

He wants you to kiss him, to touch him, to ruin him until he can't think of anything but you and all that falls from his lips is your name.

He can't shake the feeling of your lips. Soft and slick, the taste of you lingering in the back of his throat driving him absolutely insane. He pulls over twice on the way to the cabin to get himself together, breathing through his mouth just to see if the taste is still there despite his toothpaste and mouthwash. He palms at his shirt, hoping his hand feels anything like yours, hoping if he thinks about it long enough; you'll reappear. You'll reappear and he'll hear the choked laughter you bite back, he'll smell the chlorine and sunscreen and citrus…he'll feel the warmth of your tongue sliding into his mouth with your fingers bunching up his shirt and it'll settle his heart that feels like it's about to fall out of his chest. You'll reappear and he won't have to think about anything but you, granting him the once-in-a-lifetime chance to kiss you and have you to himself – even if it's just for the moment.

He's dipped his toe in the stormy whirlpool that is falling for you, and he's not so sure he wouldn't like to drown in it. In everything about you, the way you smell and how you fight your feelings back with a bat riddled in rusty nails and how you love. He sees it, your love in all your friends – your excited eyes when you would talk with Joshua about Junhui flying in for his birthday, your laughter ringing through the air when Mingyu chases after you after you steal his drinks at the cabana, your soft suggestions that Soonyoung stop wearing that fucking tiger-print Speedo. Only to turn around and look at him with wide eyes that narrowed just as fast, plump lips that pressed into a thin line with curt nods – that turned into bitten smiles, a soft glint in the back of your eyes and he wants you so fucking bad. He feels pathetic to want you so bad, it's only been a month. A month.

Fools love rushing in, though.

"Stupid. Get a grip." He mutters to himself, his GPS telling him to take a left turn. He does it, seeing the rented van come into view, the cabin towering three stories in the middle of the tall trees. The lights are on, but he can hear laughing and smell the smoke of a fire as he pulls in next to the van. He turns the car off, before hearing someone start screaming about being thrown in the lake. A splash is heard as he opens the door, momentarily pausing before reaching behind the seat and grabbing his sweatshirt. He tugs it over his head, grabbing the strap of his bag before climbing out and slamming the door shut.

He's quiet as he walks towards the door, hearing rustling inside as he treks the steps. He knocks on the door, hearing a soft laugh as someone makes their way to the door. As it opens, he hides his subtle disappointment when he sees Minghao's girlfriend smiling brightly.

"Cheol! Come in, come in. Everyone's out back, I'm just getting some more beers with Hao. Uh, Shua said your room is on the second floor to the left, baby blue door." She gives him a one-armed hug, and he greets her quietly. Minghao calls his greeting from the kitchen, his girlfriend quickly skirting back as Seungcheol makes his way to the stairs. He toes his shoes off, quietly making his way up the steps and looking around before seeing a baby blue door with his name taped on it. The surrounding doors have Minghao, Joshua, Jeonghan…Y/N.

He steps inside, immediately hit with a wave of the citrusy perfume you wear. He sees the entire room covered in memorabilia – you and Joshua, you and your sorority sisters, you and…your grandparents. He sees a singular photo of you, a girl who has a striking resemblance to you and two adults. It's caked in dust and shoved in the back of all the photos, and he sets his bag down on the dresser before tucking his hands in his pockets and looking around. There is a hand-drawn map, easily having been done by a child, of the woods surrounding the cabin.

"Hey, you made it."

He turns, seeing Joshua standing in the doorway. He nods curtly, before Joshua takes a step into the bedroom and closes the door behind him. "What's going on with you?" "Hm? Nothing, I just needed some time alone." Seungcheol shrugs, and it's not entirely a lie. Joshua sighs, setting his beer down next to Seungcheol's duffle on the dresser. He takes a seat on the foot of the bed, crossing his ankles as he leans back on his arms.

"I know you have feelings for Y/N. It's okay, Cheol." He scoffs, not bothering to face the younger man as he looks at the soft trinkets lining the shelves on the wall. Small angel figurines, religious elements that he's not too sure you subscribe to, a white maneki-neko…a picture of you at graduation, alone. Your smile was too forced, your eyes brimmed with tears and your hands holding your degree so tight, your fingertips looked pained. Tucked in the frame was a Polaroid of you and Joshua sitting in front of a cake that said Congratulations, Graduates!

"Y/N and I aren't romantic." Joshua speaks up, and Seungcheol feels his back tense as he shrugs again. "Don't shrug me off, I know it bothers you. I know you care, Cheol, so let me talk about it." "I don't care." "Yes, you do! Jesus Christ, the two of you are fucking idiots! It's like neither of you understand that you can put your pride aside and feel the things you want to because suddenly it means you're admitting to being human!" Joshua pushes off the bed as Seungcheol peers over his shoulder at him. Joshua runs a hand over his face, "I've known Y/N for over a decade. I've seen her through everything; through grief, in love, in financial crisis, on vacation, and throwing her guts up after drinking too much. I know that girl from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and trust me when I say that she's just not good at admitting her feelings. Do you know how long it took for her to admit she had feelings for Wonpil? Two years. He graduated early and she was still pining after him, I had to tell him myself. And now, I'm telling you." Joshua walks over to Seungcheol, his hand on his shoulder as he leans in.

"I love Y/N, more than anything. She is my best friend, she's my rock and I have no problem taking care of her. But if I have to mend her broken heart because you can't be a man…Seungcheol, I can't imagine it will end well for you."

"It's not me who doesn't want her." Seungcheol speaks softly, tonguing his cheek. "I told her in the car…when I dropped her off last night. I told her that it was her that was pushing me away, because she can't let go of who I used to be. I explained, and I told her I've changed. It's up to her, Joshua, because she tries to convince herself of feelings she doesn't have. She tries to convince herself she doesn't like me. Not me."

The younger man's eyes soften, and he sighs. "She's just scared." "I don't bite." Seungcheol whispers." No matter how much of a dog she thinks I am."

"She did not say that." "She did. And it's fine. I'm not here to cause a scene, I'm here to celebrate my friend's birthday and get wasted. So…let's go, Shua." Seungcheol forces a small smile, seeing the concern lace in the back of his friend's eyes as he pushes past him. He slips out of the bedroom, barreling down the stairs of the cabin with Joshua in tow. He slips his shoes back on, making his way towards the back of the cabin.

"Is everyone here?" He speaks over his shoulder, and Joshua makes an affirmative noise. Seungcheol peers out over the shaded back porch, seeing all their friends scattered around the fire and you, silently sipping a beer as Junhui tells a story Seungcheol can't quite make out as he steps out.

"Cheol!" Junhui yells, "you made it!" The two men slink out of the cabin, Seungcheol forcing yet another smile on his lips as he greets almost everyone with a quick hug. Someone hands him a beer, someone else shoves him in a chair and Chan is sopping wet from (presumably) being thrown in the lake – but all he can think about is how hard he wants to mistake the heat of your eyes for the flame of the fire.

He tries to be in the moment, to listen to Junhui's excited stories about being overseas. He tries to focus when Jeonghan talks about his solo trip to Bali and how he got scammed into buying cat food by a cat. He tries to laugh when they laugh, he tries to ignore the sinking pit in his stomach when you softly ask if anyone wants s'mores; and he's unsuccessful as he notices the way your hands clenched into fists at your sides, thumbs shoved into the front pockets of your shorts.

He feels his heart ache when you return with your arms full of things; marshmallows, graham crackers, chocolate bars and he can't help but let his body take over and help you. He takes the ingredients from your arms, your eyes watery when your hands brush his wrist with a soft thanks. He tongues his cheek as the lump builds in his throat, rapidly blinking the tears that build in his eyes away. He doesn't respond – only breaking the cracker box open and laying them out on the tray you'd tucked under your arm, portioning the chocolate out accordingly. He watches as you sit and roast your marshmallow in silence, smiling quietly at Junhui as he talks about Minghao visiting him during the winter holidays.

He knows the group is aware something has happened between the two of you when you take a cracker from Seungcheol, only to offer it right back with your blazen marshmallow. He knows you know the group is aware when you blow the fire out on the melting sweet treat, placing another cracker on top before putting it in his hand and casually continuing the conversation.

He knows you want him to know you're glad he's there, when you pass him a beer and whisper in his ear: I was worried you wouldn't come. No one was looking at the two of you then, rummaging through the coolers for drinks or sneaking off in all directions to pee in the forest when there are three free bathrooms inside the cabin. FOMO, he assumes, but he only looks up at you and gives you a small shrug – trying so hard to ignore the way your eyes flicker to his lips before you slink away and into your chair four feet away.

He aches to reach for your hand, nearly crushing the beer can in your grip. He aches to hold you close as Joshua smooths your hair down in passing, shoving a slice of watermelon in your hand and telling you to eat. He aches to slip in the chair next to you, close to you, the way Hansol does when he asks if you're okay. Your voice is only soft as you say I'm fine, just tired.

He decides to turn in early, claiming a headache when Seungkwan, Seokmin and Soonyoung start bothering you. Joshua tells him to rest well, and set an alarm for eight-thirty because the group was going to the waterfalls in the morning. He nods, but he's sure your shriek from being picked up by Mingyu and thrown into the lake could've been heard all the way back into the city. He could hear music start playing outside through the wall of the cabin as he slipped inside, his thoughts not drowned by the hot water of the shower pelting the back of his head; in the bathroom that he realizes is a Jack-and-Jill with your room as he hears slamming on the other side.

He pretends not to hear your grumbling and the schlop of your wet clothes being taken off as he pulls his shirt over his head, walking out into his bedroom for the weekend. He pretends not to hear you say ouch! when he hears a shampoo bottle clatter on the bathtub floor as he's pulling his sweatpants over his hips.

…And he lets a singular tear fall when he hears a soft sob through the bathroom wall, pulling the duvet over his shoulder and staring at your graduation photo with his heart in his throat.

It's nearing two in the morning, and you can't sleep.

It's raining, and you're sitting on the back porch in your underwear. Everyone had long gone to bed, feeling stupefied by the heat of the fire and the side effects of too many beers each. Your friends had a wonderful first night at the cabin, and most of them didn't notice the carefully timed sniffling or the way you quickly wiped any stray tears from falling down your face. You could tell they sensed something was off though, going as far as having Mingyu throw you in the lake fully clothed to shock you out of it. It didn't, and you stormed upstairs and cried your eyes out in the shower. You only went back downstairs to help Joshua to his room after your shower, his cheek rested on your head as you hauled him into his bed before he spoke to you.

"You're not going to be able to sleep until you and Seungcheol talk things out, you know. Just…listen to me, for once. Yeah?"

And the words lingered in your mind before you came outside. Your knees to your chest as you sat in the wooden swing that belonged to your grandmother, just watching the rain pelt the lake. The wet air felt gross against your bare legs, your underwear barely peeking out of the oversized shirt you donned before bed. However, the feeling was drowned out by the tears that filled your eyes again – and you felt stupid, because it's not like you and Seungcheol had been together. It wasn't like he and you broke up or anything, so it didn't really make sense to feel the way you did. You were angry at yourself, knowing he'd carefully taken down every brick of the wall you'd set up faster than a New York minute the moment you saw him. He'd chipped away at you, pulling you closer and closer, only for your words to say something you didn't mean – words you had meant only a month earlier, and now it felt like your heart was going to come out of your throat.

Maybe it's all a side effect of refusing to feel something and losing everything he is in the process.

And you just sit and think. You think about your past relationships – really, just Wonpil. He had been a good guy, really…he just had a tendency to leave right after sex. The dates were lovely and long-winded, carefully planned. He made so much time for you outside of his busy work schedule, even when you told him you understood dating a college girl wasn't exactly ideal for someone with his workload. He made you feel seen, just for a moment – and the sex itself wasn't all that bad, either. But you did feel a bit empty. Eventually, the bits of empty became a lot of feeling empty – and you ended it quietly over a final time in his apartment together. He tried to apologize, to make it up to you, he even begged – but you'd stoically pulled your jeans on and left without another word.

It bothered you. You didn't know how to bring it up and you'd only really had sex for the last year of your relationship, so it didn't seem worth it, anyway. However, it did leave you confused when Joshua didn't do the same thing. You'd physically kicked him out of your bed the last two times the two of you slept together – but not before you realized that the gentle caresses, the warm towel wiping you down, the hot bath…it didn't make you feel empty. You didn't feel empty.

Sighing inwardly, you let the tears flow freely, taking a quick drag of the joint in your hand. Soonyoung had managed to get a few before you and Joshua picked him up in the van, and you stole one from his suitcase when you snuck outside; snatching a lighter from Minghao before he and his girlfriend settled in for the night. You smushed your cheek in the crook of your elbow, before you heard the click of the back door opening.

You glance up, seeing Seungcheol's eyes wide as he spotted you. You felt your throat dry, swallowing hard before clearing it.

"Hey."

He gives you a curt nod, before slipping out and closing the door gently behind him. He has a beer in his hand, his forefinger flicking the tab cautiously as he looks out in the forest. You glanced up at him, before he met your eyes.

"You can sit." You patted the cushion next to you, and he looked hesitant before doing so. He leaned back slightly, before pushing the swing to rock lightly. You clear your throat again, hearing him crack the beer open before seeing him hold it out to you. You look at him with a confused look, before his cool fingertips swipe at your wet cheeks. You don't move away, and he sighs, lightly brushing his knuckles against your skin before pulling back.

"You need it more than I do." He shrugs, before plucking the joint from your fingers and shoving the beer into your hand. You click your tongue, before taking a small sip. It's cool down your throat, and you set it down between the two of you. "How was the drive?" "Good. Quiet." He nods, flicking the ash off the end of the lit joint before taking a quick drag. "Got lost a few times but…here I am." You snort, "Yeah, she's hard to find. My old man did it on purpose."

Seungcheol nods, a small smile on his lips as he blows the smoke out carefully. He holds it back out to you, your fingers brushing his as you take it gently. He hums, reaching for the beer and clicking his tongue.

"Joshua talked to me, you know." He starts, and you nod silently. You already knew, based on Joshua's demeanor when he walked out of the house with Seungcheol earlier. His shoulders were too rigid to have not scolded someone. "Said that you're a crybaby princess who can't talk about her feelings or you'll combust into flames and engulf us all." "He did not say that!" You huff, and the small smirk on his lip says you're right. You scowl, kicking his thigh softly when he catches your foot. He pulls you toward him, your hip bumping his as he drapes your leg over his lap, his hand high on your bare thigh. You feel your face hot as he stares down at you, eyes full of what you're sure you've mistaken as fondness. "Stop looking at me like that." "I can look at you however I want." He murmurs, his fingers gently pushing your hair out of your face. "Do you remember when we first met?" "...You mean a month ago?" "I mean freshman year on Jeonghan's birthday."

You blink, feeling his arm wrap around your shoulders. "What?" "Mhm. We met freshman year at Jeonghan's birthday party. It was right after Jaehee dumped me but before you knew it, because it was like you'd never heard of me before. You had this red top on with gold earrings and you looked so beautiful." He sighs softly, before his fingers drum onto your shoulder. "I was so convinced I'd get a crush on you that I actively avoided the group after finding out how close you and Joshua were to Jeonghan. I wasn't going to ruin a friendship of over a decade with Jeonghan and Joshua by dating their friend. And then the circle just kept getting bigger and I was adamant I wouldn't get close to you, I didn't want to sully anything if I wasn't what you wanted." You look up at him, but he keeps talking. "And I saw how you acted when you'd see me at games after Jaehee told you whatever it is that she did. I saw you cheering for Wonwoo and Junhui all the time and I remember how I felt my knees weak every time I saw you in the stands just sipping on a lemonade." He snorts, "I saw you at all of Jihoon's recitals, and you always had a huge bouquet of flowers. But I knew you were friends with Jaehee, and I knew that that was why you acted the way you did. So I wasn't very surprised to find out that you don't remember meeting me after disliking me for so long without even so much as remembering my face." "I remembered your name, that was enough." You weakly argue, and he laughs softly. It's softer, it's real as he squeezes your shoulder gently. "I'm sorry, Seungcheol. I've been such a jerk–" He doesn't let you finish, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. You frown as he pulls back, your hand moving to the back of his head and pulling him down. Your lips meet his continuously; soft, damp kisses that taste like beer and weed and I'm sorry.

"You don't need to apologize, okay? If anything, I'm sorry, sweetheart. I was wrong to talk to you the way I did. I felt too much at once and that's my problem, not yours and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I should've talked about it and then maybe we'd be in a different position right now. But if I dwell on the maybes, on the what ifs, on what I should've done, I'll never get anywhere."

His hand is warm against your cheek as he keeps you close, your lips pouted as he sprinkles kisses all over your face. His teeth nip at your cheek playfully, making you scowl as you attempt to move back when he soothes it with a brush of his lips.

"I like you a lot. You don't have to like me back, but I just wanted you to know. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you and it's ruining me. You are ruining me."

"Come sleep in my room." You murmur, your cheeks hot and feeling him nod as he presses another kiss to your lips.

"Whatever you want, baby." You both slide off the swing, your hand instinctively taking his as you put the joint out in the ashtray. You toss it into the beer can, throwing it away in the porch trashcan before pulling the cabin door open and slipping inside. He's warm against your back as you go up the stairs, his hand squeezing yours as you lead him into the bedroom you chose for the weekend.

You lie across the bed as he takes a seat at the head of it, his shoulders resting against the headboard. He gives you a quizzical look, patting his lap before you crawl over to him and swing your legs over his. Your thighs lock him beneath you, and you bury your face in his neck. You feel his hands run up and down your hips as he peppers kisses along your hairline before planting a kiss on your shoulder. The closeness isn't nearly enough, and you're practically vibrating out of your skin as he presses another soft kiss to your neck.

"You never told me if I was a bad kisser or not." You mumble into his skin, and you feel the rumble in his chest as he laughs. He slides his hands up your back, stroking it gently before you feel a teasing smile against your cheek.

"You didn't give me enough data." You gape, pulling your face back to see him smiling cheekily. "Yes I did! You're just greedy."

"Oh, incredibly. Greedy, jealous…all of it. Nice underwear, by the way." He snaps the waistband against your hip, and you swat his hand away with a frown. "You're really are a whore."

"I can show you how much of a whore I am, keep it up." He scoffs, and you roll your eyes despite the surge of heat to your cheeks. "What happened to California Celibate? Liar." "Mmh. It's still there…somewhere. Can't find it right now. You're so warm." He hums, nosing at your face as your hand grips his shirt. "Stop it, you're embarrassing me." "Nothing to be embarrassed about, sweetheart, but I guess we'll never know if you're a bad kisser or not." "I am a good kisser, I don't need to prove that to you again."

"But you want to, don't you?" You don't like the way your skin pickles so noticeably at his smile, before he softly buries his face in your neck. You feel his lips brush against your skin, his fingers squeezing your hips softly. He's nipping at your neck gently, your eyes fluttering shut as you bite down on your lip. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as his tongue trails up your neck, your breath coming out in a shudder as his teeth catch your earlobe.

"Can we take this off?" He tugs lightly at the hem of your shirt, and you scoff, your fingers moving to tug the hem up. "I thought you just wanted to see if I'm a bad kisser." He smiles against your jaw, pressing a kiss on it before pulling you higher on his lap. "You're an excellent kisser, and we don't have to do anything if you don't want to, okay? Just wanna see you, pretty." You roll your eyes, your cheeks heating as you pull the shirt over your head and toss it behind you. You dip your head down to kiss him and he eagerly meets your lips, his fingers tightening around your hips as yours card through his hair. You tug slightly, his hips jerking up involuntarily and making you moan into his mouth. His arm moves to wrap loosely around your hips, his other hand stroking your hip gently before sliding up to the base of your neck. He gives a soft squeeze, chuckling lowly as he draws a whimper out of you.

"So cute." "Shut up, take your shirt off." He obliges, letting you pull the hem up. He slips it off, throwing it to the side as your hands shamelessly run up his soft chest, the glint of a silver bar through his left nipple catching your attention. You lightly dig your nails into his shoulders, noting the soft blush that coats his cheeks as he looks away, his hands roaming your thighs aimlessly. Raising a brow, you keep your eyes on his face as you dip your head into the curve of his neck; your lips brushing along his skin as he shivers. Your hands run down his arms, and you move back a bit to see his cheeks and ears burning red. His lips are swollen from kissing you, and you stupidly clench around nothing as you tilt your head at him. "Don't look at me like that." He murmurs, his fingers tightening slightly against your thighs. You smile inwardly, "Like what?" "Like you're going to eat me. Just do it." You nod slowly, hearing Joshua's voice in your mind – Seungcheol was exactly your type: broad shoulders, thick thighs…tries to put you in your place. You tongue your cheek, your fingers tracing circles into his chest as he watches you intently; he flinches as your palm swipes over his pierced nipple, your brows raising slightly. You rub the pad of your thumb over it again, feeling his hips twitch beneath you. You do it again, slightly harder with a gentle pinch, his jaw tight as you smile inwardly.

"So that's what you meant." You murmur, before leaning down slightly. "What if I…do this?" You run the tip of your tongue over the bud, hearing him suck in a breath. You smile against his skin, before flattening your tongue against him and slowly swirling it around. His hips grind up into your core, and you feel a flood of arousal seep into your underwear as his dull nails dig into your skin with a shaky breath. You suck lightly, his hands pressing you down against his hardening cock with a grip so tight, you hope it'll bruise.

“Shit—” “Oh, you’re so fucking cute.”

You peer up at him, his head thrown back and cheeks ruddy as you gently scrape your teeth against the nub, pulling at the jewelry — when you hear a soft whimper fall from his lips. His hand moves to card through your hair, your tongue still out of your mouth as he pulls you back gently before crashing his lips to yours. It was the opposite of all the others so far; it was desperate, messy, horny, as he held you pressed to him, the feeling of him rutting against your flimsy underwear making you ache with want.

Your fingers stay splayed on his chest, slowly sliding down his stomach as he whines into your mouth. He pulls away, trailing his lips down your jaw, his hips dragging agonizingly slowly against you.

“Touch me.” He whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Please, touch me.”

“So pretty when you beg, hm?” You nip at his neck, your hand palming him over his sweatpants and earning a shiver. You squeeze your hand around him, his hips bucking up into your palm as you smile into his skin. “So sensitive.”

He's blushing hard as you press your lips to his again, kissing him slowly; your fingers pulling at the strings of his sweatpants. His hand is still settled at the base of your throat, pulling you impossibly closer as he slides his tongue into your mouth with practised ease. You tug at his waistband slightly, his fingers flexing around your neck pulling a whine from your throat – and you dip your fingertips below the waistband of his sweatpants, feeling his stomach cave in slightly as you brush the tip of his leaking cock.

"You don't have–" You cut him off with a chaste kiss, your hands pulling at the fabric again before speaking against his lips. "I want to. Take your pants off."

"Take them off me." He sinks his teeth into your lower lip lightly, pulling it before kissing you deeply. You don't break the kiss as you pull his sweatpants down slightly, and he lifts his hips a bit to get them off. You push them down, leaving them bunched at his knees before he leans forward and pushes them off the rest of the way – his hands sliding back to settle on your ass with a soft squeeze. You pull away from his lips, resting your forehead low on his as you peer down, your eyes widening slightly at the sight against his lower belly.

"No underwear, hm. Slut." You mutter under your breath as your fingers wrap around his hard cock, warm in your palm as you glance down. Thick, with a few pearls of precum dripping down the shaft that smear when you run your fingertip through it.. "Yours." He murmurs back, your eyes flickering to meet his. He's staring at your mouth, cheeks red as he nibbles on his lip. You squeeze your hand around him, making his lips part with a soft exhale. "Hm?" "Yours. Your slut." He whispers, a slight shake to his voice as you feel your face grow hot. You tilt your head, nodding slowly before leaning forward and letting a wad of spit fall from your lips onto his tip. You smile inwardly at the way he bucks into your hand as you smear it around, pressing the pad of your thumb into the slit before glancing back up.

His eyes are low as he shudders, tucking his lip beneath his teeth as his fingernails dig into your hips. You slip your free hand up his chest as you pump his cock, the wet sound accompanied by soft pants from his lips as he wraps his arms around your waist. Your hand brushes over his nipple, his lips parting as you roll it through your fingers. You can feel the way he holds himself back from thrusting into your hand, his fingers tight around your waist when you press a soft kiss to his lips.

"So needy." You coo against his lips, feeling his breath hit your lips as he pants against you. "You're not even looking at me, maybe I should stop–" He whimpers in response, burying his face into your neck and mouthing at the skin. His sounds are incoherent, almost as if he's trying to form words as you pinch his nipple. The groan he lets out is loud, and you part your lips to say something when you feel his teeth sink into your shoulder. Your hand squeezes him tight, a moan right in your ear as your own falls from your lips, turning into a pitchy whimper when he runs his tongue over the marks of his teeth on your skin.

"Please…" He breathes out, like he's not even sure what he's asking for. You push him back gently, his back hitting the headboard as your hand splays on his chest. His eyes are watery, lips swollen as you try not to think about how painfully turned on you are. You quicken your pace, feeling him shiver as his stomach caves in slightly; pitiful whimpers from his throat as he lets his head fall back against the headboard, lashes wet.

You shift slightly, the uncomfortable feeling of your underwear sticking to you as you glance down at his cock. So heavy in your hand, twitching uncontrollably and making your mouth water. His thighs are trembling slightly, and you move his hands off you before scooting back on his legs and dipping your head down. You press the tip of his cock on your tongue, his hips bucking up involuntarily with a soft moan.

"You don't have to–" His voice is so breathy you almost don't catch what he's saying until a punctuated fuck rings in your ears as you wrap your lips around him with a soft suck. His fingers card through your hair shakily, gathering it in his hand as you take him deeper. Your nails dig into his thighs, drawing yet another whimper from him as he shallowly fucked into your mouth. You bob your head up and down slowly, swirling your tongue around the tip and curling your fingers around whatever doesn't fit; hearing his breathing get ragged above you. You swallow around him, feeling his hips still and his grip on your hair tighten a bit as the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. You groan around him, the vibrations enough to send him over the edge with a soft whine.

He scrapes his fingernails on your scalp gently, incoherent grumbles as your tongue overstimulates him. He pushes you back slightly, making you slide off his cock with a pop. A bit of his release dribbles down your chin, his tongue swiping across it before you can even reach to wipe your face. He doesn't let you, kissing you hard as he leans into you, his hand your belly pushing you onto your back gently. He pins you against the mattress by sliding his hand to lightly rest on your neck, your legs wrapping around his waist as you slide your tongue into his mouth. He groans at the taste of himself on you, sucking on the tip of your tongue before you feel his cock press against your thigh. You let your hand circle his wrist, pulling away from his lips and looking up at him – the same empty feeling getting ready to settle in your lower belly, and you don't want it to. He meets your eyes, pupils blown as you swallow carefully. He tilts his head, scanning your face as your fingers card through his hair, silently tracing the shell of his ear before resting on his cheek. He leans into it, pressing a kiss to the heel of your palm before his eyes look questioning.

"This…you're not going to leave after, right?" Your voice is so quiet he has to lean down a bit, and you clear your throat. "You're…you're going to stay, right?"

He furrows his brows as you look at the ceiling above him, his hand slipping up from your neck to hold your jaw. He makes you look at him, your vision slightly blurry through tears as he rests his forehead to yours. You cover your eyes with your hands, breathing in shakily before dropping them to your sides and forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "Of course I'm going to stay, Y/N. I'll stay forever, if you let me." He presses his lips to your cheek, and you roll your eyes as a tear manages to slip out. You wipe it away quickly, "Sorry. It's stupid." "No, it's not. Don't be sorry, baby. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." He runs his fingers over your cheek, squishing the fat between his knuckles before tracing the shell of your ear. "We can stop here. I'll just–" "I want you to touch me." You interrupt, your voice almost too loud as his eyes widen. You feel your face hot as you avoid eye contact, the uncomfortable feeling of your underwear sticking to you becoming unbearable. You shift, thighs twitching when you feel his cock brush over your ruined panties. "I want you, Cheol." He hums, his own question slipping out carefully.

"You like me, right?" His voice is no higher than a whisper, "You want to be mine, right? More than this, more than tonight?"

You nod silently, your fingernail moving to trace shapes in his chest. His fingers slide between yours, pinning them to the side of your head. "I need to hear you say it, pretty." "Want to be yours." You utter softly, "as long as you'll have me."

You don't get to say much else before his lips are on yours again, his hand slipping out of yours to cup your jaw. He trails off your lips, kissing down your jaw and snaking his tongue down your neck, relishing in your soft sighs. "So beautiful." He mumbles, his lips messy across your chest, his fingers moving to hold your hips as he makes his way down your body. His tongue is swirled against your left nipple, taking it into his mouth and sucking softly as you push your chest up with a choked groan. He smirks against your skin, pulling off with a wet sound before his fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear. His lips stay on your chest, nipping all over it as he carefully tugs it down. He sucks a soft mark onto your collarbone, your skin prickling from the cool air as he tosses your underwear over his shoulder. He glances up at you as he slides his hand between your thighs, your own shyly covering your cheeks and lips. He spreads them, the air making you flinch slightly as he presses a soft kiss to your right nipple; before you feel his fingers slip lower, gathering your arousal with his tongue circling the hardened bud.

Your hand slides into his hair as he traces tight circles into your clit, making your room fill with bitten back whimpers, and your thighs tremble pathetically. He only smiles against your body as he moves down your belly, leaving careful nips of his teeth on the softness of your skin. He spreads your thighs further with his shoulders, and you feel your face heat up as he presses a kiss to your hip and circles his arms around your thighs to pull you closer.

His tongue slides slowly through your wet folds, flicking against your clit in a tentative lick; you feel a breathy chuckle against your skin as your hands claw at the bedsheets. You squirm against his tongue, feeling his lips pull your clit into his mouth and give a soft suck. A guttural moan rips through you as he laves his tongue over your clit, your fingers carding into his hair with a tight tug. He groans into your pussy, your body involuntarily rocking your hips on his tongue as he laps up your arousal like a man starved. You hate how quickly you can taste your impending orgasm on your tongue, your thighs snapping shut around his head as he traces your hole with his finger.

"Wanna cum on your cock," You whine, pulling at his hair. He looks up at you, pouty lips not stopping their sucking as you pant out. He hums, replacing his mouth with his fingers as his raspy voice fills the room.

"I don't have any–" "I don't care. Please, please–" "Shh, shh. I got you, okay? So greedy."

You huff, his laugh only making you lightly kick his thigh with your foot as he towers over you. He scowls, grabbing your ankle and pulling you to the edge of the bed as he slides off. Your squeal makes his lips twitch, but he doesn't say anything as he leans over, placing a soft kiss on your lips as his hand slips between your legs.

You shake your head, grabbing his wrist, "No, wanna feel you. I'm ready." The blush on his cheeks spreads to his ears, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he shakes his head, "Baby, I–"

"Please." "Who's begging now?" "Shut up!" He only laughs, his hands sliding down your thighs and hooking behind your knees; pushing them to your chest. He lets go to press his thumb against your clit, your thighs threatening to clamp shut around his hand as he rubs slow circles into it. He pushes them apart, holding you to his hips so his cock rests on your dripping center.

He grunts, your legs shaking with oversensitivity as he grinds his cock against you, tip bumping your clit messily and smearing your arousal all over his shaft. He pulls one of your legs over his shoulder, kissing the side of your foot as you feel his fingers splay on your lower belly.

“Here.” He runs his thumb just under your navel, “you’re gonna feel me here.”

Your eyes widen as he teases the tip of his cock around your hole, your hips bucking up at the sensation before he sinks in slowly. You let out a shaky breath, his hand massaging your thighs as you watch his face. He pushes in a bit further, his eyes nearly fluttering shut at how warm and wet you are.

His hand squeezes your thigh, burying himself in fully with a soft fuck from his lips. Your mouth waters at the stretch; feeling his thumb toying with your clit as your walls flutter around him.

“So perfect for me.” He mumbles inwardly, giving a careful thrust that makes you let out a sob. He leans over, his hands running up your body as your legs wrap around his waist, his lips finding yours in a needy kiss. “Mine, right? Just for me.”

“Yours.” You whine, watching the way his cheeks flush and he bites down on your lip, watching it spring back before sliding his fingers into yours. He buries his face in your neck, your hand digging your nails into his shoulder as he gives another roll of his hips. You feel him smile into your skin as your eyes roll back with a soft whimper, your thighs tightening around his waist. His fingers are bruising, his breath hitting your neck as he mutters praises into your ear.

"Look at you." He whispers, giving a hard thrust that makes your voice break as you drag your nails down his back. “My pretty angel takes my cock so well, hm?”

Your mumble of oh my God is interrupted with whimpers falling from your lips as his hips snap into you like he hates you. You throw your head back against the sheets with a choked groan as he moves to pin your wrists to the mattress with one of his hands. You close your eyes in embarrassment, tilting your head away from him when you feel his lips on your jaw.

“Don’t hide, baby. Wanna see your pretty face.” He trails his mouth to your lips, pressing chaste kisses to your open mouth. His hand moves to hold your jaw, keeping you in place as he kisses you sloppily and smiling into your lips as you struggle to keep up. He slides down your jaw once more, brushing his lips to your neck and nipping at the skin. He sucks a small mark just below your ear, his skin prickling as you moan in his ear.

"M-more, Cheollie..." You mouth messily at his neck, sinking your teeth into his shoulder; a hard thrust of his hips making your belly cave in as it brushes the stupid spongy spot that makes you see stars. You clamp down around him, hearing a pathetic whine into your neck as he does it again and again and again; making your eyes glaze over with tears of pleasure as your pussy flutters around him, the coil in your lower belly threatening to snap.

He pulls away, his hands moving to settle on your hips. His cheeks are flushed, lip tucked under his teeth as he fucks into you. He furrows his brows, feeling your gummy walls tighten around him before snaking his hand down to play with your clit. Your thighs threaten to close around his hips but he forces them apart as your fingers wrap around the base of his throat to pull him into you. You ghost your lips over his, taunting him before he bridges the gap when your fingers give a soft squeeze, feeling his cock twitch inside you.

"Want you to fill me up," You pant out, "Want to feel full."

He only whines into your mouth, his hips stuttering slightly as you clench around him, your orgasm making your limbs feel fuzzy and making you clench around him. He buries his face in your neck before spilling into you with an audible whimper. He doesn't stop rocking his hips into you, your nails dragging down his shoulders with breathy moans in his ear.

He presses a kiss to your skin, moving to pull back before you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. "Don't leave." "M'not going anywhere, sweetheart. I'm here." He presses his forehead to yours, his lips ghosting over yours. "I'm here."

"You're sweaty." You mutter, and he gasps with a squeeze to your hips. "And you aren't?"

"I didn't say it was a bad thing. You…smell nice." You bury your face in his neck, "I like it."

He only laughs softly, before feeling your hand snake down to his chest. You run the pad of your thumb over his collarbone, before you peer up at him through your lashes. "Hi." "Hi, sweetheart." "Will you shower with me?" "You mean will I hold you up because your legs feel like jelly?" "I mean will you go down on me against the shower tile." "So I am just a good fuck to you. No dinner, not even a drink." He turns his nose up at you, and you bite back your laughter as he carefully slides out of you. Your face scrunches with a wince, "At least you were good." He snorts, carefully wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling you off the bed. You let him carry you to the bathroom, and you lean your head against his shoulder when you pass by the mirror. You look like a couple; his thick fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as he holds you close to him, the swell of your lips and his….the bite marks littering your upper bodies marking each other as lovers for the night.

And you feel your chest tight when you wonder if it's just for the night, feeling your eyes burn when his lips plant a kiss to your hairline.

The morning is quiet, and Seungcheol doesn't know what to do with himself when he sees you're glued to his side like gum to a shoe.

He can't imagine being able to peel himself from your embrace, your cheek squished against his chest and a bit of drool dripping from your puckered lips. Your neck and shoulders are littered with marks from his teeth, the duvet low on your back where his shirt is bunched up and your arm thrown over his waist. Your hair is in disarray, sticking up in some places when his hand moves to smooth it down.

He peeks at the clock on the nightstand, the red numbers showing 7AM sharp. He closes his eyes, running his fingertips along the side of your face as you grumble noises into his skin.

His mind fills with the night before — the way you begged to be filled, how you touched yourself, the way your nails scratched into the muscle of his back and marked him as yours. The way you kissed his cheek and told him how pretty he was – all for you – right before you fell asleep.

He feels his chest warm as he recalls your tired groans when he massaged your hips, digging his fingers into your sore muscles after wiping you down. The way you kissed him softly, the way your hands brushed his shoulders as he held you against him in the shower, and he bites back a laugh as he remembers your sleepy voice telling him to never wear a shirt again.

He remembers your insistence that you were his, even when he didn't beg you to hear it.

“Time?”

He looks down to see you still resting against his chest, but your hand has come to wipe at your eyes. He watches you silently, before you pat his stomach lightly. “Seungcheol.”

You stretch your arms out, pressing a kiss to his skin. He loves the heat of the blush that coats his face as you press your cheek to his chest again, closing your eyes. "Time?"

“Seven. You slept two hours.”

“Shit. I lost rock-paper-scissors on the way here and said I’d make breakfast.”

He shakily runs a hand over your hair, tucking a few strands behind your ear and tracing the shell of it. You hum softly, "We have to get up." "You're the one who still has her eyes closed." "I'm tired. And sore. Fuck you." "You have. No notes, by the way."

He squeals as you dig your fingers into his side, swatting your hand away and pulling the covers up to his eyes as you sit up. There's a scowl on your lip, your hair matted to the side of your head as you tug on the cover. He holds it tighter, smiling beneath it when he sees you tongue your cheek in efforts to hold back a grin. You cross your arms on your chest, his cheeks warming as you raise a brow at him.

"Get up." "Oh, I'm up. Trust me."

You gape, your fingers yanking the cover off him. He yanks it back, pulling your hand with it and wrapping his arm around you as you fall into his chest with feigned annoyance. He smiles as you try to push yourself out of his embrace, only tightening his hold around your waist as he manhandles you to sit on his lap. Your brow is furrowed, your hands wrapping around his wrists as he settles them on your hips. You frown as you feel him hard against your inner thigh, and you let your eyes flutter shut as you pinch the bridge of your nose.

"You're a fucking freak." You mutter as you let your hands fall to his chest, running them up his skin before shaking your head. "We can't, Cheol. I have to make breakfast and the drive to the falls is an hour. There are a few natural hot springs scattered around, though, if you want to go for a dip." "Will you go with me?" He tilts his head, and you nod slowly. You look at your hands, toying with the drawstring of the shorts he shoved on when you fell asleep. You're nibbling on your lip, and he sits up slowly to meet your eyes. "You can talk to me, you know." "I know." "Then?" "You…are we…" You rub your hands over your face in frustration, and he bites back a small bubble of laughter that crawls up his throat. He slides his hands over your hips, pulling you close to his chest as you let your arms wrap around his shoulders. He feels his chest warm as you bury your face in his neck, lips brushing his skin before you press a chaste kiss to it. "Are we what, sweetheart?" "You know…" "Mmh, I don't believe I do." "Ugh, Cheol." You grumble, and he lets the laughter rip through him as you smack his shoulder lightly. "It's not funny! I'm nervous!" "Don't be nervous, baby. It's just me." "Yeah well…you make me nervous." "Just say what you wanna say. Judgement free zone for my pretty girl."

You stifle a squeal into his shoulder, your arms tightening around him as he snakes his hands under your (read: his) shirt. His fingers trace your back lightly, before pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "You think I'm pretty." Your voice is soft, your fingers tracing circles into his back as you hold him impossibly tighter. "You want me to be your girlfriend so bad, don't you?" "Well, yeah–" "Fine, fine! I'll do it, jeez. Don't have to beg."

You roll your eyes as you pull back, but he feels the way your nails dig into his skin slightly. There is a hint of insecurity laced in your face as you press your lips to his forehead, and he rests his chin on your chest, looking up at you through his eyelashes. "Y/N." "Don't say my name like that, I feel like I'm in trouble." "Look at me."

You glance down wearily, and he watches how you carefully card your fingers through his hair as you nibble on your lip. "Mhm?" "I thought you understood that I was serious last night." "I…I didn't want to get ahead of myself, I guess. I didn't want to assume–" "I mean what I say and I say what I mean. I like you a lot, Y/N." His hands travel to your shoulders, holding them gently as he feels your heartbeat start racing under his palms. "I'm not leaving, I'm not going anywhere. I want to be with you, more than just last night. You said…you said you wanted that, too." "I do! I do…I just…" You run your hands over your face, a noise of frustration sounding from your throat as he wraps his arms around your waist. "I just have issues." "So do I." "I have a lot of issues, Cheol. More than Vogue." "I like to read. Hit me." You snort, letting a sigh out as you drape your arms over his shoulders again. "I need to go downstairs and start breakfast. I…I like you, too. We can figure out the logistics later."

"Or you can seal your fate with a kiss." "Oh, you're corny. I hate that." "You'll get over it. Kiss me."

You lean over slightly as he puckers his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to them when a knock makes the two of you jolt. The door opens before you can climb off his lap, his hands tightening around your body as you twist to see Joshua and Jeonghan with mussed hair and toothbrushes in their hands.

Joshua's eyes dart between the two of you, before a sly smile creeps onto his face. He covers it with his hand, and Jeonghan scratches the side of his head before looking Seungcheol dead in the eyes. He feels you tense in his hold as Jeonghan rounds the bed, opening the nightstand and fishing out a new box of floss. "What are you guys still doing in bed? Nip Slip Nancy lost rock-paper-scissors, she has to make breakfast." Jeonghan's voice is gravelly, and you slump in Seungcheol's lap. You pat his shoulder, moving to get up when he holds you against him.

"Can you guys get out? We're trying to have a conversation." He frowns, and Joshua snorts. "Downstairs before seven-forty-five. We have to load the van and we have to eat breakfast. That includes the two of you, no matter how…preoccupied you are." Jeonghan shrugs, leaving an obnoxiously long string of floss between his teeth as he pivots back out of the bedroom. "If you're not down in five minutes, I'm airing your business out."

He tugs Joshua out with him, who gives the both of you a thumbs up before shutting the door behind him. You pat his shoulder again, "I have to–" "I want you. I want you to be mine, right now. I don't want to wait to figure anything out, I know. I. Want. You, Y/N." He punctuates the words with a squeeze to your sides, watching you bite back a shy smile. "I know we haven't gone on a date or anything, but we will. We will when we get back in town, I'll take you anywhere you wanna go and we can do whatever you want; I promise." You hold your pinky out to him, giving him a pointed look until he hooks his with it. "You know Joshua will kill you if you hurt me, right?" "Ooh, don't arrest me officer. I might like the cuffs." He rolls his eyes, and you gape. "I said that to him and he said I was something else! What does that even mean?!"

"That you'll say yes to being my girlfriend." "And if I say no?" "I'll tell everyone you're a bad kisser that has morning breath." "Yeah?" You smile softly, and he feels his stomach flip as you rest your forehead against his. He can't help but grin back, "Please? I'll wait if you want–" "I'll be your girlfriend. But I have rules, Seungcheol." "If this is about me not wearing shirts–" "Please stop wearing shirts. I need to see you all the time." "You're objectifying me." He grumbles, feeling you laugh into his chest before you press your lips into his. He allows it, kissing you back deeply when the smell of waffles starts wafting into the room. You pull back, your brow furrowed when you hear the banging of pots and pans – and Jeonghan screaming 'Y/N and Seungcheol sitting in a tree!'

"We'll get back to me objectifying you later, when you're naked in here again tonight. I gotta shut Jeonghan up." You twist yourself out of his hold, sliding off the bed and grabbing a robe off the bedpost. He pouts at the loss of warmth, leaning back on his hands as you skirt out of the room. He sighs, falling back onto the pillow and rubbing his hands over his face before the bed dips again and he feels your hand on his chest. You kiss him softly, "Come eat when you're dressed, pretty boy. And we can fool around in the hot springs later."

He swears he doesn't think he's ever going to get over you.

"HEY, SWEETNESS."

You struggle not to roll your eyes, feeling the cool sprinkle of water being flicked onto your thigh by a certain someone. You look away from the magazine in your hands, your boyfriend pouting at the edge of the pool you're laying by. Your foot is in the water, keeping you cool in the hot August evening; and you feel his fingers circle your ankle.

His form of foreplay, you've learned over the course of the last month and a half.

"Sir, the park is closed. You have to get out of the pool." You sit up on your elbows, the magazine splayed open across your belly. He scrunches his nose, pressing a kiss to your knee before resting his cheek on it. You bite back your smile, his cheeks ruddy and warm from the heat as you lean forward to brush wet strands of hair off his forehead.

"I miss you." "I'm right here." "Get in with me."

"Mmh, the park's closing. There's no lifeguards." You shrug, pressing your lips into a thin line so as to not laugh when he huffs. You roll your eyes, tossing the magazine onto one of the chairs before turning and lowering yourself into the pool. He pulls you into him, holding you to his chest as you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

"No making out on the clock!" Joshua annoyingly reminds you as he walks by, still being the little shit you and Seungcheol know and (fortunately for Joshua) love. You snort, pressing a kiss to Seungcheol's jaw before wrapping your legs around his waist. He buries his face in your neck, mouthing at it gently as his hands circled your thighs under the water.

"I miss you. Come over tonight. We can watch Fight Club and kick Jeonghan out." "You wouldn't kick Jeonghan out to watch Fight Club." "No, but I'd kick him out to make out with you on the couch. I haven't seen you in three days. Do you hate me?"

You snort inwardly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I'm planning your birthday party; I don't hate you, dipshit. I…" You trail off, your eyes widening as you feel the heavy words on your tongue. He stilled, before lifting his head up to raise a brow at you.

He had long said them. He said those words many, many times already – the first time being a week or so into the relationship; holding you close to him and whispering them in your ear, mumbling them in the mornings where you'd be stuck to his chest because you just loved stripping him of his shirts. He said it in front of Soonyoung in the break room just last week, who made it his mission to tell the entire friend group – they lost their minds with that one.

And he made you feel special, Seungcheol. You knew, you understood that he wasn't just saying it to say it. It held weight to him, it meant something to him. It was real and he wanted you to know.

"You…what?"

You don't respond, carding your fingers through his wet hair and thinking about the pain in the ass he'd been when you got back to town after Junhui's birthday. He sat on your bed and made you pull out every red shirt you owned to see which one he saw you wearing the first time the two of you met – the red halter immediately catching his eye, making its soft-launch debut on his Instagram story two hours later on your first date.

The mothers at the park were truly disappointed when the pretty boy with the thick brows abandoned any and all flirting attempts for Lifeguard Barbie. Though they all agreed that seeing him pine after you while you were on the clock was pathetically cute – you left a sour taste in their mouths when he'd leave with you after your morning shifts; no more half-naked eye candy who flexes to make their mouths water, instead shy and reserved.

Well, not that they didn't know he was spoken for – the drags of your nails in his back were very noticeable when he took his shirt off. If that wasn't enough, your loud whistle from wherever you were in the park when you saw him take it off certainly was. He stayed to himself, he was quiet, he was needy – constantly giving you those puppy eyes and begging you to sit with him or give him a kiss.

Sometimes you caved, sometimes you didn't – but on nights that you got out late, you could count on Seungcheol to drive you around and pull over in that same spot from before to kiss you stupid. He made it a point to have his lips on yours any chance he could – even if it was in front of your friends, who gagged like idiots and eventually made you and Seungcheol retreat to a different room if you wanted to continue. He made you feel wanted, he listened, he held you close any time you allowed it and he practically suffocated you in his adoration.

The relationship wasn't smooth but it was genuine – and the two of you were slowly working through things. He understood how Wonpil had made you feel after you were intimate, and made it a huge point to coddle you and cater to your needs any time you allowed. He smothered you with his affection and attention, and your friends loved to comment on the dynamic shift between you and him. Sure, you still called him a whore; but he was a whore for you, so you weren't exactly complaining.

Seungcheol made himself a constant, he made himself dependable, he made it known he cared about you in every way you would allow – even if Joshua insisted he keep paying your student loans, that he was almost done anyway and it made him feel useful. Seungcheol began littering himself in every part of your life – there were an abnormally large amount of photos of the two of you sprinkled around your bedrooms, his sweatshirts and your t-shirts strewn in drawers, a spare key to apartments on your keychains, his credit card in your wallet and a nude Polaroid of you in his…

…A new, baby blue vibrator in your bedside drawer with twenty settings and the light bill connected to his bank account on auto-pay.

And you realize that maybe you didn't need to dip yourself into the steaming hot spring that was Choi Seungcheol. Maybe you didn't have to acclimate, because he was a tumultuous being of love and light and speckles of jealousy that made your skin prickle. Maybe you didn't have to understand your feelings about him right away, because either way – he knew what he wanted and he had no problem proving to you that you were, in fact, worth his time.

Your heart is not solid, but it's no longer guarded by you, either – it rests in the safe embrace of Choi Seungcheol's hands, at his mercy.

"You what, Y/N?" He tilted his head at you, the glint in the back of his eye giddy as you tongued your cheek. He peppered kisses all over your face as you feigned annoyance, but ultimately you sighed as he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. "C'mon, pretty girl. Say it. Tell me you love me." "You're such a Leo." "And?"

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as your boyfriend smiled into your skin. "And I love you."

"Suddenly the sky is brighter–" "Don't start." "I can hear birds singing–" "You are so dramatic!"

He only laughs, his hands squeezing your thighs again as he presses his forehead to yours. "You remember when you said when you run with dogs, you get fleas?"

You roll your eyes, nodding reluctantly. "I do." "How's that working out for you?" "Don't piss me off, Seungcheol." "I love you."

"I said no making out!" Joshua's voice crackles through the intercom, and you scoff as you give Seungcheol a soft, brief kiss before pulling away.

"Come on, I'll clock out and we can make out in your shower." "And the couch?" "Even on the floor, if you're a good boy."

"You love me." He murmured as you tried to untangle yourself from him, his hands keeping you close. "Tell me you love me, sweetheart." "I love you, Cheol." "I love you, too, Lifeguard Barbie."

2K notes · View notes

jupiterpilgrim · 14 days ago

Text

Before the World Knew

Part 1

Yoo Jimin (Karina) x male reader

word count: 20K

The automatic glass doors hiss shut behind you, sealing you back into the humid chaos of a Seoul afternoon. You shove your hands deep into your pockets, shoulders slumped, the stiff collar of the button-down you wore specifically for this interview suddenly feeling like a noose. "Nailed it", you think. Yeah, right.

Nailed it like a coffin lid.

That interview was a fucking train wreck. Stuttering over standard questions, sweating through your shirt despite the blasting AC, pretty sure you called the interviewer by the wrong name at least once. You can practically feel the rejection email drafting itself in their system right now. Landing a decent PR job in this city is proving harder than cracking Fort Knox with a toothpick. You thought graduating with a Public Relations degree, even from a university abroad, would give you some kind of edge. Turns out, it just makes you another drop in an ocean teeming with overqualified, hyper-competitive graduates who probably know the right people (something you definitely lack).

It's been a few weeks since you touched down at Incheon, hauling two overweight suitcases and a boatload of naive optimism. Seoul. The big leagues. You figured, new city, new start, maybe finally shake off that aimless post-college dread. You found a shoebox apartment that costs a criminal amount of money and have been pounding the pavement, digitally and literally, trying to find something, anything, that doesn’t involve fetching coffee or making copies for peanuts. So far? Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Just a growing pile of polite "we'll keep your resume on file" emails and the soul-crushing realization that your savings account is evaporating faster than puddle water in August.

Only a divine miracle would be able to make you feel anything remotely close to happiness now.

You sigh, kicking at a loose pebble on the sidewalk. The city rushes around you, a blur of impeccably dressed office workers, delivery scooters weaving through traffic like suicidal insects, the distant thrum of k-pop blasting from a storefront. It’s overwhelming, vibrant, and right now, utterly indifferent to your dwindling prospects. You just want a decent meal and maybe to wallow in front of Netflix for twelve hours straight.

Lost in your pity party, you don't see the person turning the corner until it's too late. Thump. You stumble back, colliding shoulders hard enough to knock the phone clean out of their hand. It clatters onto the pavement with a sickening plastic crack.

"Oh, shit! Sorry, my bad!" you blurt out, scrambling to pick it up, praying the screen isn't spiderwebbed. You snatch the phone (miraculously intact) and look up to hand it back, apology ready on your lips.

And then your brain just… stops.

Everything stops. The noise of the city, the frantic rush, the self-pity spiral: it all evaporates. Because the person standing in front of you, rubbing their shoulder with a slight wince, eyes wide behind a pair of large, stylish sunglasses… No. It can't be.

She’s smaller than you remember, but the face… fuck, that face. The perfect, almost unreal symmetry, the sharp jawline softened by full cheeks, the distinctive curve of her lips, currently pressed into a thin line of surprise. Even with the sunglasses and a simple baseball cap pulled low, obscuring most of her hair, it's undeniably her. Years have passed, sure. She’s changed. She’s… Karina now, a name screamed by millions, plastered on billboards, dominating charts. But beneath the idol gloss, beneath the global fame, it’s still her.

It's still Jimin. Yoo Jimin. Your childhood best friend. The girl you haven't spoken to since she vanished into the K-Pop trainee vortex years ago.

She takes the phone, her fingers brushing yours for a split second, sending a jolt up your arm that has nothing to do with static electricity. Her gaze flicks up, meeting yours through the dark lenses. You see confusion flicker there, then a dawning recognition that mirrors your own shock.

Her lips part slightly. “No way…”

Her voice. It’s softer than you remember, maybe a bit huskier, but it’s still Jimin’s voice. Hearing her say your name after all this time feels like being struck by lightning. You just stare, dumbfounded, unable to form a coherent thought.

She pushes her sunglasses up onto her head, revealing those large, dark eyes you used to get lost in during boring classes back home. They widen further as she really looks at you.

“Holy shit, it is you! Oh my god! What the hell are you doing here?”

The sheer, unadulterated surprise in her voice snaps you back to reality. You manage a shaky laugh, running a hand through your hair. “Jimin? Wow. Uh, hi.” Eloquent, very eloquent.

She laughs, a bright, musical sound that cuts through the city noise. It’s the same laugh you remember, the one that always made your stomach do stupid flips. “Hi? That’s all you’ve got after, what, six years? Seven?”

“Something like that,” you say, still reeling. “Damn. You, uh… you look…” Famous? Untouchable? Like a goddess who accidentally stumbled onto a mortal sidewalk? “…different.” Lame. You mentally kick yourself.

Jimin grins, the expression lighting up her whole face. It’s that specific grin, the one that crinkles the corners of her eyes. God, you missed that. “Yeah, well, a few things have happened since middle school.” She gestures vaguely, a hint of playful understatement in her tone.

“Yeah, no kidding,” you say, finally finding your footing. “Saw you… everywhere, basically. Aespa, huh? That’s insane, Jimin. Congratulations.”

Her smile softens slightly at the use of her real name. “Thanks. It’s… been wild.” She glances around quickly, lowering her voice a fraction. “But seriously, what are you doing in Seoul? Last I heard, you were going to college somewhere overseas?”

“Yeah, I was,” you explain, stuffing your hands back in your pockets. “Finished up my PR degree a few months back. Moved here a few weeks ago to, you know, try and find a job. Join the rat race.” You grimace, thinking of the disastrous interview. “Not going great so far, but hey, Seoul’s cool.”

Her eyes light up, genuine happiness flashing across her features. “You live here now? That’s amazing! Oh my god, I can’t believe it!” She bounces slightly on the balls of her feet, looking genuinely thrilled. The reaction warms something inside you that the job rejection had chilled.

“Yeah, it’s… definitely a change of pace,” you admit. It hits you again: you’re standing on a random street corner, catching up with Karina from Aespa. One of the biggest names in K-Pop. Your childhood friend, the one who disappeared into SM Entertainment and became someone else entirely. What are the actual, statistical chances of this happening? It feels like the universe is fucking with you, dangling a piece of your past right in front of your face when you least expect it. Fate? Maybe. Or just Seoul being a surprisingly small world sometimes.

“We have to catch up properly,” Jimin says immediately, her excitement palpable. “Like, actually talk. Are you busy right now?”

You glance down at your slightly rumpled interview clothes. “Uh, not exactly. Just finished bombing a job interview, so my schedule’s wide open for existential dread and instant noodles.”

She winces sympathetically, then pulls out her phone again (the one you nearly shattered). “Okay, first, give me your number. Is it still the same old one?” You rattle off your new Korean number, and she quickly taps it in, sending you a test message immediately. Your phone buzzes in your pocket.

It’s really you!!!

You look up, grinning. “Got it.”

“Good.” She slides her phone away, pulling her cap down a bit lower. “Look, I’m kind of on my way to practice right now, but are you free later this week? Or maybe this weekend? We could grab coffee? Drinks? Food? Whatever works.”

Hanging out with Jimin again. After all these years. After… everything.

“Yeah,” you hear yourself say, maybe a little too quickly. “Yeah, definitely. Coffee sounds great. Or drinks. Whatever’s easier for you, I know you’re probably crazy busy.”

“Never too busy for you,” she says, and the way she smiles; warm, genuine, a flash of the girl you knew before the fame… makes your heart do that stupid flip again. “Seriously, text me when you’re free. We’ll figure it out. It’s… it’s really, really good to see you.”

“You too, Jimin,” you reply, meaning it more than you thought possible. “Like, really fucking good.”

She laughs again, shaking her head. “Okay, I actually have to run before my manager sends out a search party.” She steps back, adjusting her cap and sunglasses, the idol persona clicking back into place. But just before she turns away, her eyes meet yours one last time, and there’s a spark there; something familiar, something you both thought was long buried.

“Text me!” she calls over her shoulder, before disappearing into the flow of the crowd, leaving you standing there, blinking in the afternoon sun, wondering if any of that actually just happened.

—

The days following that almost-too-surreal-to-be-true bump-in on the street are a weird blur of text messages and tentative plans. You’re talking to Yoo Jimin. Karina. Actually talking. Not just a polite exchange, but actual back-and-forth, interspersed with smiley faces and those little KakaoTalk character reactions she always overused, even back then. You finally manage to nail down a time to meet properly, a casual stroll through one of Seoul’s sprawling, meticulously landscaped parks. Her idea. Probably safer for her, less chance of being mobbed.

You tell yourself the knot in your stomach is just… nerves. Normal, run-of-the-mill nerves. Anyone would be a little keyed up about meeting a global superstar, right? Especially one you used to share juice boxes and secrets with in your dorky pre-teen years. Yeah, that’s it. It’s the Karina factor. Definitely not the Jimin factor, not the sudden, unwelcome resurgence of that colossal, all-consuming crush you thought you’d successfully buried under six years of distance and a different continent.

Nope. Not at all.

But your brain, the traitorous bastard, keeps replaying flashes of the past. Jimin, with her scraped knees and fierce determination during school sports days. Jimin, laughing so hard milk nearly shot out her nose in the cafeteria. Jimin, biting her lip in concentration while trying to teach you a ridiculously complicated handshake. These images, once faded and dusty, are now vivid, almost painfully sharp, overlaid with the equally mind-boggling reality of who she is now. It’s a strange cocktail, this potent nostalgia mixed with the sheer absurdity of her current life. You feel like you’re about to meet two people at once: the girl next door and the untouchable idol.

—

You spot her near the park entrance, leaning against a cherry tree that’s probably in full, glorious bloom (though you barely register the flowers). She’s wearing a dress today, something new, light, and airy that dances around her knees when the breeze catches it. It's a soft, pastel color that makes her skin look even more luminous. Simple, yet on her, it looks like it walked straight off a runway. Her hair is down, long and dark, catching the sunlight. Even from a distance, she’s ridiculously, effortlessly beautiful.

“Hey,” you say, trying for casual, hoping your voice doesn’t crack.

She turns, and that smile (the one that could probably power a small city) spreads across her face. “Hey yourself! You found it okay?”

“Yeah, a park. Pretty hard to miss,” you joke, falling into step beside her as you start down a wide, tree-lined path. It’s surprisingly uncrowded for a weekend afternoon.

The conversation flows easier than you expected, or maybe feared. You start with the safe stuff: how crazy it is to see each other after so long, the "what are the odds" of it all. She’s a natural in front of a camera, even if it’s just her phone. Every few minutes, she’ll stop, pointing. “Ooh, here! The light’s perfect.” And you, feeling like an unqualified, suddenly very sweaty personal photographer, do your best to capture her. She poses with an easy grace, a slight tilt of her head, a playful smile, a candid laugh as a gust of wind messes with her hair. Each shot is stunning. She’s just…photogenic doesn’t even begin to cover it. She makes a random park bench look like a high-fashion editorial.

“So,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear after a particularly enthusiastic mini-photoshoot by a koi pond, “tell me everything. College overseas must have been wild. Did you turn into some party animal I wouldn’t recognize?”

You laugh. “Hardly. Mostly just late-night study sessions fueled by questionable instant ramen and an unhealthy amount of caffeine. PR’s no joke. But it was good. Different. What about you? From quiet Jimin who was scared of the dark to… well, Karina, leader of Aespa, breaking records and being the it girl of this generation. How does that even happen?”

She chuckles, a soft, genuine sound. “It’s… a lot. Still feels unreal sometimes. The training was brutal, no lie. There were days I wanted to quit, thought I wasn’t good enough.” Her voice drops a little, a hint of vulnerability seeping through. “But then… we debuted, and suddenly everything changed. The fans, the music, performing… it’s a different kind of magic, you know?”

You nod, trying to imagine it. The Jimin you knew was fiercely talented, Always singing and dancing at school talent shows, but this level of fame? It’s on another planet. “I can’t even picture it. Standing on those huge stages, millions of people screaming your name.”

“It’s terrifying and amazing all at once,” she admits. “But enough about me. What about your job hunt? Any better luck since… the sidewalk incident?” She grins, and you groan.

“Marginally. Had a couple more interviews. One was for a junior PR role at a gaming company, actually sounded pretty cool, but I think I fumbled the ‘what’s your five-year plan?’ question. Said something about ‘not starving’ which, in hindsight, maybe wasn’t the power move I thought it was.”

Jimin laughs, bumping your shoulder playfully. “Hey, honesty is a virtue. Besides, gaming PR? You’d be great at that. You practically lived in arcades back in the day.”

“True. But ‘great at Street Fighter’ doesn’t exactly scream ‘hire me’ on a resume.” You sigh. “It’s tough out here, man. Competition’s insane.”

She nods, her expression turning more serious. “How are you managing? Like, financially? Seoul’s not cheap.”

You shrug, trying to keep it light. “Oh, you know. Freelance gigs here and there. Been doing some weekend shifts at a department store in Myeongdong, in the electronics section. Surprisingly good for people-watching. And it pays the bills. Barely.” You force a smile. “It’s fine. Temporary. Just until something in PR lands.”

Jimin stops walking, turning to face you properly. She’s biting her lip, a thoughtful expression in her eyes. “Send me your resume.”

“What?”

“Your resume,” she repeats, more firmly this time. “And your portfolio, if you have one. Anything that shows off your PR skills. I’ll send it to the team at SM.”

You can’t help it; a laugh bursts out of you, loud and incredulous. “Jimin, no. Come on.” You even raise your hands in a placating gesture. “I appreciate it, seriously, that’s incredibly sweet of you, but… SM Entertainment? They’re not going to hire some random, inexperienced guy who just rolled into the country. Especially not for their PR team. They probably have a waiting list a mile long of geniuses with connections.”

Her expression doesn’t waver. If anything, it becomes more determined. “Don’t doubt me. And don’t doubt yourself. You’re smart, you’re good with people, you get how things work. Just send it to me. What’s the worst that can happen? They say no? Big deal. You’re already getting that.”

There’s a conviction in her voice that’s hard to argue with, even though every rational part of your brain is screaming that this is a pipe dream. “I… I don’t want you to go out on a limb for me, Jimin. Especially if it’s for nothing.”

“It’s not for nothing if I believe in you, is it?” she says softly, and damn her, that hits you right in the feelings. “Just promise me you’ll send it. Please?”

You let out a long breath, rubbing the back of your neck. She’s looking at you with that earnest, hopeful expression, and you know you’re going to cave. “Okay, okay. I promise. I’ll send it tonight.” You still think it’s a snowball’s chance in hell, but for her? You’ll try.

She beams, her good mood instantly restored. “Good! It would be so crazy if we ended up working at the same place, wouldn’t it? Like fate, again!”

“Yeah,” you agree, a small, hesitant smile on your own face. “Completely insane.” But the thought, as outlandish as it seems, sparks a tiny, traitorous flicker of hope. It’s nice, you realize, to have someone in your corner. Someone who, despite the years and the fame, still seems to genuinely care.

“Ice cream break?” she suggests, pointing towards a small vendor cart surrounded by happy kids. “My treat. To celebrate your future employment at SM.”

“Don’t jinx it,” you groan, but you’re already following her, the weight on your shoulders feeling a little lighter than it did before.

The ice cream is sweet, cold, and a welcome distraction. You talk about lighter things: terrible movies you’ve both seen, the weirdest food trends in Seoul, the time you both tried to dye your hair with Kool-Aid in eighth grade and ended up looking like deranged parrots. It’s easy, comfortable, like no time has passed at all.

As the sun begins to dip lower, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you find yourselves back near the park entrance.

“This was… really great, Jimin,” you say, meaning it. “Thanks for today.”

“I had fun too,” she replies, her smile soft. “We definitely need to do this again. And sooner than another six years, okay?”

“Deal.”

She pulls out her phone. “Okay, one more photo. But this time, you have to be in it.”

You instinctively start to protest. “Oh, no, I’m good. I’ll just–”

“Nope! Non-negotiable,” she says, already switching to the front-facing camera. She grabs your arm, pulling you closer until your shoulders are pressed together. You’re acutely aware of her warmth, the faint scent of her perfume, the way her hair tickles your cheek. She holds the phone up, angling it for the perfect shot. “Okay, smile! Or… try not to look like you’re being held hostage.”

You manage a slightly stiff, awkward smile as she snaps a few pictures. She scrolls through them, a pleased expression on her face. “Cute! See? Not so bad.” She shows you one where you’re both actually smiling, the city lights just starting to twinkle in the background. It is cute. This crazy, unexpected reunion, now captured in a small digital frame.

She sends the photo to you, and as you look at it on your own screen, a feeling of… something warm, something hopeful, settles in your chest. Okay, maybe this move to Seoul wasn't a complete disaster after all. Maybe fate really does have a weird sense of humor. And maybe that spark you both felt isn't just a relic of the past.

—

You’re elbow-deep in a tangled mess of headphones and Bluetooth speakers at your soul-crushing electronics store job a few days later, trying to explain to a very persistent customer why his twenty-year-old MP3 player probably isn’t compatible with the latest Bose noise-cancelling monstrosities, when your phone buzzes in your pocket. You almost ignore it (probably another scam likely call) but the insistent vibration continues. Excusing yourself with a strained smile, you fish it out.

Unknown number.

You almost swipe it away, but something makes you answer. “Hello?”

A clear female voice speaks your name.

“Uh, yes, it’s me,” you reply, already bracing for a sales pitch.

“This is Kim Hana from SM Entertainment’s Human Resources department. We received your resume regarding a potential opening in our Artist Relations team, specifically working with Aespa. Are you available for an interview later this week?”

Your brain short-circuits. SM Entertainment? Aespa? You almost swallow your tongue. The headphones in your hand slip, clattering onto the counter. The customer gives you a weird look. You try to speak, but only a strangled squeak comes out. Clearing your throat violently, you manage, “Excuse me? SM… Entertainment?”

“Yes,” Ms. Kim says, her voice betraying no hint of surprise at your shock. “Yoo Jimin forwarded your details. She spoke very highly of you. We have an opening for a Junior PR and Communications liaison for Aespa’s team. It involves assisting with press releases, social media coordination, and general support for the group's public-facing activities. Would Thursday at 2 PM work for you?”

Yoo Jimin. Holy shit. She actually did it. Your head is spinning. This has to be a prank. But the voice on the other end sounds far too official, far too… SM.

“Uh, yes! Yes, Thursday at 2 PM is… perfect,” you stammer, your mind racing a mile a minute. Junior PR liaison. For aespa. Working with Jimin. This is insane.

“Excellent. We’ll send a confirmation email with the details and address. Please bring a physical copy of your resume. We look forward to meeting you.”

“Thank you! I mean, yes, looking forward to it too!”

The line clicks dead. You stare at your phone, then at the annoyed customer, then back at your phone. Your first instinct is to call Jimin. You dial her number before you even consciously decide to, heart hammering against your ribs.

She picks up on the third ring. “Hey! What’s up?” Her voice is bright, cheerful.

“Jimin! You… you actually sent my resume to SM?” you blurt out, pacing behind the counter.

She laughs, that easy, musical sound. “Of course, I did. I told you I would, didn’t I? So, did they call you?” There’s a playful, knowing tone in her voice. She knew.

“They just called! I have an interview on Thursday! For a PR liaison role with Aespa! Jimin, this is… I don’t even know what to say. Thank you isn’t enough.”

“Hey, no need to thank me,” she says, her voice warm. “You’re qualified. You just needed a foot in the door. Now go ace that interview. I know you can.”

“But… SM? And working with your team? That’s… that’s insane.”

“Is it?” she teases. “Or is it fate? Again?” You can practically hear her smiling. “Just be yourself. They’ll love you. And hey,” her voice drops a little, becoming softer, more personal, “it would be pretty cool to see you around the office.”

“Yeah,” you manage, your voice a little breathless. “Yeah, it really would.”

—

Two days later, you’re standing in front of the imposing SM Entertainment building, dressed in your only decent suit, clutching your resume like they’re religious relics. The place is even more intimidating from the inside. Sleek, modern, buzzing with an undercurrent of focused energy. You see trainees rushing by, staff members with headsets, snippets of music drifting from behind closed doors. It’s a whole other world.

The interview itself is a blur. You meet with Ms. Kim from HR and a stern-faced senior manager from the Artist Relations department. They grill you on your PR experience (minimal, aside from college projects), your knowledge of the K-Pop industry (decent, from a fan perspective), and your ability to handle pressure (questionable, judging by the sweat currently soaking your palms). You try your best, channeling every ounce of professionalism you can muster, talking about your degree, your adaptability, your passion for creative communication. You highlight your international college experience, hoping it sounds impressive. You don’t mention Jimin, not directly, but you talk about your admiration for Aespa’s innovative concepts and global appeal.

When it’s over, you’re convinced you’ve blown it. You thank them, shake their hands, and walk out feeling a familiar wave of disappointment. Well, at least you got to see the inside of SM. That’s something, right?

You’re about to head for the exit, already composing a ‘thanks anyway’ text to Jimin, when you spot her. She’s further down the hallway, talking to someone who looks like a choreographer, dressed in stylish dance practice gear. Your heart does a nervous leap. You almost don’t approach her, but then she turns, her eyes meeting yours. A bright smile instantly lights up her face.

“Hey! How did it go?” she asks, excusing herself from the choreographer and walking towards you.

You can’t help but smile back, despite the lingering anxiety. “Hey. It was… an experience.”

She tilts her head, searching your face. “That doesn’t sound too enthusiastic.”

You sigh. “Honestly, Jimin, I think I tanked it. I was a nervous wreck. Pretty sure I forgot my own name at one point.”

Jimin just laughs, lightly punching your arm. “Oh, stop it. I’m sure you were great.” Then, her eyes sparkling with mischief, she asks, “So, did they offer you the job on the spot? Did they weep with joy at finding such a PR prodigy?”

“Hardly. They said they’d be in touch. Which is corporate speak for ‘don’t call us, we’ll call you, and by ‘we’ll call you,’ we mean never.’”

Just as you say it, your phone buzzes. You glance down. It’s Ms. Kim from SM. Your blood runs cold. Jimin peers at your screen, her eyes widening. “Well? Answer it!”

With trembling fingers, you swipe to answer. “Hello?”

“Hello,” Ms. Kim’s voice says. “We were very impressed with your interview. The team feels your background and enthusiasm would be a great asset. We’d like to offer you the Junior PR and Communications Liaison position for Aespa. Congratulations.”

You actually sway on your feet. Jimin grabs your arm, her eyes wide and questioning. You just stare at her, speechless, a slow, disbelieving grin spreading across your face. You manage to stammer out a “Thank you, I accept!” to Ms. Kim, who tells you HR will be in touch with the contract and start date details.

As soon as you hang up, Jimin is practically bouncing. “You got it?! You actually got the job?!”

You nod, still in shock, then burst out laughing. “I got the job! Holy shit, Jimin, I actually got the job!”

“I told you!” she exclaims, throwing her arms around you in a spontaneous, ecstatic hug. You hug her back, lifting her off the ground slightly, both of you laughing like idiots in the middle of an SM Entertainment hallway. When you finally set her down, you look at her, your heart full. “Thank you, Jimin. Seriously. This… this is because of you. I owe you big time.”

She waves her hand dismissively, but her smile is radiant. “You owed me for that time I covered for you when you broke Mrs. Lee’s prize-winning bonsai tree in fifth grade. Now we’re even.” She winks. “Besides, it’s going to be awesome having you here. Just try not to be too starstruck all the time, okay?”

“No promises,” you say, still grinning like a fool. Working at SM. With Jimin. This is actually happening.

—

Your first day is a whirlwind. You’re officially part of Aespa’s core PR team. The office is a hive of activity, a stark contrast to the quiet desperation of your job hunt. You meet your direct supervisor, a sharp, no-nonsense woman named Ms. Park, who walks you through your responsibilities: drafting social media posts, liaising with journalists (under strict supervision, of course), helping coordinate schedules for interviews and appearances, and generally being an all-hands-on-deck support for the group’s public image. It’s a lot to take in, but it’s exciting. You’re actually doing PR, not just theorizing about it in a classroom. And the best part? Your desk is in the same wing as Aespa’s dedicated team rooms. You can hear snippets of their music, see them occasionally passing in the hallways. It’s surreal.

During a much-needed lunch break, you’re trying to decipher the SM cafeteria menu when Jimin appears at your elbow, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Lost, newbie?” she teases.

“Completely,” you admit. “This place is a maze. And I think I accidentally ordered fermented skate for lunch.”

Jimin laughs, shaking her head. “Rookie mistake. Come on, I’ll show you the good stuff. And then there are some people I want you to meet.”

She leads you through the bustling cafeteria to a slightly quieter corner where three other girls are already seated, chatting animatedly. Your breath catches. Ningning. Giselle. Winter. The Aespa. In the flesh. Eating bibimbap.

Jimin grins, pulling you forward. “Girls, here he is. He’s the new PR liaison for our team. And also my super old, super dorky childhood friend.”

All three of them look up, their expressions ranging from curious to friendly.

Ningning, with bright, expressive eyes, offers a wide smile. “Oh, you’re the friend Jimin’s been talking about! Welcome to the chaos! I’m Ning Yizhuo.” Her energy is infectious.

Giselle, looking effortlessly chic even in casual clothes, gives you a cool, appraising nod. “Hey. Aeri Uchinaga. Or Giselle, whichever you prefer. Nice to finally meet you. Jimin’s been… enthusiastic about you joining.”

Winter, with her softer, almost ethereal beauty, offers a shy smile. “Hi. I’m Kim Minjeong. It’s nice to have you on the team.”

You manage to stammer out hellos, feeling completely out of your depth. You’re shaking hands with idols, people you’ve seen on giant screens and in glossy magazines. And they’re just… eating lunch. Talking. Laughing. It’s the most normal, yet utterly abnormal, situation you’ve ever been in.

The conversation is surprisingly easy. They ask you about yourself, where you’re from, how you know Jimin. You keep your answers vague about the ‘how you know Jimin’ part, sticking to the ‘childhood friends’ line. They talk about their upcoming schedule, a new music video concept, the usual idol banter. They’re all incredibly nice, welcoming, and you find yourself relaxing, actually enjoying their company. It’s still hard to reconcile these friendly, down-to-earth girls with the powerhouse performers they are on stage.

After lunch, as you’re heading back to your desk, Jimin falls into step beside you.

“So? What did you think?” she asks. “They’re pretty cool, right?”

“Yeah,” you say, still a little dazed. “They’re… amazing. And this whole thing is still kind of blowing my mind, to be honest. Working here, meeting them, seeing you…”

She bumps your shoulder playfully. “See? Told you it would be fun. It’s really good to have you here. Like, really good.” There’s an undercurrent to her words, a warmth that makes your chest feel tight.

“It’s good to be here, Jimin,” you reply. You look at her, and her presence so close to you makes you feel a mix of strange sensations; your childhood friend, now a global superstar, who somehow pulled strings to get you a job at one of the biggest entertainment companies in the world, just so you could be close. The thought is overwhelming, terrifying, and exhilarating all at once.

The dynamic between you is already shifting, the old, forgotten feelings bubbling closer to the surface now that you’re in her orbit again. And as you walk back to your new desk, you wonder if she is also feeling the same way as you.

—

It’s been a couple of weeks since you officially became Junior PR and Communications Liaison for Aespa, and that initial feeling (the one that hit you walking back to your desk after Jimin’s introduction to her members, that premonition of everything changing) hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s intensified.

You try to shove it down, to compartmentalize. You’re here to work, to prove Ms. Park, your sharp-as-a-tack supervisor, right for hiring you (even if Jimin’s recommendation was the battering ram that got your resume through the door). You spend your days buried in spreadsheets tracking social media engagement, drafting press release snippets that get dissected and reassembled ten times over, and fetching coffee more often than you’d care to admit. It’s grunt work, mostly, the bottom rung of the PR ladder, but it’s real. You’re in the game. And every so often, you catch a glimpse of the glittering prize: a quick, positive comment from Ms. Park on a draft, a nod of approval from the senior team members, the quiet satisfaction of a task completed efficiently.

Your attempts to maintain an air of cool professionalism around Jimin are… a work in progress. A fucking daily battle, if you’re being honest with yourself. She, on the other hand, seems to have no such internal conflict. Jimin is clearly, unequivocally, incandescently happy you’re there. It’s in the way her eyes light up when she spots you across the bustling open-plan office, the way she makes a beeline for your desk pretending to need a paperclip or ask about a non-existent email, her shoulder brushing yours a little too long as she leans in. It’s in the extra-bright "Morning!" that cuts through the general office murmur, often accompanied by a smuggled pastry from some high-end bakery she “just happened to pass.”

You try to reciprocate with a polite, colleague-appropriate smile and a "Morning, Jimin-ssi," emphasizing the honorific, a subtle reminder of the professional context. Sometimes. Other times, when she winks, or her smile is just for you, that old, familiar warmth floods your chest, and "Jimin-ah" slips out before you can catch it, a relic from a time before honorifics and idol personas mattered between you two. Her answering grin on those occasions is like a shot of pure sunshine, potent and dangerously addictive.

The other Aespa members are great. Ningning often swings by your desk to ask about some new Western slang she’s heard or to show you funny videos on her phone. She’s easy to talk to, her curiosity genuine, and you find yourself quickly falling into a comfortable banter with her. Giselle is cooler, more reserved initially, but possesses a dry wit that catches you off guard and makes you laugh out loud. She’s sharp, observant, and you get the feeling not much gets past her. Winter is quieter, often observing with a gentle smile, but when she does speak, it’s thoughtful and kind. You make a point of being equally friendly and professional with all of them, mindful of your role. You’re part of their team, here to support them, not to be a distraction or play favorites.

It's during one of these interactions with Ningning, about a week into your third week, that you notice it for the first time. You’re both hunched over your monitor, Ningning giggling as you try to explain the nuances of a particularly baffling English meme that’s gone viral. You’re leaning back in your chair, pointing at the screen, and she’s close, peering over your shoulder, her hair tickling your ear. It's an innocent, work-adjacent moment.

"Ah! So that's what it means!" Ningning exclaims, clapping her hands together. "Okay, okay, I get it now. You have a future as an official idol translator."

You chuckle. "Modesty aside, I am really well versed in the nuances of the English language, especially when it comes to memes."

"Apparently!”

The weeks bleed into a month, then two. You’re no longer the wide-eyed newbie fumbling with the coffee machine or getting lost on the way to the third-floor dance studios. You’ve found your rhythm in the relentless pulse of SM Entertainment. Your PR drafts for Aespa are getting fewer red marks from Ms. Park, you’ve memorized the building’s labyrinthine layout (mostly), and you actually feel like you’re contributing something more than just an extra body in meetings. You’ve even started to differentiate between the dozen slightly different shades of black that seem to constitute 90% of the staff’s wardrobe.

The other members of Aespa have become familiar, friendly faces. You’re careful, always. Professionalism is your mantra. You’re staff. They’re idols. But in those stolen moments, the casual chats in the quieter corners of the building, a genuine camaraderie is forming.

Jimin, though… Jimin is another story. She’s undeniably, overtly thrilled to have you around. Her smiles are brighter when directed at you, her laughter louder. She seeks you out for “work-related questions” that could have easily been answered by anyone else, her hand lingering a fraction too long on your arm when she makes a point. She brings you your favorite coffee "just because she was passing by the good place." While a part of you, the part that still remembers sweaty palms and a racing heart from your teenage years, basks in that focused attention, the professional, adult part of you is on high alert.

You’ve seen the glances. The whispers that die down when you approach a group of staff members. The subtle, almost imperceptible raising of eyebrows from some of the senior managers when Jimin’s interactions with you are a little too familiar, a little too warm for a global superstar and a junior PR guy. Idols, especially female idols at the top of their game, aren’t supposed to be this close, this visibly chummy, with male staff. It’s a dangerous line, and you’re terrified she’s either blissfully unaware of it or, worse, doesn't care. You try to dial back your own responses, keeping things friendly but more reserved, adding the honorific "Jimin-ssi" more consistently, hoping she’ll take the hint. Sometimes she does, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes before her professional mask slips on. Other times, she just bulldozes past it with that radiant grin, leaving you feeling like you’re walking a tightrope over a pit of vipers.

Her thing with the other members… that’s new. And it’s weird, kinda unsettling if you’re being honest with yourself. It’s never anything, like, obvious. She never says anything. But you see it.

Or you think you do.

It’s in the little things. Like when you’re cracking up with Ningning, sharing some stupid meme, and you catch a glimpse of Karina out of the corner of your eye. There’s a flicker of something in her expression, a barely-there tightening around her mouth before it smooths out into a small, polite smile. It’s so fast you question if you even saw it.

Or when Giselle gets all close, leaning into your space to show you a video on her phone, and Karina’s eyes just seem to… stick. They linger on you for a beat too long, her gaze heavy in a way you can’t quite decipher before she blinks and looks away, suddenly engrossed in her own phone.

Maybe you’re just making it up, projecting or something. But then she’ll walk over when you and Winter are in the middle of a conversation, laughing and vibing, and it’s like the temperature drops a few degrees. Her posture shifts, just a fraction, but she seems

One late afternoon, you find yourself in one of the smaller, less-used lounges on Aespa’s floor. It’s a comfortable space, rarely occupied, with a couple of plush sofas, a low table littered with old magazines, and a window overlooking a surprisingly green courtyard. You’d ducked in to escape the main office buzz for a few minutes, intending to just scroll through your phone and decompress. Ningning had found you first, plopping down beside you to complain good-naturedly about a particularly grueling choreography session. Soon after, Giselle and Winter had wandered in, drawn by Ningning’s animated voice, and the three of them were now comfortably arrayed on the sofas opposite you.

You’re in the middle of recounting a truly disastrous blind date your college roommate had dragged you on years ago (a story involving a mistaken identity, an escaped ferret, and a very public argument with a mime). You’re hamming it up, using voices, expansive gestures, and the girls are in stitches. Ningning is practically falling off the sofa, tears of laughter streaming down her face. Giselle, usually so composed, is clutching her stomach, her shoulders shaking. Even Winter keeps asking you for more details about the story, and for a moment, you forget the pressures of the job, the complexities of your situation with Jimin, everything. You’re just a guy, shooting the shit with friends.

"...so then the mime starts gesturing wildly, right? And my roommate, bless his clueless heart, thinks the ferret belongs to the mime and is trying to give it back!" you say, trying to catch your breath between laughs. "And the mime is getting more and more agitated because, apparently, he's deathly afraid of rodents..."

Ningning lets out another shriek of laughter. "No! Oh my god, a mime afraid of ferrets! That’s too much!"

Giselle wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. "Okay, that’s actually the funniest thing I’ve heard all week. Poor ferret, though. And poor mime!"

"The ferret was fine!" you assure them, grinning. "Made a clean getaway into a nearby bakery. The mime needed therapy, probably."

Winter shakes her head, still chuckling softly. "You always have the craziest stories."

"It's a gift," you say with a mock bow, eliciting another round of giggles. "Or a curse. Depends on whether you're the one living through it or just hearing about it."

It’s at this moment, surrounded by their genuine laughter, that the door to the lounge creaks open. You don’t even register it at first, too caught up in the shared mirth. But then a shadow falls across the room, and a new voice, cool and distinct, cuts through the air.

"Having fun?"

Your laughter catches in your throat. The shift in atmosphere is instantaneous, like a cold front rolling in. Ningning, Giselle, and Winter all visibly react; their smiles falter, their postures subtly stiffen. You turn, your heart giving a sudden, uncomfortable thump against your ribs.

Jimin is standing in the doorway, one hand resting on the doorframe. She’s dressed in sleek black leggings and an oversized hoodie, her practice gear, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail. Her expression is unreadable, a carefully blank mask, but her eyes… her eyes are fixed on you, sharp and intense. There’s no smile, no warmth, just that unwavering, assessing stare.

You scramble to your feet, a little too quickly. "Oh, hey, Jimin-ssi. We were just, uh..."

Ningning, recovering first, offers a slightly strained smile. "Jimin-unnie! We were just listening to his hilarious story."

"Yeah, unnie," Giselle adds, her voice a little less effusive than it was moments before. "He was telling us about his old roommate’s disastrous date."

Jimin’s gaze doesn’t leave yours. She takes a slow step into the room, her presence suddenly dominating the small space.

"A disastrous date?" Jimin repeats, her voice still devoid of any discernible emotion. Her eyes finally flick towards the other girls, then back to you. "Sounds captivating. You seem to have them quite entertained."

There’s an edge to her words, a subtle accusation. You can feel a prickle of sweat on your palms. This is exactly the kind of situation you’ve been dreading, her finding you in a moment of unguarded ease with her members, their laughter clearly for you, excluding her.

Winter shifts uncomfortably on the sofa, her earlier smile completely gone. Ningning is fiddling with the drawstrings of her hoodie, avoiding eye contact. Giselle maintains a neutral expression, but her eyes dart between you and Jimin. You feel like you're under a fucking microscope, and Jimin is the one holding the lens, her gaze burning into you, searching for… something.

"Well," you begin, clearing your throat, the sound unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet. You force a casualness you don't feel, gesturing vaguely towards the door. "I should probably, uh, get going. Got that report Ms. Park wanted… needs finishing." It’s a flimsy excuse; the report isn’t due until tomorrow afternoon, but escape is paramount.

You offer a quick, slightly strained smile to the other girls, who are still looking like they wish the floor would swallow them. "Was fun chatting, though. See you guys later."

Ningning manages a small, "Bye." Giselle gives a curt nod, her eyes still flickering towards Jimin. Winter offers a tiny, almost imperceptible wave.

As you turn to leave, Jimin’s voice stops you again. "I'll walk with you."

It’s not a question. It’s a statement. Your mind screams No, absolutely fucking not, bad idea, abort mission! but your mouth, like a traitor, says, "Oh. Uh, sure. Okay." Because what else can you say? Arguing would only make it worse, draw more attention, confirm whatever suspicions are brewing in her mind.

The walk from the lounge down the hallway towards the main office area feels like miles. The silence stretches between you, taut and uncomfortable. You can feel her presence beside you, a subtle tension in the air that wasn't there before. You risk a quick glance at her. Her expression is still set, jaw tight, eyes fixed straight ahead. You can practically hear the gears turning in her head. You brace yourself.

Finally, as you round a corner into a less populated corridor, she speaks, her voice low.

"You and the others seem to be getting along really well."

It’s a neutral observation on the surface, but you hear the undercurrent. You try to keep your own tone light, even. "Yeah, they’re great. Easy to talk to." You pause, then add, trying to steer the conversation onto safer ground, "Isn't that good? They're your members, your friends. I'm your friend, working with your team. It’s good that we all… you know, get along."

Jimin doesn’t look at you. Her gaze remains fixed on some indeterminate point down the hallway. "It depends."

"Depends on what?" you ask, afraid of what will come next.

"Depends if you start ditching me for them," she says. "Because lately, it feels like you’re avoiding me."

Your step falters for a split second. "Avoiding you? Jimin, that’s… that’s not true." The denial is automatic, but even as you say it, a flash of guilt hits you. You have been more reserved, more careful.

She finally turns her head, her eyes, dark and intense, meeting yours. There’s a flicker of hurt in them that makes your chest ache. "Isn't it? What about yesterday, in the cafeteria? I waved, you just nodded and hurried off with your tray. And Monday, when I asked if you wanted to grab a coffee after that marketing meeting, you said you were swamped. I saw you five minutes later scrolling through your phone at your desk." Her voice isn't accusatory now; it's quieter, tinged with a genuine bewilderment and that raw hurt. She remembers specific instances, and fuck, she’s not wrong. You were being short, deliberately creating distance.

Your throat feels tight. You glance quickly up and down the corridor. It’s relatively empty, just a couple of junior staffers disappearing around a distant corner. This isn't a conversation for public consumption. You stop, turning to face her more directly, lowering your own voice.

"Okay, look," you begin, trying to choose your words carefully. "Can we just… can we be real for a second?"

She watches you, waiting, her arms crossed over her chest now, a defensive posture.

"Jimin," you say, your voice earnest, "you know I’m happy to be here. And I’m happy you’re here, obviously. But you have to understand… this isn't like before. You’re Karina. You’re one of the biggest idols in the world. I’m… just a guy who works for the company. Your PR guy, technically."

Her brow furrows slightly, a hint of confusion. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It has everything to do with it," you insist. "Don’t you see how it looks? How we look? You being so… openly friendly with me, all the time? The little extra things, the way you seek me out? People notice that stuff, Jimin. Staff talk. Hell, fans would lose their minds if they saw half of it. This industry… it’s brutal. One wrong rumor, one misinterpreted photo, and it could be disastrous. For you, especially. For Aespa."

You run a hand through your hair, feeling the stress of it all. "I haven’t been avoiding you, Jimin. I’ve been trying to be careful. Trying to protect you. Trying to protect us from… from that. From the bullshit that could come from it. When I seem distant, or 'short' as you put it, it's not because I want to be. It's because I’m trying to keep a professional boundary in public, for both our sakes. I’m worried about your career, about you getting dragged into some stupid scandal because people misunderstand."

You let out a breath, the words tumbling out, a weight lifting slightly now that it’s said. You search her face, hoping she understands, hoping she doesn’t see it as a rejection.

Jimin stares at you, her expression slowly shifting as your words sink in. The defensiveness in her posture softens. The intensity in her eyes dims, then something akin to… embarrassment. Her gaze drops from yours to the floor, a faint blush creeping up her neck, painting the apples of her cheeks. She uncrosses her arms, fiddling with the sleeve of her hoodie.

When she finally looks up, her eyes are wide, a little watery, and full of a vulnerability that punches you right in the gut.

"Oh," she says. "Oh my god. You’re… you’re right." She winces, biting her lip. "I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking about it like that. At all." She shakes her head, looking genuinely mortified. "I'm so sorry. I’ve been… God, I’ve been acting like such an idiot. Paranoid." She lets out a shaky little laugh that has no humor in it. "I don’t even know why I’ve been like this. So… clingy or weird. It’s just…" She trails off, looking lost.

Seeing her like this, so exposed and contrite, melts away any lingering frustration you felt. All you want to do is reassure her.

"Hey," you say softly, taking a hesitant step closer. "It’s okay. Seriously. Don't beat yourself up about it." You offer a small, gentle smile. "It’s a weird situation for both of us, right? We’re figuring it out."

You pause, then add, you add, your tone surprisingly gentle, imbued with all the sincerity you feel, "And for what it’s worth, Jimin… you know how much I like having you around. How much I like you. Being near you, talking to you… it’s the best part of this whole crazy thing. I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you. I haven’t forgotten that. Not for a second."

Her eyes, still glistening, meet yours. The blush on her cheeks deepens, but there’s a flicker of relief, of gratitude, in her gaze now. "Thank you," she murmurs. "For… for saying that. And for being honest. And for, you know, looking out for me even when I’m being a dumbass."

"Always," you say, and the word feels solid, true.

A comfortable silence settles between you for a moment. "So," you say, breaking the quiet gently, "how about this? To make up for my perceived avoidance, and your… non-dumbass-ness…" You grin, and she lets out a small, watery chuckle. "Later this week, or whenever you’re free from practice and schedules, we do something. Properly. Just you and me. No work, no office, no other members. Like old times, but… new times."

Her face lights up, a genuine, brilliant smile chasing away the last of her embarrassment. It’s the Jimin you remember, the one whose happiness is infectious. "Just us?"

"Just us," you confirm, your own heart feeling a little lighter, a hopeful anticipation bubbling up.

"I’d really like that," she says. "A lot." She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes sparkling again, this time not with suspicion, but with something that looks a lot like the excitement you’re suddenly feeling too.

—

The relief that flooded you after that honest, vulnerable conversation with Jimin in the hallway lingers for days. It’s like a heavy weight you didn’t even realize you were carrying has been lifted. There’s a new lightness in your interactions, a shared understanding that makes the stolen glances and brief smiles across the busy office feel less fraught with anxiety and more like thrilling little secrets.

True to her word, before you part ways that day, Jimin’s eyes sparkle with that familiar mischief.

"So, about that 'just us' time," she says, leaning against the wall, a playful smirk on her lips. "My place. Dinner. I’ll cook. Don’t look so surprised, I can actually make more than instant ramen."

You raise an eyebrow, feigning skepticism. "Oh really? Color me intrigued. Are we talking a five-star gourmet experience or something that might involve a fire extinguisher?"

She swats your arm playfully. "Hey! I’ll have you know my kimchi jjigae is legendary. Or, at least, edible. You in?"

The thought of it: Jimin, cooking for you, in her apartment, away from the relentless scrutiny of SM, it feels intimate, a significant step. "Absolutely in," you say. "When?"

She pulls out her phone, already scrolling through her calendar app, a frown of concentration on her face. "Hmm, schedule’s insane next week… What about… Friday? A week from today? I think I have that evening clear. For now, anyway."

"Friday it is," you confirm, a grin spreading across your face. "I’ll even bring dessert. To, you know, potentially counteract the legendary kimchi jjigae."

"You wound me! But deal." She winks, then with a quick, "Gotta run, practice!" she’s off, leaving you feeling a ridiculous sense of anticipation for a dinner that’s still a full week away.

The following days pass in a blur of work, punctuated by those small, shared moments with Jimin. A quick coffee break where you actually sit together for ten minutes, talking about nothing and everything. Her dropping by your desk with a new song recommendation, leaning in close so you can share an earbud, her hair brushing your cheek. The professional boundaries are still there, especially when others are around, but the fear and awkwardness have been replaced by a conspiratorial warmth. You’re both more careful, more aware, but the connection feels stronger, deeper.

Friday arrives, and you spend most of the day in a state of low-level excitement, replaying your outfit choices in your head, wondering what her apartment is like, what it will feel like to just be with her, without the roles of "idol" and "staff." You even bought an expensive cake from that fancy bakery she likes.

Then, around 3 PM, your work phone buzzes with a message from Jimin:

NOOOO! I’m SOOOO sorry! Next week's photoshoot was brought forward to today. I'll be tied up until late. They just told us. I was really looking forward to it. Stupid schedules. Can we reschedule? Please say yes!

Disappointment settles in your chest, but you push it down. This is idol life. This is what you signed up for, being in her orbit.

You text: Of course. No worries at all, totally understand. We’ll find another night. Good luck with the shoot! You’ll kill it.

You’re the best. Raincheck for sure!!! Next week? I’ll make it up to you!

But "next week" turns into a series of near misses. An unexpected variety show filming crops up for her. A last-minute fan sign event gets added. You have a late night at the office handling a minor PR flare-up for another group. The universe, it seems, is conspiring against your private dinner. The expensive cake sits in your fridge, a sad, delicious monument to your thwarted plans.

And as the days turn into another week, something else starts to creep into your awareness, a subtle, unwelcome shift in your own internal landscape. You’re part of aespa’s PR team, which means you’re privy to schedules, collaborations, and the general buzz around them. You see Jimin interacting with other people in the company, naturally. She’s the leader, charismatic and friendly. It’s her job, her personality.

But it’s her interactions with some of the male idols that start to… prickle.

It begins subtly. You’re in a meeting discussing upcoming cross-promotional content, and one of the senior members from a popular SM boy group, a guy known for his sharp looks and easy charm, casually mentions how he and Jimin were just laughing about a shared embarrassing trainee story the other day in the practice rooms. A tiny, almost imperceptible muscle tightens in your jaw. They just happened to be in the practice rooms? Laughing? You tell yourself it’s nothing. Colleagues. Friends.

Then, a few days later, you’re walking past one of the recording studios and you see Jimin through the soundproof glass, headphones on, talking animatedly with a well-known producer, also male, also handsome. He leans in close to adjust something on the mixing board, his hand brushing hers. She throws her head back and laughs at something he says, a bright, unrestrained sound. The knot in your stomach tightens a little more. You find yourself lingering a second too long, watching them, a sour taste creeping into your mouth. You force yourself to walk away, chiding yourself internally. She’s working. He’s a producer. This is normal. Get a grip.

The worst is when you’re scrolling through internal staff memos or even semi-public social media feeds from other idols. A candid behind-the-scenes shot from a music show, and there’s Jimin in the background, deep in conversation with a member of a rival boy group, both of them smiling. A congratulatory post from another male idol for am Aespa’s latest achievement, with a throwback photo of him and Jimin making silly faces from some past event. Each instance is like a small papercut, insignificant on its own, but collectively, they start to bleed.

You start to question yourself, this ugly feeling coiling in your gut. Am I actually… jealous? The thought is mortifying. You have no right. You’re her friend, her colleague. You buried that teenage crush years ago, didn’t you? This is different. This is… possessiveness. It’s irrational, and you hate it. You tell yourself it’s just protectiveness, the same kind you talked to her about, you’re worried about her image. But who are you kidding? That’s bullshit. This isn’t about her image. This is about that tight, angry clench in your chest when you see another guy make her laugh that specific way, the way her eyes crinkle at the corners. The way she only laughs with you. Or so you thought.

You try to subdue it, to crush the feeling down with logic. She’s an idol. Her circle is full of other idols, producers, industry people. Male, female, it doesn’t matter. She’s allowed to have friends. You are being a fucking psycho. You try to focus on your work, burying yourself in spreadsheets and press drafts, but your gaze keeps drifting, your ears straining for any mention of her name, your mind replaying those brief, observed moments, dissecting them, looking for… you don’t even know what. Reassurance? Confirmation of your fears?

This slow burn of jealousy is exhausting. It simmers beneath the surface of your carefully constructed professionalism, a toxic undercurrent poisoning your thoughts. You haven’t said anything to Jimin. You haven’t changed your outward behavior towards her, not in any way she’d notice, you hope. You’re still friendly, still supportive, still the guy she relies on. But inside, you’re a mess, increasingly tangled in a knot of feelings you don’t want and can’t seem to shake, this unwelcome, undeniable jealousy taking root, growing stronger with each passing day, with each shared smile she gives to someone who isn’t you.

—

Most of the nine-to-fivers have already made their escape, and even the usual thrum of idol activity has quieted to a muted pulse. You’re tucked away in a small, blessedly empty meeting room on one of the upper floors, nursing a lukewarm cup of instant coffee. You’re supposed to be reviewing social media analytics (riveting stuff, truly) but mostly you’re just staring out the window at the sprawling grey expanse of Seoul, lost in the delightful internal monologue of your own burgeoning, and entirely irrational, jealousy. It’s becoming quite the hobby, this mental self-flagellation.

The click of the door opening barely registers until a familiar, melodic voice cuts through your brooding.

"Hiding out?"

You nearly jump out of your skin, sloshing coffee onto a stack of decidedly unimportant papers. Turning, you see Jimin leaning against the doorframe, a soft smile playing on her lips. And just like that, the carefully constructed wall of your professional cynicism crumbles into pathetic, lovestruck dust.

She’s not in practice gear today. She’s wearing a simple, cream-colored knit sweater that looks ridiculously soft and some dark, well-fitted jeans. Her hair is down, cascading over her shoulders in those perfect, effortless waves that probably take a team of stylists two hours to achieve. Her makeup is minimal, making her look younger, softer, more like the Jimin you knew before she became Karina, global phenomenon and recurring star of your anxiety dreams.

"Hey," you manage, trying for nonchalant and probably landing somewhere near 'startled chipmunk.' "Didn't hear you come in."

She pushes off the doorframe and ambles further into the room, her presence instantly making the generic corporate space feel… smaller, somehow. More charged. "Sorry to interrupt your very important… paper-staring session."

"It's a critical part of my process," you say, attempting a dry wit that she, thankfully, seems to appreciate with a small laugh. "Deep contemplation of spreadsheet ergonomics."

"Right." She perches on the edge of the ridiculously oversized conference table, her legs crossed casually. "Look, I just wanted to say sorry if I’ve been a bit MIA the last few days. Schedules have been… well, you know. Insane."

"Ah, the glamorous life," you quip, though the relief at her explanation is a palpable thing easing the tension in your shoulders. So, it wasn’t you. Or, not just you. Probably. "No worries. Figured you were off conquering another continent or something equally mundane."

She smiles, a genuine, tired-around-the-edges smile. "Something like that. Endless meetings about tour logistics, new endorsement shoots, trying to learn choreography when every muscle in your body screams for rest." She sighs, then her gaze softens as it meets yours. "It’s just… been a lot. Haven't had much chance to just… breathe. Or talk."

"I get it," you say, and you do. The pace here is relentless. "You look…" You pause, searching for the right word, because 'good' feels like an insult to whatever cosmic alignment is happening with her features right now. "You look beautiful today, Jimin." The words are out before you can second-guess them, honest and a little too raw. You quickly try to backtrack, to lessen the impact, lest you sound like a complete lovesick fool (which, of course, you are). "I mean, you always look beautiful, obviously. It’s kind of your brand. But today… there’s something. Extra. You’re glowing. Or maybe it’s just the cheap office lighting playing tricks on my caffeine-addled eyes."

A delicate blush, the color of a summer peach, rises on her cheeks. She ducks her head for a moment, a shy gesture that feels impossibly endearing. "Thank you," she says softly, looking up at you through her lashes. The directness of her gaze, coupled with that blush. "That’s… really nice to hear. Especially today."

You should probably say something about those analytics. Or the weather. Anything but stare at her like she’s the only source of oxygen in the room.

Then, her expression shifts. A wistful, almost faraway look enters her eyes. "Hey," she says, her tone quieter now, thoughtful. "Do you remember… do you remember that time, we must have been, what, thirteen? When we biked all the way out to old Haeundae beach, even though our parents would have skinned us alive if they knew?"

The question catches you off guard. The sudden shift to such a specific, distant memory throws you. But of course, you remember. How could you forget? Your mind immediately conjures the scene: the reckless thrill of that forbidden adventure, the salty spray on your faces, the cheap, borrowed bikes threatening to fall apart beneath you.

"Yeah," you say, a slow smile spreading across your face as the details flood back. "With those ridiculously ancient bikes we 'borrowed' from your uncle’s shed? The ones where the brakes only worked if you prayed really, really hard?"

Her answering smile is luminous. "Exactly! And then that insane storm blew in out of nowhere. One minute it was sunny, the next it was like the sky just… cracked open."

"Torrential," you agree, a chuckle escaping you. "We were soaked to the bone in about ten seconds. I thought my sneakers would never dry out."

"And we found that tiny, busted-up old bus stop shelter way up on the coastal road," she continues, her eyes sparkling with the recollection, lost in the memory with you. "It was leaking, there were probably spiders the size of my fist in there, but it felt like a palace."

"We were freezing," you remember, "shivering like crazy. And all we had to eat was that one squashed packet of stale crackers I’d forgotten in my backpack."

Jimin laughs. "And we split it, didn’t we? Crouched in that damp, smelly shelter, rain hammering down outside, sharing those awful crackers like it was a feast." She looks at you then. "We talked for hours, waiting for it to stop. About everything. Stupid stuff, serious stuff."

"Our grand plans to escape our boring town," you supply, the memory so vivid now it feels like you could reach out and touch it. "Your dreams of being famous, my dreams of… well, probably something equally ridiculous I’ve thankfully forgotten."

"It wasn't ridiculous," she says softly, her gaze holding yours. "It was just… us. Just talking. It felt like we were the only two people in the world for a few hours."

You know what she means. It was more than just getting caught in the rain. It was a moment of unvarnished connection, of shared vulnerability, of feeling utterly, completely understood by another person, a feeling so rare and precious, especially at that tumultuous age. You remember the damp chill, yes, but more clearly, you remember the warmth of her shoulder pressed against yours as you huddled together, the easy rhythm of your conversation, the feeling that, for a little while, all the complexities of the world had fallen away, leaving just the two of you and the roaring storm.

"I still think about that day sometimes," Jimin says, her eyes still locked on yours, searching, questioning. "A lot, actually."

Your carefully constructed composure, already teetering, threatens to shatter. All the air seems to have been sucked out of the small room. The irony isn't lost on you; here you are, a grown man, unraveled by a shared memory of stale crackers and a rainstorm from over a decade ago. Pathetic, really.

"Why?" The question slips out, hushed, almost involuntary. Your mind is racing. Why now? Why bring this up? What does it mean?

Jimin holds your gaze for another long moment, and you can see a universe of unspoken emotions swirling in the depths of her dark eyes. Then, she looks away, her gaze drifting towards the window, towards the distant, indifferent city. A tiny, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips.

"Actually, I don't know," she says, so quietly you almost miss it. "I really don't know."

It's an answer that's not an answer, a perfectly crafted piece of ambiguity designed, it seems, to send your already overthinking brain into a full-blown spiral. You watch her, this enigma you’ve known your whole life, and feel a familiar, frustrating helplessness. All those years, all that shared history, and she can still reduce you to a state of dumbfounded confusion with three little words.

She pushes herself off the conference table, the movement fluid and graceful. "Well," she says, her voice regaining a sliver of its usual brightness, though her eyes still hold that distant, thoughtful quality. "Maybe it’s better if I go. Don’t want to keep bothering you with… ancient history. And I actually do have that choreography meeting. Can't keep the dance monster waiting."

She turns and walks towards the door, each step feeling like a countdown timer on your chance to say something, anything, to pierce through this sudden, unbearable tension.

She reaches the door, her hand on the knob. It’s now or never, brainiac.

"Jimin," you call out.

She pauses, her back still to you, hand frozen on the doorknob. This is it. Your moment to say something profound, something that clarifies everything, something that bridges the gap of years and fame and unspoken feelings. Your mind races, a frantic slideshow of possibilities. 'What did you mean?' 'Do you feel it too?' 'That day meant something to me too, you know.'

And then, like a cold splash of reality, the internal killjoy (the one that pays the bills and reminds you of your precarious position) pipes up: She’s an idol, you idiot. Global superstar. You’re staff. This is how you lose your job and become a cautionary tale. Don’t be a walking, talking HR violation.

The grand, sweeping declaration dies on your lips, replaced by a pathetic little puff of air. When she finally turns her head slightly, looking back at you with a questioning gaze, all that comes out is a lame, "It's… uh… nothing. Never mind.”

A small, enigmatic smile plays on her lips. It’s impossible to tell if it’s knowing, amused, or just polite. With Jimin, it could be all three. "Okay," she says softly. "See you around."

And then she’s gone, the door clicking shut behind her with a gentle finality, leaving you alone once more with your lukewarm coffee, your useless analytics, and the fresh, agonizing weight of all the things you didn't say.

Hours later, the office has thinned out almost completely. You’re packing up your bag, ready to call it a day and go home to stare meaningfully at your ceiling, when Ningning bounces over to your desk.

"Heading out?" she asks, perching on the corner of your desk like an overgrown, incredibly cheerful pixie.

"Yep. Day is done. My brain feels like overcooked jjigae."

She giggles. "Mine too! We had vocal training for three hours straight. My throat is screaming." She leans in a little. "So, work stuff aside… how are things?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Things? Vague. But… okay, I guess? Survived another day in the K-Pop trenches. You?"

"Good, good!" she says, then her eyes get that tell-tale sparkle of curiosity you’re beginning to recognize all too well. "Actually… I was wondering. About, you know…" She gestures vaguely between herself and an imaginary Jimin. "You two."

Ah. Here we go. The subtle interrogation phase. You try to keep your expression neutral, a Herculean effort. "Us two? Do you mean Jimin? We’re… old friends. Colleagues. As previously established in multiple official and unofficial briefings."

Ningning tilts her head, her smile a little too knowing. "Riiight. Old friends. But, like… how old? What’s the real story there? Unnie can be… a little selective with details sometimes."

Before you can even begin to formulate a suitably evasive yet charmingly informative answer, footsteps approach. Giselle and Winter appear, looking equally ready to bolt for the day.

"What are you two whispering about over here?" Giselle asks. Winter offers a quiet smile from beside her.

Ningning beams at them. "Perfect timing! I was just asking about him," she points a thumb at you, "and our dear leader. The true story."

Giselle’s perfectly sculpted eyebrow arches. "Oh? The origin story? Spill it. We’ve only heard Jimin-unnie’s version, which, let's be honest, is probably heavily romanticized."

Winter chuckles softly. "She did mention something about a very dramatic rainstorm once."

Now all three of them are looking at you, expectant and clearly ready for some prime gossip, or at least, your side of the folklore. You’re surrounded. There’s no escape.

"Okay, okay," you say, raising your hands in mock surrender, trying to buy yourself some thinking time. "There’s nothing really interesting in our story. Mostly just a lot of questionable teenage fashion choices and an unhealthy obsession with the same five boy bands."

"Details, details!" Ningning urges, leaning forward. "What were you like in school? Was she always… Karina-like? Or was she a secret dork?"

"Definitely a secret dork," you say, a genuine smile touching your lips as you think back.

This gets a laugh from all of them.

"And you?" Giselle prompts. "What was your role in this dynamic duo?"

"Chief instigator of dumb ideas, probably," you admit. "And expert in procuring illicit snacks for movie marathons. We spent a ridiculous amount of time watching terrible action movies and critiquing them like we were seasoned film critics." You share a few more harmless anecdotes: the time you both tried to bake a cake that ended up looking like a volcanic eruption, the disastrous school play where you both forgot your lines, the endless summers spent biking around the city, dreaming of bigger things. It’s easy to talk about the past, the safe, sepia-toned memories. It makes the present, with all its unspoken tensions and Jimin’s idol status, feel momentarily distant.

As you’re talking, weaving these tales of your shared youth, you see your opening. It’s a long shot, and your attempt at casualness will probably be about as convincing as a politician's promise, but you have to try.

"Speaking of Jimin," you say, aiming for a nonchalant tone that you’re pretty sure misses the mark by a country mile, "she’s, you know, so busy and in the public eye all the time. Must be tough to… have a personal life. Is she… seeing anyone? Or, you know, hanging out with anyone in particular? Just curious, as a friend. Worried about her, you know. Safety, happiness, all that good stuff."

You try to make it sound like a casual afterthought, a fleeting concern from a dear old platonic pal. You think you almost pulled it off, right up until you see the looks on their faces.

Ningning’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and she exchanges a lightning-fast glance with Giselle. Giselle’s lips twitch, a smirk threatening to break free. Winter just smiles like she knows what's going on in your head. Oh, you are so transparent. They see right through your flimsy "concerned friend" charade.

"Hmm, 'seeing anyone'?" Giselle repeats slowly, drawing out the words. "Nope. Can't say that she is. Unnie's pretty much married to her work these days. And us, of course."

"Yeah," Ningning chimes in, a little too brightly. "No mysterious romantic entanglements that we know of! Our leader is a free agent!"

"Why do you ask?" Winter asks her gaze lifting to meet yours.

"Oh, you know," you say, waving a dismissive hand, trying to project an air of breezy indifference. "Just… she’s an old friend. You worry about your friends, right? Want them to be happy, not get mixed up with… undesirables. Standard friend protocol."

The three of them share another look. This one is longer, more laden with unspoken understanding. It’s the kind of look that says, “Oh, honey, you are so delightfully screwed.”

"Right," Giselle says. "Undesirables. Of course."

Ningning nods vigorously. "Totally. Friend protocol. We get it."

"So," Giselle starts, "all these shared memories, the dorky school days… was there ever, you know, anything more? Between you two back then?"

You can feel the heat rising up your neck. Your brain is frantically sifting through a thousand possible deflections, each one more unconvincing than the last. This is where your PR training truly shines, in the art of saying absolutely nothing while appearing to consider something deeply. A true masterclass in verbal evasion is about to unfold, you can just feel it.

"I mean, the bond between you two is… remarkable," Ningning adds, helpfully twisting the knife. "Unnie was so, so excited when she found out you were coming to work here. Like, beyond normal 'old friend joining the company' excited. More like 'rare Pokémon spotted in the wild' excited."

Giselle snorts delicately. "Eloquent, Ningning. But she’s right. There’s definitely… a vibe."

Just as you’re about to launch into what would undoubtedly be a completely disastrous attempt at a nonchalant denial, a voice cuts through the charged atmosphere.

"There you guys are! I’ve been looking all over for you."

Jimin. Of course. Her timing is, as always, impeccably dramatic. She steps into the lounge, her gaze sweeping over her members, then landing on you, a slight question in her eyes. She’s still in her practice clothes, a light sheen of perspiration on her forehead, making her look both ethereal and remarkably real. The girls, bless their meddling, gossipy hearts, snap into action with the practiced ease of seasoned operatives.

"Oh, hey, Unnie!" Ningning chirps. "We were just… talking."

"About what?" Jimin asks, stepping further into the room, her gaze lingering on you for a fraction of a second longer than strictly necessary. Or maybe you’re just imagining that part. Your imagination has been working overtime lately, particularly where she’s concerned.

"Nothing major," Giselle says smoothly, waving a dismissive hand. "Silly things. Random office gossip. You know how it is." She stands, stretching languidly. "Actually, we should probably head out. It’s getting seriously late.”

"Yeah, same," Ningning agrees, bouncing to her feet. Winter nods, already halfway to the door. "My everything aches."

You seize the opportunity, a drowning man grasping at a life raft made of convenient excuses. "Me too, actually. Long day. Lots of… spreadsheets." You try for a weary, put-upon sigh. You’re not sure it lands.

The girls offer quick goodbyes, a chorus of "See ya!" and "Night, Unnie!" and then they’re gone, leaving you and Jimin standing in the sudden quiet of the empty lounge. She turns to you. "They keeping you entertained?"

"They’re… a force of nature," you admit. "Never a dull moment."

"Tell me about it," she says with a sigh that seems to carry the weight of a thousand schedules. "Well, I guess I should let you escape too." She gestures towards the door. "I’m heading out as well. Want to walk?"

And just like that, you’re accompanying her again, the two of you falling into step as you navigate the increasingly deserted corridors of SM Entertainment. You find yourself acutely aware of the space between you, of the subtle scent of her perfume, of the way her hair catches the low evening light filtering through the hallway windows. It’s all terribly poetic and deeply unhelpful for your already addled state of mind.

As you approach the main lobby, her voice, soft and a little melancholic, breaks the quiet. "Have you ever wondered," she begins, not looking at you, her gaze fixed on the gleaming marble floor, "what might have happened? If… if things had been different? If I hadn’t gone into training when I did, if you hadn’t gone off to study in another country? If we hadn't… you know, gone our separate ways back then?"

The question, so similar to the one that started your recent emotional tailspin with her, catches you off guard. It’s a "what if" laden with years of distance and change, a path untaken, a story unwritten. You glance at her profile, the perfect line of her jaw, the slight furrow in her brow. She looks so much like the fierce, determined girl you knew, yet also like someone entirely new, someone shaped by experiences you can only guess at.

"I don't know," you say honestly, the words feeling inadequate but true. It’s your go-to answer for her profound, soul-searching question, apparently. "It’s… hard to predict those kinds of things, isn’t it? One tiny change back then could have led to a million different todays." You try for a philosophical shrug, as if you ponder alternate timelines on a regular basis. You mostly ponder what to have for dinner.

She nods slowly, still not meeting your eyes. "You’re right. It’s impossible to know." A beat of silence, then she adds, almost to herself, "Still. Sometimes I wonder."

Before you can overthink it, before your internal HR department can issue a cease-and-desist, you find yourself saying, "But, Jimin… whatever those other million todays might have looked like, this one? This is the one where we’re both here. You, me, in this crazy building, against some pretty insane odds when you think about it." You meet her gaze then, hoping she sees the sincerity in yours. "That’s got to be worth something, right?"

A slow smile spreads across her face, a genuine, heart-stoppingly beautiful smile that reaches her eyes and chases away some of the weariness you saw there earlier. "Yeah," she says. "Yeah, I think it is." She finally looks directly at you, and there's a warmth there, a shared acknowledgement of the strange, unlikely thread that still connects you.

"Thank you for saying that."

"Just stating the facts," you reply, though your heart is doing a fair impression of a hummingbird’s wings. You pause, then, emboldened by the moment, you ask, "Are you okay, though? You seem… a little tired." A masterful understatement, considering the grueling life she leads.

She lets out a soft sigh. "Yeah, I’m okay. Just… tired is my default setting these days, I think." She manages a wry smile. "This week has been particularly brutal. But it’s okay. It’s part of it."

"I’ve been seeing it up close, you know," you say, your tone earnest. "You, the girls… the amount of work you all put in, the sheer dedication… it’s actually insane. I had no idea, not really, before I started working here. It’s… genuinely incredible. You’re all amazing." You hesitate, then add, "Just… don’t overdo it, okay? Take care of yourself. Seriously."

Her smile widens, softens. The appreciation in her eyes is unmistakable, and it makes you feel ridiculously warm inside. "Thank you," she says again. "That means a lot. I will. I promise."

You reach the main exit, the cool night air of Seoul beckoning from beyond the glass doors. This feels like another one of those moments, a pause before the story shifts again.

"Well," you say, "my chariot awaits. Or, you know, the subway."

She laughs, a light, easy sound. "Same here. My manager’s probably already sent out a search party." She turns to you, and for a moment, it feels like there’s something more she wants to say, something hovering on the edge of her words. But then she just smiles that enigmatic smile again. "Good night. And… thanks. For the walk. And the concern."

"Anytime," you reply. "Goodnight, Jimin."

And with that, she’s gone, disappearing into the waiting black van that always seems to materialize out of nowhere. You watch her go, a strange mix of hope and confusion and that ever-present, damnably persistent affection swirling inside you.

—

The weekend arrives with all the fanfare of a damp squib. You spend Saturday mostly alternating between staring blankly at your laptop screen, pretending to job-hunt for something that isn’t your current, emotionally hazardous employment, and replaying every single micro-expression Jimin has made in your vicinity for the past two weeks. It’s a productive, well-adjusted way to live, you tell yourself with a hefty dose of irony. You’re bored, tired of your own internal monologue, and a little bit adrift.

You’re cleaning your room, contemplating mentally the profound existential question of whether to order jjajangmyeon or just eat cereal for dinner for the third night in a row, when your phone buzzes on the coffee table. You almost ignore it, expecting another spam text about a crypto scam or a discount on air fryers. But then it buzzes again, insistent. With a groan, you reach for it.

It’s a message. From Jimin.

Hey! Are you by any chance, miraculously, incredibly, unbelievably… free tonight? My schedule just cleared up like magic (don’t ask, it’s a K-Pop miracle). That dinner we talked about… still interested? My legendary kimchi jjigae awaits its challenger! Let me know! Fingers crossed! ✨🍜🤞

You stare at the message, reading it once, twice, a third time just to make sure your sleep-deprived brain isn’t hallucinating. Her schedule cleared? She’s asking tonight? After all the cancellations, all the near-misses? A slow grin, a genuine, uncomplicated, shit-eating grin, spreads across your face. All the weariness, the boredom, the overthinking from the past few days, evaporates like morning mist.

You type back, your thumbs flying across the screen, a surge of adrenaline making your hands shake slightly.

Tonight? Miracles do happen! Yes, absolutely, 100% still interested. My taste buds are primed and ready for legendary status. Send me the address. I’ll even brave rush hour for this.

Her reply is almost instantaneous. A string of happy emojis, followed by her address and a time.

It’s set. It’s actually, finally, set.

A laugh bubbles up from your chest, loud and unrestrained in the quiet of your small apartment. Suddenly, your weekend isn’t looking so bleak. Suddenly, you’re not tired at all. Suddenly, the only thing that matters is that in a few short hours, you’re going to Jimin’s apartment for dinner. Just the two of you.

—

The hours leading up to your dinner with Jimin are a masterclass in controlled chaos, existing primarily within the confines of your own skull. You tell yourself, with the stern authority of someone trying to wrangle a particularly unruly toddler, not to overthink it. It’s just dinner. A casual meal between old friends. One of whom just happens to be a globally recognized K-Pop sensation who occupies a significant, and frankly unhealthy, amount of your daily thought processes.

Yes, perfectly normal.

Your attempt not to overthink manifests as a meticulous, hour-long deconstruction of your entire wardrobe, a frantic search for an outfit that screams "effortlessly cool and put-together" while simultaneously whispering "I definitely didn't try too hard, but please notice I tried a little." You settle on dark jeans that actually fit well and a soft, unassuming button-down shirt (casual, yet hinting at the possibility that you own an iron).

On your way to her neighborhood, a sudden pang of "don't show up empty-handed, you heathen" strikes you. You duck into a small, upscale market, ostensibly for a bottle of wine or some trendy artisanal sparkling water. As you’re Browse, your eyes snag on a particular brand of imported Swiss chocolate, a rich, dark hazelnut bar. It’s a lightning bolt from the past. Jimin used to be absolutely obsessed with this exact chocolate back in your school days. She’d save up her allowance for it, savoring each square like it was a precious jewel. It’s a ridiculous, sentimental impulse, but you grab it, along with a respectable bottle of white wine that looks like it knows what it’s doing. The chocolate feels like a small, secret handshake with the past, a nod to the girl she was… a girl you knew before the world did.

Her apartment building is sleek and modern, nestled in a quiet, affluent part of Seoul. You buzz her apartment number, your voice sounding surprisingly steady through the intercom when you announce your arrival. A moment later, the lock clicks, and you’re granted access to the inner sanctum. So far, so good. No alarms triggered.

Standing outside her actual apartment door, a fresh wave of nerves – oh, hello again, old friend – washes over you. You perform the sacred pre-door-knock ritual: a quick, surreptitious sniff of your own breath (minty, check), a frantic adjustment of your shirt cuffs, and a final, desperate smooth-down of your hair. You take a deep breath, then you knock.

The door swings open, and there she is. And just like that, your carefully constructed composure evaporates. Jimin. Even in simple, dark lounge pants and a ridiculously soft-looking, oversized grey sweater that swallows her frame, she looks… breathtaking. Her hair is tied up in a loose, messy bun, tendrils escaping to frame her face. Her makeup is so light it’s almost non-existent, just a hint of color on her lips and a subtle definition to her incredible eyes, making her appear more close to you, more vulnerable, more… Jimin. The effect is devastatingly beautiful, far more so than any stage costume or red-carpet glamour. This is her, unvarnished, in her own space.

You just sort of… stare for a beat, your brain temporarily short-circuiting. She offers a small, slightly shy smile. "Hey. You made it."

"Yeah," you manage. "Traffic was… surprisingly cooperative. For once." You then remember the social contract requires more than just grunting acknowledgment. "You, uh… you look amazing, Jimin. Really." There, you said it. Not as smooth as you’d hoped, but honest.

Her smile widens, a genuine, pleased crinkle around her eyes. "Thanks. You clean up pretty nice yourself." She steps back, holding the door open wider. "Come on in. Don’t mind the mess, I was literally in the middle of a creative explosion in the kitchen."

You step inside, and as you do, you present your offerings. "Brought some wine," you say, handing her the bottle. "And, uh, this." You pull out the chocolate bar. "Not sure if you still… but I remembered."

Her eyes widen when she sees the familiar wrapper, a gasp of pure, unadulterated delight escaping her. "Oh my god!" she exclaims, taking the chocolate from you with an almost reverent care. "This! I haven’t had this in ages! How did you even remember?" Her face is alight with genuine happiness. "This is… this is the best. Thank you." That she’s happier about the relatively cheap chocolate bar than the expensive wine says everything. It’s a direct hit to the heart, that shared memory made tangible.

"My memory retains crucial information," you say, trying for a light, teasing tone to cover the sudden thickness in your throat.

She laughs, clutching the chocolate bar like a long-lost treasure. "Apparently so." She gestures around. "Well, this is it. Karina's home. Or, you know, Jimin’s slightly-less-glamorous-than-you’d-expect-for-an-idol-but-still-pretty-nice apartment."

You take a proper look around as she leads you further in. It is beautiful. Definitely what you’d expect for someone of her status – spacious, with high ceilings, large windows offering a glittering panorama of the Seoul skyline. The furniture is modern and stylish, a palette of soft neutrals and rich textures. But threaded throughout the obvious expense are unmistakable touches of her. A shelf overflowing with books, a worn acoustic guitar propped in a corner, a collection of quirky art prints that are more charming than high-concept, a ridiculously fluffy throw blanket draped over a plush sofa that just begs for someone to curl up on it. It’s a home, not just a showpiece. It’s… Jimin. And you’re in it.

The aroma filling Jimin’s apartment is genuinely incredible, a rich, spicy, and deeply comforting scent that immediately makes your stomach rumble in anticipation. She’s bustling between the small, open-plan kitchen counter and the dining table as she places steaming bowls and an array of colourful banchan (pickled radish, seasoned spinach, glistening myeolchi bokkeum) onto the table. You try to offer help, a classic "can I do anything?" gesture, but she waves you off with a smile, directing you to simply take a seat.

"Guest of honor tonight," she declares, "your only job is to eat and, hopefully, not require medical attention afterwards." It's a joke, but there's a hint of nervous pride in her eyes as she surveys her culinary efforts. It's endearing, this glimpse of her outside the polished perfection of Karina, the idol. This is Jimin, hoping you like her cooking.

You settle into a chair at the intimate wooden table, which is perfectly sized for two and positioned to offer a breathtaking view of the city lights beginning to ignite the deepening twilight outside. She slides a bowl of rice in front of you, then the centerpiece: a bubbling, vibrant red earthenware pot of kimchi jjigae, the steam carrying its potent, delicious fragrance. She serves herself, then gestures for you to dig in. "Well," she says, a little breathlessly, "moment of truth."

You pick up your chopsticks, you take a careful spoonful of the jjigae, the rich broth warming your tongue, the tender pork and tangy kimchi a perfect balance. It’s not just edible; it’s genuinely, profoundly good. Your eyes widen in honest surprise.

"Jimin," you say, after a moment of appreciative silence, letting the warmth spread through you. "This is… seriously incredible. You weren't kidding about the legendary status. This is restaurant-quality stuff." You’re not just being polite; it’s the best kimchi jjigae you’ve had in a long, long time. Maybe ever.

A pleased, slightly flustered blush colors her cheeks. She ducks her head, stirring her own bowl a little too intently. "Oh, stop," she says, but her smile is radiant. "It’s just an old family recipe. My grandmother taught me. I don’t get to make it that often, so… I’m glad it turned out okay." She takes a tentative bite herself, then nods, a little surprised. "Huh. Not bad, if I do say so myself."

You both eat in a comfortable, almost reverent silence for a few minutes. You try some of the banchan she gestures towards, a crisp, spicy cucumber salad, some savory pan-fried tofu. Everything is meticulously prepared, bursting with flavor. It's clear she put a lot of effort into this, and that knowledge warms you even more than the jjigae.

It's as you’re both reaching for the water glasses at the same time, your fingers brushing for a fleeting, electric instant, that the full weight of the situation seems to properly land. You pull your hand back a little too quickly, a jolt going up your arm. You look up, and she’s looking at you, her eyes wide, a similar awareness dawning in them. Here you are. Alone. In her apartment, a space few outside her closest circle probably ever see. Sharing a home-cooked meal. It’s not uncomfortable, not exactly, but it’s undeniably there: a potent mix of history and the sheer, unadulterated weirdness of your lives having converged like this again.

A small, nervous chuckle escapes her lips, a delicate, airy sound. Almost instantly, a similar laugh bubbles up from your own chest; a little shaky, a little breathless, but a genuine release of the mounting tension. It’s a shared acknowledgment of the elephant.

"Okay," she says, setting down her chopsticks and picking up her water glass. "This is… this is a little bit weird, isn't it?" She takes a sip of water, her gaze still holding yours over the rim of the glass. "Not bad-weird," she clarifies quickly, perhaps sensing your own internal monologue already composing a list of polite escape routes, "definitely good-weird. But still… wonderfully, ridiculously weird."

"Good-weird is my favorite kind of weird," you manage. The shared laughter, the naming of the awkwardness, has somehow made it less… awkward. "And yes, 'wonderfully, ridiculously weird' pretty much sums up my entire existence since moving to Seoul and, you know," you gesture vaguely to encompass her, the apartment, the situation, "all of this." You take another mouthful of jjigae, savoring the spice, buying yourself a moment. "Honestly, if you’d told fourteen-year-old me, the one convinced that high fashion was wearing a band t-shirt without holes in it, that one day I'd be having homemade kimchi jjigae in global K-Pop superstar Karina's apartment…" You shake your head, a wry smile playing on your lips. "Well, let's just say his tiny, angst-ridden brain would have imploded. He probably would have assumed it was a very elaborate prank involving hidden cameras."

Jimin laughs, a bright, clear sound that seems to chase away some of the shadows in the room. "Oh, please. Fourteen-year-old you was far too cynical for hidden camera pranks. You’d have assumed it was a stress-induced hallucination brought on by too many all-night gaming sessions." She pauses, her smile softening into something more reflective as she looks around her living space, then back at you, her dinner guest, the boy from her past sitting so improbably in her present. "But look at us now, huh? Actually sitting here, eating dinner, in my own place. Talking about nothing relevant… and just being. Like two reasonably functioning adults who manage to feed themselves without burning the building down." She takes a slow, deliberate bite of rice, her gaze drifting towards the window, towards the vast, glittering expanse of Seoul spread out below them. "Who would have thought any of this was possible back then?" She turns back to you, a wistful, almost tender smile on her lips. "Time flies, doesn’t it? Feels like a lifetime ago, and yesterday, all at once.”

There's a shared melancholy in the air, a sweet ache for the irretrievable past, but it's also undercut by the sheer, vibrating improbability of your present. You nod slowly, swirling the last of the spicy jjigae broth in your bowl, the warmth of it seeping into you, mirroring the warmth spreading through your chest from just… being here, with her.

"It really does," you agree. "One minute you're plotting how to get out of gym class, the next you're… well, you're an international icon, and I'm marveling at your exceptional kimchi jjigae skills and wondering if adulting comes with a manual they forgot to give me." You offer a small, self-deprecating smile, which she returns with a knowing one of her own.

"Tell me about it," she sighs, pushing her empty bowl away slightly. "Sometimes I look in the mirror and I'm still half expecting to see that gangly teenager with the terrible bangs staring back, wondering how on earth I’m supposed to lead a group and remember lyrics in different languages." She pauses, then a playful spark ignites in her eyes, chasing away the momentary wistfulness. "Speaking of adulting… that wine you brought isn't going to drink itself, is it?”

"An excellent point."

"Yeah," she says, already rising from the table. "Let me just wash these dishes and then we can relocate. My couch is significantly more comfortable for serious wine contemplation than these dining chairs. And you haven't even seen my prized collection of questionable drama movies yet, a true adult indulgence."

She begins clearing the table with an efficient grace, and you quickly stand to help, gathering bowls and chopsticks. "Questionable dramas, huh? I'm almost afraid to ask."

"Oh, you should be. We're talking peak early 2000s angst."

While she rinses the dishes (a task you offer to do but are again cheerfully waved off from) you retrieve the bottle of white wine from the counter where you’d left it. You find a corkscrew in a drawer after a brief, the satisfying pop of the cork feels like a small, official commencement of the evening’s next, less formal, chapter. Jimin reappears with two elegant, long-stemmed wine glasses.

Soon, you're both settled on her ridiculously plush sofa. It’s U-shaped, large enough that you’re not exactly pressed against each other, but close enough that you’re acutely aware of her presence, the subtle scent of her shampoo, the way the soft lamplight catches the curve of her cheek. She curls her legs up beneath her, looking impossibly small and cozy, and takes a grateful sip from her wine glass.

"Mmm," she hums, her eyes closing for a moment. "Okay, this is good. Way better than the soju bombs from our trainee day survival kits, that’s for sure."

You take a sip yourself. The wine is crisp and cool, a pleasant counterpoint to the lingering spice of the jjigae. "Glad it meets the approval of your sophisticated palate," you tease, settling back into the cushions. The sofa really is incredibly comfortable. Dangerously so. "Though I have a feeling even drain cleaner would taste good after some of the trainee stories I’ve heard."

She laughs, a full, unrestrained sound this time, and the warmth of it, combined with the wine already beginning to hum pleasantly in your veins, makes you feel… good. Really good. Relaxed in a way you haven’t been in weeks, maybe months.

"You have no idea," she says, shaking her head, a smile still playing on her lips. "There was this one time, during our first evaluation prep, we were all so stressed and sleep-deprived, Ningning tried to microwave a banana. The whole banana. Peel and all."

You snort with laughter, nearly choking on your wine. "No! What happened?"

"Let’s just say the dorm smelled like radioactive fruit for a week, and we were banned from unsupervised microwave usage," Jimin recounts, her eyes sparkling with shared amusement. "Our manager almost had a conniption. Good times. Peak adulting, right there."

The wine flows easily, and with it, the conversation. You find yourselves reminiscing more about those "good old days," the stories becoming funnier, sillier, with each glass. You remind her of the time she tried to dye her own hair blue using a questionable internet tutorial and ended up with three distinctly different shades of swamp green. She counters with the story of your spectacularly failed attempt to build a skateboard ramp in your backyard, which resulted in more bruises than airtime. The laughter comes more frequently now, less self-conscious, more open. There's a comfortable intimacy in revisiting these shared embarrassments.

With the second glass of wine, a subtle shift occurs. The silliness is still there, but it’s becoming tinged with a more playful, flirtatious edge. Maybe it’s the alcohol lowering inhibitions, or maybe it’s the cozy proximity on the sofa, or maybe it’s just the inevitable result of two people with a mountain of buried feelings finally being in a private, relaxed space together. You find yourself watching the way her lips curve when she smiles, the way she gestures animatedly when she’s telling a particularly outrageous story, the way her eyes seem to catch and hold yours for just a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

"You know," she says, swirling the wine in her glass, her gaze a little unfocused, a little dreamy, "you were always surprisingly good at listening. Even when I was rambling about the most ridiculous, angsty teenage dramas. You’d just sit there and nod, like it was the most profound stuff you’d ever heard."

"Hey, your angst was top-tier," you reply. "It deserved a captive audience. Besides, someone had to make sure you didn't actually follow through on your threat to run away and join the circus after that disastrous school talent show audition." You lean a little closer, lowering your voice conspiratorially. "Though, for the record, I still think your interpretive dance to that heavy metal song was… creatively ambitious."

She throws her head back and laughs, a genuine, unrestrained peal that makes your chest ache with a strange, sweet tenderness. When she sobers, she lightly punches your arm. "Oh, shut up! That was performance art! You just didn't understand my vision!" Her eyes are bright, cheeks flushed from the wine and the laughter, and she’s looking at you with an open, unguarded expression that makes your breath catch. "But seriously," she adds, "you were a good friend. Still are."

The compliment, simple as it is, lands with surprising weight. "You too, Jimin," you say, your voice equally soft, meeting her gaze. "Always."

Her eyes search yours, and you feel like she can see right through your carefully constructed facade, right down to the terrified, hopeful teenager still lurking somewhere inside. The wine has definitely done its job; the world feels a little softer around the edges, your inhibitions are pleasantly fuzzy, and the desire to just reach out, to bridge that small remaining distance on the couch, is becoming overwhelmingly, dangerously strong.

The wine, crisp and cool, continues its delightful work, unspooling the tightly wound threads of formality and apprehension that had clung to the early evening. Each sip seems to loosen your tongue a little more, and Jimin’s too. The comfortable U-shaped sofa, initially a vast expanse, feels like it’s subtly shrinking, or perhaps you’re both just… gravitating. Her laughter, when you recount another particularly embarrassing anecdote from your shared school days, is no longer just a polite chuckle. It’s a full-bodied, unrestrained peal of mirth that makes her lean back against the cushions, her eyes squeezed shut, one hand playfully batting at your arm.

You find yourself grinning like an idiot, the warmth spreading through your chest having very little to do with the alcohol content of the wine and everything to do with the sound of her unbridled joy.

"It’s funny, isn’t it? All those little things we obsessed over back then, thinking they were the most important things in the world." She swirls the wine in her glass, watching the pale liquid catch the light. "Who you sat with at lunch, whether you got picked for the team, if that one person looked at you in the hallway…"

Her voice trails off on that last phrase, and there’s a subtle shift in her tone, a new layer of something… emerging from beneath the playful banter. She takes a breath, then turns to you, her eyes, luminous in the dim light, searching yours. The playful glint is gone.

"Can I… can I tell you something? Something really stupid I used to think back then?"

Your heart gives a little thump. "Of course," you say. "My lips are sealed. And my capacity for judging stupid teenage thoughts is, believe me, at an all-time low, considering my own track record."

She offers a small, grateful smile, then her gaze drops to her wine glass, her fingers tracing the rim. "Okay, well… don’t laugh." A pause, then, so softly you almost miss it, "I… I used to have the biggest crush on you."

Your brain, already pleasantly fuzzy from the wine, seems to stall for a moment, trying to process. Jimin. Had a crush. On you. The fourteen-year-old version of you, the one with the questionable sense of humor and the complete inability to talk to girls he actually liked without sounding like a malfunctioning robot, would have spontaneously combusted from sheer disbelief and elation. Even now, the adult, slightly-more-composed version of you is struggling to keep his jaw from hitting the floor.

She peeks up at you through her lashes, a nervous blush creeping up her neck. "See? Stupid, right? I was so sure you just saw me as, like, your annoying little sister’s best friend, or just… Jimin, the dork who was always around. I used to spend hours overthinking every single thing you said to me, trying to decipher if there was some hidden meaning." She lets out a shaky little laugh. "God, it was exhausting."

You stare at her, a slow, incredulous smile starting to spread across your face. The irony, oh, the beautiful, painful irony of it all. All those years of your own silent, all-consuming crush, your own agonizing over every shared glance, every casual word, thinking she was completely oblivious, completely out of reach.

"Jimin," you begin. You clear your throat. "That’s… wow." You shake your head, a laugh bubbling up, a laugh of pure, unadulterated shock and a strange, retroactive relief. "The only thing 'stupid' about that is that I was doing the exact same goddamn thing."

Her head snaps up, her eyes widening, the blush on her cheeks deepening to a vibrant crimson.

"What?" she breathes. "You… you did? With… with me?"

"With you?" you echo, a wide, disbelieving grin plastered on your face. "Are you kidding? You were all I thought about. I was hopelessly, pathetically gone on you. I just… I figured you were way out of my league. That you only tolerated my presence because we were stuck in the same school and our families knew each other." The confession tumbles out, easy now, liberating, fueled by the wine and the sudden revelation of her own past feelings. It’s like a dam has broken, years of unspoken emotion finally finding their release.

She just stares at you, speechless for a long moment, her wine glass forgotten in her hand. Then, a tiny, incredulous laugh escapes her. "No. Way." She shakes her head slowly, as if trying to rearrange the entire narrative of her teenage years. "All that time? We were both…?"

"Apparently," you confirm, still grinning. "Two oblivious idiots, crushing on each other in silence. We could have written a really angsty, badly plotted teen drama."

She finally lets out a full laugh, leaning back against the sofa, looking utterly flabbergasted but also… lighter. "This is insane. I can’t believe it." Her eyes are shining, and not just from the wine anymore. "You know," she says, her voice regaining some of its earlier playful lilt, though it’s softer now, more intimate, "I used to get so jealous. Back then. If I saw you talking to… to other girls. Especially if they were, you know, prettier, or cooler." She makes a face, a little embarrassed. "It sounds so silly now, but it was true. I’d be all smiles on the outside, but inside, I’d be like, 'How dare she laugh at his stupid jokes? I’m the one who’s supposed to laugh at his stupid jokes!'"

You reach out, without really thinking, and gently touch her arm. "Hey. It wasn't silly. Or if it was, then I was just as silly."

Her gaze meets yours, and there's a warmth, a connection in that look that feels more real, more profound, than anything you've shared in years. She holds your gaze for a long moment, then a shadow crosses her face, her voice drops again, hesitant. "It’s funny… or, not funny, but… I kind of felt that way again. Recently." She looks down at her lap, tracing patterns on her pants with a fingertip. "When I saw you talking with Ning and the others that day in the lounge."

Your heart clenches. You remember that day, her sudden appearance, the tension.

"You all looked like you were having so much fun," she continues, "And they’re all so… bright, and funny, and talented. And for a second, this stupid thought just popped into my head, like… what if you ditch me for them? What if they’re more entertaining, or cooler to be around now? What if… what if I’m not that interesting anymore, compared to them?" She lets out a little, self-deprecating huff of air. "It sounds even dumber saying it out loud."

You gently cup her chin, tilting her face up so she has to look at you.

"Jimin," you say. "Listen to me. There is no one, no one, who could ever make me ditch you. And there is absolutely no one, not Ning, not Giselle, not Winter, not anyone on this entire planet, who is 'cooler' or 'more entertaining' or 'more interesting' than you are to me." You search her eyes, willing her to believe you. "And no one," you add, "no one makes me feel the way I feel when I’m with you. Not then. And definitely not now."

Her eyes search yours, wide and luminous, and you can see the emotions warring within them: surprise, disbelief, and then, slowly, a dawning, fragile hope. A single tear escapes and traces a path down her cheek, and you reach up, your thumb gently brushing it away, your touch lingering on her soft skin for just a heartbeat longer than necessary.

"When… when we met again," she begins, so fragile you have to lean in slightly to catch it. "That day on the street? All those… those old feelings…" She swallows hard, her gaze dropping to her hands, now twisting in her lap. "They just… they came rushing back. All of them. And I thought… I really thought I was over it. Over you." She attempts a small, shaky laugh that doesn't quite land. "So stupid. I’m a grown woman, a K-Pop idol, for crying out loud. I shouldn’t be… I shouldn’t be feeling like a confused teenager all over again just because my childhood crush reappeared."

She tries to continue, her lips parting, but the words seem to catch in her throat. Her brow furrows in frustration, and she shakes her head, a gesture of helpless self-reproach. "I… I can’t even…" Another aborted attempt. She looks up at you, her eyes swimming with unshed tears, a look of utter bewilderment on her face. "I'm sorry," she blurts out. "I don’t even know what I’m talking about anymore. It must be the wine. It’s making me all… emotional and stupid." She gestures vaguely, a hand fluttering near her chest. "I’m probably ruining everything, aren't I? Just… ignore me. I’m being ridiculous." She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, as if trying to physically block out her own chaotic emotions.

And in that instant, watching her so raw, so vulnerable, so utterly terrified of her own feelings (feelings that mirror your own chaotic internal landscape so perfectly) something inside you just… snaps. All the overthinking, all the caution, all the years of unspoken longing, converge into a single, undeniable impulse. The wine, the dim lights, the confessions, her tear-streaked face so close to yours… it’s a perfect storm, and you’re right in the eye of it. To hell with professionalism, to hell with the risks, to hell with everything but the raw, undeniable truth thrumming between you.

Before you can second-guess it, before your internal HR department can scream bloody murder, you lean forward and kiss her.

It’s not a gentle, tentative kiss. It’s clumsy, desperate, fueled by years of pent-up emotion and too much wine. Your lips meet hers, and for a split second, she’s completely still, a statue beneath your sudden onslaught. Her eyes fly open, wide and startled, pupils blown huge in the dim light, reflecting a pure, unadulterated shock. You feel the soft, unexpected give of her lips, the faint taste of wine and something uniquely Jimin, a taste you realize, with a jolt, you’ve been subconsciously craving for more than half your life.

For a horrifying moment, you think you’ve made a monumental mistake. Idiot! You absolute, unmitigated idiot! your brain screams. You’ve broken her! You’ve ruined everything! The irony of her exact words now applying to your actions is not lost on you, even in your panic.

But then, just as you’re about to pull away, to stammer out a mortified apology, something shifts. Her eyelids flutter closed. A tiny, almost inaudible sigh escapes her, a breath she seems to have been holding for a lifetime. And then, slowly, tentatively, she gives in. Her lips soften against yours, responding with a hesitant pressure that builds, her body relaxing slightly against the sofa cushions. The kiss deepens, still a little clumsy, still a little desperate, but now with an undeniable mutuality, a shared exploration of a boundary crossed together.

When you finally, breathlessly, pull apart, the silence in the room is deafening. You stare at her, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. Her eyes are still closed for a moment, her lashes dark against her flushed cheeks. Then they slowly open, and she just… stares back at you, her expression unreadable, dazed, her lips slightly swollen and glistening. You can’t breathe. You can’t think. You can only watch her, bracing for the fallout.

And then, her face crumples. Her lower lip trembles, and her carefully constructed composure shatters completely. A choked sob escapes her, and fat, silent tears begin to stream down her cheeks, unheeded. It’s not the reaction you were hoping for. It’s definitely not the reaction you were hoping for.

"Oh, god, Jimin, I…" Panic, cold and sharp, seizes you. You have ruined it. "I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have… I just… I’m an idiot. Please, don’t cry. I’m so, so sorry." The words tumble out, a frantic, jumbled apology.

She shakes her head, swiping at her tears with the back of her hand, though more quickly follow. "No," she whispers. "No, it’s… it’s okay." And then, to your utter astonishment, she launches herself at you, her arms wrapping around your neck, burying her face in your shoulder, her body trembling with silent sobs. You instinctively wrap your arms around her, holding her close, your mind reeling.

"I… I liked it," she mumbles into your shirt, her voice muffled but audible. "I really did." She pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes red-rimmed but shining with a confusing mix of emotions. "It’s just… it’s all… it’s a lot. Everything. All at once. Coming back. I feel… I feel kind of weird." She lets out another shaky laugh that sounds more like a sob. "Overwhelmed, I guess."

Fuck. She liked it. She actually liked it. You haven't irrevocably destroyed your friendship, your job, and your chances of ever experiencing joy again. Small victories. You gently shift on the plush sofa, pulling her more fully into your embrace until she’s settled somewhat in your lap, her side tucked against your chest. It feels incredibly intimate, yet also profoundly comforting. You rest your cheek against the top of her head, her hair soft against your skin, smelling faintly of her shampoo. After a few long minutes, her trembling stops. She lets out a deep, shuddering sigh and slowly lifts her head from your shoulder. Her eyes are still puffy, her cheeks tear-stained, but there’s a new calmness in her expression, a fragile sort of peace. She looks at you, her gaze soft and searching.

Then, a small, watery smile touches her lips. She reaches up, her hand, so small and delicate, coming to rest on your cheek. Her thumb gently strokes your skin.

"You know," she whispers. "for someone who claims to be an idiot…" Her smile widens, a genuine, almost dazzling Jimin-smile breaking through the tear-stained landscape of her face. "You’re not always wrong."

And then, before you can even process that, before you can form a coherent thought or even remember how to breathe properly, she leans in, her eyes fluttering closed, and kisses you.

This time, there’s no surprise, no hesitation. It’s a kiss that is both a question and an answer, a culmination and a beginning. It’s soft, tender, yet filled with an undercurrent of all those years of unspoken feelings, of rediscovered emotions, of the undeniable, terrifying, exhilarating truth that is thrumming between you. It’s a kiss that tastes of wine, and tears, and a hope so potent it makes your head spin.

When she pulls back, her eyes are galaxies, dark and swirling with emotion, a universe you’re only just beginning to navigate. A delighted, slightly breathless giggle escapes her, then you’re laughing too, a shared, giddy sound that bounces off the walls of her apartment.

"Wow," she whispers, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "This… this really happened, didn't it?" Her eyes search yours, looking for confirmation in a world that suddenly feels wonderfully, terrifyingly new.

"It really, really did," you affirm. The air between you is no longer just charged; it’s practically incandescent, thrumming with a potent energy that makes the hairs on your arms stand on end. The earlier nervousness hasn’t vanished, but it’s been transmuted into something else. She leans her forehead against yours for a moment, just breathing, then pulls back slightly, her eyes alight.

Her fingers, still feather-light against your skin, drift down from your jaw to the collar of your shirt. She toys with the fabric, a slow, deliberate movement, her gaze fixed on yours. The city lights outside paint her in hues of gold and shadow, making her look even more ethereal, more achingly beautiful.

"You know," she says, "you haven't, uh… you haven't seen my room yet." Her eyes flick towards a hallway leading off the main living area, then back to yours.

Your own breath hitches. You try to swallow, your throat suddenly dry. "No, I haven't," you manage. You search her eyes, needing to be absolutely sure. "Would you… would you like to show me?"

A slow, devastatingly beautiful smile spreads across her face. It’s a smile of pure, unadulterated desire, mixed with a touch of that endearing shyness that still clings to her, even now. "Yes," she breathes. "Yes, I really would."

That’s all the confirmation you need. In one fluid movement you lean forward, sliding one arm beneath her knees, the other around her back. You lift her effortlessly from the sofa, her gasp of surprise quickly turning into a delighted laugh as she instinctively wraps her arms around your neck, her legs around your waist. She feels impossibly light, yet incredibly solid in your arms, a perfect, intoxicating weight. And then you’re kissing her again, deeply, hungrily, the earlier tenderness now ignited with a fiercer, more demanding passion.

"Which way?" you murmur against her mouth, your lips still brushing hers.

"That way," she whispers, gesturing with a slight tilt of her head down the hallway, never breaking the kiss, her fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer.

You carry her through the apartment, your steps sure and steady despite the roaring in your ears and the way your heart is trying to beat its way out of your chest. Each step feels monumental, a journey into uncharted territory. She guides you with soft murmurs and the pressure of her body against yours, her kisses becoming more urgent, more demanding, her breath coming in soft, quick gasps against your skin.

Her bedroom is at the end of the hall. She reaches out a hand, fumbling for the doorknob, then pushes it open. You step inside, and the world seems to tilt again. The room is bathed in a soft, ambient glow from the city outside, filtered through sheer curtains, creating an atmosphere that is both intimate and dreamlike. It’s perfect.

You carry her over to the bed, your lips still locked with hers, a desperate, continuous kiss that speaks of years of unspoken longing. Gently, reverently, you lower her onto the soft duvet, following her down, bracing yourself on your hands on either side of her head. You break the kiss, just for a moment, to gaze down at her. Her eyes are dark and dilated, her lips swollen and flushed from your kisses, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She is, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

"God, Jimin," you breathe. You lower your head, burying your face in the soft skin of her neck, inhaling her scent, feeling the frantic pulse throbbing beneath your lips. "You are so unbelievably beautiful." You kiss the delicate curve where her neck meets her shoulder, then trail a line of slow, deliberate kisses up towards her ear. "The most beautiful girl in the world," you whisper, your lips brushing her earlobe. "You always have been. Always."

A soft, shuddering moan escapes her as you continue your exploration, your lips and tongue tracing patterns on her sensitive skin, tasting the salt and sweetness of her. Her breathing becomes more irregular, deeper, her fingers tightening in your hair, her hips starting to shift restlessly beneath you. You feel her arch into your touch, a silent plea for more.

Your hands, which have been resting on the bed beside her, begin their own exploration. They find the hem of her soft, oversized sweater, your fingers brushing against the warm, pale skin of her stomach beneath it. Her skin is like silk, radiating a heat that sets your own nerves on fire. You tug at the sweater gently, slowly, agonizingly, your eyes locked on hers, watching her reaction. Her eyelids are heavy, her lips parted, a look of pure, unadulterated anticipation on her face. With a final, deliberate pull, you slide the sweater up and over her head, tossing it carelessly aside.

And there they are.

Her breasts, even constrained by the delicate lace of her bra, are undeniably magnificent. Full, heavy, spilling slightly from the cups, their pale, creamy expanse a stark, breathtaking contrast to the dark fabric. You can see the gentle slope, the promise of their weight. Your own breath hitches in your throat. This is the reality of Karina, of Jimin, laid bare before you, a sight you’ve only dared to dream of in your most secret, most forbidden fantasies.

You take off your shoes, kicking them aside, never taking your eyes off her. As you reach for the hem of your own shirt, your fingers fumbling with the buttons in your haste, you see her hands move to her back. With a deft, practiced movement, she unhooks her bra. She holds it in place for a moment longer, her gaze locking with yours, a shy, almost vulnerable smile playing on her lips.

"I… I hope you like them," she whispers.

Then, with a deep breath, she lets the bra fall away.

Your world stops. Absolutely, irrevocably stops. Her breasts are… perfect. More than perfect. They are everything you've ever imagined, and so much more. They are large, gloriously full, spilling into her hands as she cups them for a moment, as if presenting a sacred offering. The skin is so pale it seems almost luminous in the dim light, smooth and flawless, save for the faint blue veins tracing delicate patterns just beneath the surface, hinting at the life and warmth within. Her areolas are a dusky rose, wide and perfectly formed, and at their centers, her nipples, a deeper, more insistent pink, are already hard and erect, puckered tight, practically begging for your touch, for your mouth. They look so incredibly soft, so utterly… juicy, for lack of a better, more reverent word.

You’re mesmerized, completely transfixed, your throat dry, your mind blissfully, wonderfully blank save for the overwhelming, primal need to touch, to taste, to worship. After what feels like an eternity, but is probably only a few seconds, you slowly reach out a trembling hand. Your fingers make contact with the warm, yielding softness of her right breast. She gasps softly as you cup its weight, your thumb brushing over the taut, sensitive peak of her nipple. So warm. So unbelievably soft. You gently squeeze, a possessive, reverent pressure, and a low moan rumbles in her chest, vibrating against your palm.

She lies back fully on the bed then, her arms stretching above her head, her body an open, trusting invitation. You quickly shed your shirt, your movements urgent, driven by a desire that is rapidly consuming every last shred of your self-control. You climb onto the bed, positioning yourself above her, your knees on either side of her hips, your gaze still fixed on the breathtaking sight of her bare, beautiful breasts.

And then, you lower your head and take one of those perfect, pink nipples into your mouth.

She cries out, a sharp, breathless sound that is pure, unadulterated pleasure, her back arching off the bed, her fingers digging into your shoulders. Her breast fills your mouth, the taste of her skin, salty and sweet, intoxicating. You suck gently at first, then more strongly, your tongue laving, teasing, drawing the hardened peak deeper. She is melting beneath you, writhing, her hips starting to buck a little, a silent plea for more.

"Oh, god," she gasps. "Yes… fuck, yes… right there… they’re so… so sensitive…" Her words are broken, punctuated by moans and sharp intakes of breath. "Please… don’t stop… keep going… it’s… it’s making me so fucking horny…"

You shift your attention to her other breast, giving it the same devoted worship, laving, sucking, gently nipping, while your hand continues to squeeze and caress the one you just abandoned, ensuring both are bathed in sensation. You can feel the frantic thrumming of her heart against your chest, the heat radiating from her skin, the way her entire body is trembling, on the verge of completely unraveling. You lift your head for a moment, just to look at her, at the sight of her, utterly consumed by lust, her eyes half-closed, her lips parted, her beautiful breasts flushed and glistening from your attention. This is Jimin. This is Karina. And she is yours, in this moment, completely and utterly yours to worship, to pleasure, to drive absolutely insane.

You continue your worship of her breasts, alternating between them, lavishing each with an equal, fervent devotion. One hand cradles the breast you’re not currently feasting on, your thumb flicking, teasing the already hard nipple, while your mouth works its magic on its twin. You suck strongly, drawing the peak deep, feeling the responsive tug in her body, the way her hips tilt upwards, seeking a friction that isn’t there yet.

"Fuck, yes," she pants, her fingers still tangled in your hair, now gripping, almost painfully tight, but you welcome the anchor in the storm of sensation you’re both caught in. "They’re so… oh god… so good… your mouth…"

You lift your head for a moment, your lips slick, your gaze devouring the sight of her: her chest flushed a deep rose, her nipples impossibly tight, glistening with your saliva, already looking delightfully, beautifully ravaged.

"Yours are the best, Jimin," you growl. "Perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect. I could suck on these gorgeous tits all night."

A choked laugh, half sob, half pure ecstasy, bubbles from her throat. "Please do… God, yes… you suck so fucking well…"

You dive back in, attacking her nipples with renewed ferocity, sucking, licking, nipping gently with your teeth, drawing out her moans. You leave your marks, faint red circles blooming on her pale skin where your lips have been. Her breasts are indeed glistening, slick with your drool and her own faint sheen of sweat. She’s thrashing beneath you now, no longer trying to control her reactions, her head tossing from side to side on the pillows, her breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps. Each pull of your mouth seems to send shivers racking through her entire frame.

Slowly, reluctantly, you drag your mouth away from her sensitive breasts, leaving them flushed, swollen, and thoroughly worshipped. Her soft whimper of protest is cut short as you begin to trail a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses down the center of her torso, over the subtle curve of her ribcage, across the quivering expanse of her flat, pale stomach. Each kiss is deliberate, lingering, your tongue flicking out to taste her skin. You feel the muscles in her abdomen clench and flutter beneath your lips.

"Don’t stop," she whispers, her hands now gripping the bedsheets on either side of her. "Please… whatever you’re doing… just… more."

You continue your downward pilgrimage, your lips brushing against the waistband of her lounge pants. They’re soft, loose-fitting, and offer little resistance as your fingers find the drawstring. With a deft tug, you loosen it, then slowly, agonizingly slowly, begin to slide the fabric down her hips, revealing the delicate curve of her hipbone, the smooth, pale skin of her thighs. Your hands skim down her legs, pushing the pants further, until they’re pooled around her ankles. You kick them impatiently off the end of the bed, your gaze fixed on the prize they were concealing.

Her panties. A tiny scrap of pale pink lace, stretched taut across the apex of her thighs, already dark with her wetness. Her thighs, usually so strong and toned from years of dancing, are trembling uncontrollably now, a fine sheen of moisture glistening on their pale inner surfaces. The musky scent of her arousal is stronger here. You can practically feel the heat radiating from between her legs.

"Look at you," you murmur as you trail your fingers along the damp lace, feeling the heat and moisture seeping through. "So wet for me already, aren’t you, babe? Fucking dripping."

A broken sob escapes her. "Yes… oh god, yes… please… I need…" She can’t even finish the sentence, her body arching, her hips instinctively grinding against the mattress.

You pull the panties down, slowly, inch by agonizing inch, revealing her to your hungry gaze.

And she is, as you knew she would be, perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect. Her shaved pussy is nestled between her thighs, a delicate, swollen mound. The outer lips are plump, flushed a deep, inviting pink, already glistening with her slick, arousal-heavy dew. They part slightly as you watch, revealing the even pinker, more tender flesh within, and the glint of her clit, a tiny, perfect pearl peeking out, already engorged and throbbing. This is the core of her, the secret, hidden place you’ve only ever dreamed of, now laid bare for your worship.

You shift your position, moving from beside her to kneel between her parted thighs. They tremble slightly as you settle there, and she lets out a shaky breath, her eyes, dark and wide, fixed on yours. There’s a beautiful, terrifying vulnerability in her gaze, a silent plea that makes your cock ache with an almost painful intensity. But you’re not going to rush this. Oh no. This moment, this offering, is too precious, too long-awaited. She needs to feel every second of this descent into pleasure, every nuance of her own burgeoning, desperate need. You’re going to make her burn for it. You’re going to make her beg.

"You are so fucking beautiful, Jimin," you murmur. Your gaze drops from her eyes to the glistening treasure nestled between her thighs, then deliberately, slowly, travels to the pale, trembling skin of her inner thigh. "So incredibly, exquisitely responsive."

Instead of diving straight for her pussy, as every instinct screams at you to do, you lean down and press a soft, lingering kiss to the delicate skin high on her inner left thigh, just inches from that wet, waiting heat. She gasps, her whole body jerking, her thighs instinctively trying to clench together, but you gently hold them apart, your hands firm but gentle on her hips.

"Easy now," you whisper against her skin, your breath hot. "Don't want to miss any of this, do we?"

You trail another kiss, then another, working your way in a slow, agonizing circle around that central, beckoning core, never quite touching it, but always promising it. Your tongue darts out, tasting the faint saltiness of her skin, the faintest hint of her arousal that has already slicked even this far out. With each kiss, each lick against her thigh, you feel her tremors intensify. Her fingers are fisted in the bedsheets, her knuckles white.

"What… what are you doing?" she pants. "Please… you’re… you’re driving me crazy."

"Am I, babe?" you purr, your lips brushing the impossibly soft skin just beside one of her swollen, pink outer lips. You can smell her now, that rich, musky, uniquely feminine scent of pure, unadulterated horniness, and it’s making you lightheaded, drunk on her desire. "Driving you crazy how? Tell me." You dip your tongue out again, this time lapping up a stray droplet of her slick wetness that has trickled onto her thigh. Her taste… fuck, it’s even better than you imagined. Sweet, tangy, utterly addictive. You groan softly into her skin. "Oh, you taste so fucking good right here… just a hint of what’s waiting for me."

"Please…" she begs. "Don’t… don’t tease me like this. I can’t… I can’t take it." Her hips are starting to move now, a small, involuntary rocking motion, trying to seek out the pressure of your mouth.

"Can't take what, Jimin?" you ask. You drag your open mouth slowly up her inner thigh, leaving a wet trail, then switch to the other, lavishing it with the same agonizingly slow attention. You can feel the heat pouring off her in waves. "You need to tell me what you want. Use your words, baby. You want me to stop?" You deliberately pull back a fraction of an inch, letting the cool air hit her heated skin, and she whimpers, a raw, frustrated sound.

"No! No, don’t stop, please, whatever you do, don’t stop," she cries. "I want… I want your mouth. There. Please. I need it. I’m so wet for you, can’t you feel it? Can’t you taste it?" Her words are a torrent now, the carefully constructed composure of Karina completely shattered, leaving only the raw, needy core of Jimin. "I’m aching… I’m fucking aching for your tongue, please… just… just eat me out. Suck my clit. Please, I’m begging you."

Her plea is music to your ears. She’s so close, so desperate. But you’re not quite done with her yet. You want her utterly, completely undone.

"Beg me how, sweet girl?" you murmur, your lips now hovering directly over her glistening, swollen clit, your hot breath fanning the sensitive nub. She gasps, her whole body seizing. "Tell me how badly you need it. Tell me what a good girl you’ll be if I finally give you what you’re craving. Convince me." The strategic irony here is that you're already convinced, already harder than you've ever been in your life, but the game, the sight of her unraveling at your command, It's the best feeling in the world.

"I’ll be so good," she sobs, her thighs trembling violently now, threatening to clamp shut around your head. "So fucking good for you. I’ll do anything. Anything you want. Just please… please put your mouth on me. I’m dying here. I need to feel your tongue… I need you to make me cum… I’m so close… Please, babe, suck me… suck me like you mean it…"

Her words, that broken, desperate plea to be eaten out, are the only permission you need. You lower your head, your hair brushing against the pale skin of her inner thighs, and finally, finally, you give in. You press your mouth fully against her, parting her slick, swollen lips with your own, and your tongue finds her clit. A sound is torn from her throat, a high, sharp keen that’s half shock and half pure, unadulterated pleasure. Her entire body jolts as if struck by lightning, her hips slamming upwards into your face in a single, convulsive movement. The taste of her floods your senses, and it's everything. It’s not just the sweet, tangy flavor of her arousal you'd already sampled from her thighs; it's deeper, muskier, the very essence of her, and it's intoxicating.

You're instantly, hopelessly addicted. You begin slowly, a reverent worship. Your tongue is soft, exploratory, lapping at her gently, learning the landscape of her. You trace the delicate shape of her outer lips, then dip inside to swirl around the plump, sensitive inner folds before focusing on that hardened pearl of her clit.

"Oh, god..." she breathes, her hands flying up to tangle in your hair, not pulling, just holding on as if she might float away. "Yes... that's..."

You hum against her, a low, deep vibration that you feel travel through her entire body. She lets out another soft cry. Her muscles are still coiled with tension, but it's the tension of overwhelming sensation, not desperation. She is melting, and you are the cause.

"Just relax for me, baby," you murmur against her slick flesh. "Just let me taste you. You're so perfect."

You settle in, continuing the slow, deliberate worship. For long minutes, this is all that exists: the sound of your mouth against her, her soft, breathy moans, and the rich, intoxicating taste of her on your tongue. Her hips are no longer bucking but have settled into a slow, swaying rhythm, rocking against your mouth in time with the gentle lapping of your tongue. She has given you control, and you intend to savor it. You can feel the change when her body becomes fully accustomed to the pleasure, when the slow worship is no longer enough. Her gentle sways become more insistent, her breath hitches with a new need, and her fingers tighten in your hair, this time with a subtle, pleading tug. She wants more. And you are going to make her beg for it.

You shift your technique, beginning the torture. You pull your mouth away from her clit, trailing your tongue down along the slick valley between her labia. She whimpers in protest, her hips pushing up, seeking the focused pressure you just denied her.

"Shhh," you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to one of her swollen inner lips. "So much to taste here. Can't rush."

You proceed to lavish attention on every other part of her, everywhere but the one place she is dying for you to be. You lick the plump flesh of her lips, suck gently on the inner folds, your tongue darting out to trace the rim of her opening, dipping just the very tip inside before pulling away. With every near-miss, a frustrated cry is torn from her throat.

"Please..." she pants, her hips rocking more frantically now. "Please... you're... you're driving me crazy. My clit... I need you there."

"Here?" you ask. You flick your tongue directly over the sensitive nub one time, fast and hard. She yelps, her whole body convulsing. Then you pull away again, moving to trace lazy circles on the sensitive skin around her. "You liked that, didn't you? Tell me how much you liked it."

"Yes! Fuck, yes, I loved it," she sobs. "Please, do it again. Don't tease me... I can't take it. Just... just suck it, please."

"Beg me," you command softly, your hot breath ghosting over her clit, making her shiver. "Tell me exactly what you want my mouth to do to you. I want to hear how desperate you are for it."

She’s a mess, completely undone by your teasing. "I'm so desperate for you," she cries, her words tumbling over each other. "I need your tongue on my clit. I need you to suck on it, hard. Lick me until I can't think. Please, I'm begging you. I'll do anything. Just go back there. I feel like I'm going to die if you don't."

Her plea is everything you wanted. You slide your mouth back over her, but instead of the hard pressure she's begging for, you give her the opposite. You open your mouth wide, your tongue flat, and you just... lick. Long, slow, deliberate strokes from the base of her mound, up over her clit, all the way to her perineum, and back down again. It’s a broad, wet, agonizingly gentle sensation.

"No..." she groans, a sound of pure frustration. "Harder... please, you have to do it harder."

"I don't have to do anything, baby," you murmur, continuing the slow, torturous laps. "I'm in control here. You'll take it how I give it to you. And right now, I want to feel you squirm."

She thrashes beneath you, so close to the edge but held back by your deliberate restraint. Her nails are digging into your scalp now, not painfully, but with a frantic urgency. It’s time to escalate. It's time to break her completely. While continuing the slow, steady rhythm of your tongue, you slide one hand down between her thighs. Her skin is flushed and hot to the touch. Your fingers find her entrance, already slick and gaping, practically weeping with need. You slide one finger inside her.

She screams, a raw, ragged sound, as the new sensation of being filled sends a fresh shockwave through her system. She’s so tight, so hot, clenching around your finger instantly. You push your finger deeper, feeling the texture of her inner walls, the way she convulses around you.

"That's it, Jimin," you praise, your voice muffled against her. "Take my finger. Feel how wet you are? Fucking dripping for me."

Now you change the rhythm of your tongue, finally giving her the focused attention she craved. You suck her clit into your mouth, your tongue working fast and hard, while your finger inside her establishes a steady in-and-out rhythm. The dual sensations are too much. She is completely lost.

"Fuck! Yes, both..." she gasps. "It's… it's too much… I'm going to…"

You add a second finger, stretching her, filling her more completely. She cries out again, her back arching so high off the bed it's a perfect, strained bow. Her pussy milks your fingers, slick and greedy. You can feel the muscles deep inside her starting to flutter, the tell-tale sign that her orgasm is gathering strength.

"You feel that, baby?" you ask, curling your fingers inside her, rubbing them against the nub of her g-spot. "My tongue on your clit, my fingers deep in your cunt. Does that feel good?"

"So good!" she screams. "It feels so fucking good! I'm so close, don't stop, please, please don't stop!"

You are her entire world now. She is aware of nothing but your mouth and your fingers, driving her towards the abyss. You increase the pace of everything. Your tongue is a frantic engine on her clit, sucking, flicking, laving. Your fingers pump in and out of her relentlessly. You can feel the final tension coiling in her body, a string stretched to its breaking point. Her breath comes in short, sharp gasps, and her moans have become a single, continuous, high-pitched keen.

"I'm going to make you come so hard, Jimin," you growl into her. "You're going to scream my name. Get ready."

You feel it start, the first deep, internal clench around your fingers. Her entire body goes rigid.

"I'm cumming! Oh fuck, I'm cumming! I'm cummmmming!"

Her scream is primal as her orgasm rips through her, a violent, world-shattering release. Her body convulses, her hips slamming up against your mouth in a desperate, uncontrollable rhythm. Her juices gush out of her, hot and thick, flooding your mouth with the sweet, musky taste of her release. You swallow greedily, catching every single drop as her body is wracked by wave after wave of intense pleasure. You don't stop your ministrations, gentling your touch now, your tongue soothing her hypersensitive clit, your fingers massaging her inner walls as the aftershocks ripple through her.

Slowly, her body goes limp, collapsing back onto the mattress. She’s trembling from head to toe, her chest rising and falling in deep, ragged pants. Her eyes are squeezed shut, tears leaking from the corners, her face flushed a deep crimson. You finally lift your head, your chin and lips slick with her, and look at the masterpiece of your work.

You lean down, capturing her mouth in a soft, lingering kiss. It’s a stark contrast to the hungry, desperate kisses you shared before. This one is tender. She moans softly into your mouth, and you taste it: the lingering, musky sweetness of her own climax. She tastes it too, a jolt going through her body as she recognizes herself on your tongue. A faint blush rises on her already flushed cheeks, a mix of shy embarrassment and burgeoning arousal.

You pull back just enough to gaze down at her. Her hair is a wild halo around her head, her lips are swollen, her eyes are still dazed and beautifully unfocused. She is the most magnificent thing you have ever seen.

"You look so beautiful like this," you say. "Completely undone for me."

"You're an asshole," she whispers, but there’s no heat in it, only a deep, lingering pleasure. "Don't you ever tease me like that again." As she says it, she shifts, leaning up just enough to press her teeth against the side of your neck in a playful, possessive bite. It’s not hard, just a firm pressure.

You chuckle, then pepper her cheeks with soft kisses. "I'm sorry," you say, not sounding sorry at all. "I couldn't help it." You lean in close, your lips brushing her ear. "Hearing you beg for me, Jimin… hearing you lose control and tell me how much you needed it… it makes me fucking crazy. It’s addictive. I don't think I'll ever get enough of it."

Her breath hitches. Your words, your confession that her submission drives you wild, are exactly what she needs to hear. As you pull back, her eyes, now clear and focused, glitter with a new, dangerous kind of light. Her hand slides from your cheek, down your chest, over your stomach, coming to rest directly on the hard ridge of your cock through the denim of your jeans. Her fingers close around you, a firm, knowing grip that makes you hiss through your teeth. She squeezes, feeling the full, thick length of your cock straining against the fabric.

A slow, devastatingly confident smile spreads across her face. "Addictive, huh?" she purrs, her voice regaining its strength. "I can beg for a lot more than that." Her gaze drops from your eyes to your crotch, then back up, her expression pure, unadulterated hunger. "And right now," she says, her grip tightening, "I really, really want your cock."

Her words are a command and a plea all in one. Without another word, you pull away from her, getting off the bed. Her eyes are wide, tracking your every move as you reach for the button on your jeans. You undo it, the sound loud in the quiet room, then slowly pull down the zipper. You never break eye contact. You hook your thumbs into the waistband and push the jeans down over your hips, kicking them off impatiently.

Now you stand before her in just your dark boxer briefs. The fabric does little to hide the truth, straining to contain the thick, heavy bulge of your erection. You see her eyes fixate on it, her lips parting slightly. A sharp intake of breath is the only sound she makes. She is, as you suspected, absolutely captivated.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear. "You wanted this, remember?" you ask. You drag the fabric down slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until your cock springs free, heavy and thick in the dim light.

Jimin lets out a long, shuddering sigh. It’s a sound of pure awe. Your cock is fully hard, glistening with a bead of clear, slick precum. It’s big, bigger than she probably imagined, and her eyes trace its length, from the heavy weight of your balls to the thick shaft and the promising, wet tip.

You don't give her too long to just look. You move back to the bed, climbing on and positioning yourself between her parted legs. They tremble slightly as you settle in, her thighs falling open to grant you full access. She's still so beautifully wrecked, so open and waiting for you. You take your cock in your hand, stroking it slowly, the pre-cum making your skin slick. You want her to watch. You want her to see exactly what is about to fill that empty, aching space inside her.

"Wait," you say. The thought hits you, a brief flash of real-world responsibility in this haze of lust. "Condoms. We should..."

"No," she says immediately, her voice firm, cutting you off. She shakes her head, her eyes blazing with a fierce, undeniable need. "No. I don't care about that right now. I need to feel you. All of you. I just want to feel your dick inside me. Now."

You hesitate, searching her face. "Jimin, are you sure?"

"Yes," she moans. Her hips arch off the bed, a desperate, silent invitation. "Please. I'm on birth control. Just… please, I need it. Don't make me wait anymore."

That's all you need. Her certainty, her raw need, erases any doubt. But you’re not going to let her off that easy. The teasing isn't over yet. You lean forward, bracing your hands on either side of her head, and lower your body until the tip of your cock is pressed against her. She gasps as the heat of you makes contact with her slick, swollen folds. She is unbelievably wet, her juices from her earlier orgasm making a perfect lubricant.

"So wet for me," you murmur, grinding the head of your cock against her clit. "You want this cock so badly, don't you?"

"Yes! Please, just put it in," she begs, her hands fisted in the bedsheets.

You ignore her plea, continuing the agonizing tease. You slide the head of your cock up and down her slit, gliding through her slickness, letting her feel your thickness, your hardness, but denying her the entry she craves. With every pass, she whimpers, her body straining, trying to force you inside her.

"Look at you," you whisper. "Trying to impale yourself on my cock. You can't wait, can you?"

"I can't," she sobs. "It feels so good… just the tip… please, I need to feel all of it. I need you to stretch me. Fill me up."

"Then you know what you have to do," you say, pausing your movements, holding the head of your cock right at her entrance, a promise and a threat. "Beg for it. Beg me to fuck your tight, wet pussy. Tell me how much you need this cock inside you."

"Please," she cries. "Please fuck me. I'm begging you. I need your cock. I need it inside my pussy right now. Please, I'll be so good for you, just fuck me!"

Her desperate, broken plea is the most beautiful sound you've ever heard. "Good girl," you praise.

And then you give her what she's begged for. You shift your hips, aiming the thick head of your cock at her entrance.

You push.

The feeling is indescribable. You stop, buried deep inside her, and the world just… ceases to exist. There is only this. The sensation is overwhelming, a sensory overload that shorts out every coherent thought in your brain. Her pussy is a revelation. It’s impossibly tight, a velvet clench around your entire length, gripping you with an intimate pressure that’s both demanding and welcoming. It’s slick, her juices coating your cock in a hot, wet sheen that makes every tiny shift an act of pure friction and pleasure. And it’s so, so hot, a deep, internal heat that feels like it’s seeping right into your bones.

Jimin lets out a choked, shuddering gasp, her eyes squeezed shut as her body tries to process the feeling of being so completely and utterly filled like this. Her inner walls pulse and clench around you, an involuntary, welcoming spasm that nearly makes you come right then and there. You have to clench every muscle in your body to hold back.

"Fuck, Jimin..." you groan. "You feel... I don't even have words. You feel so fucking perfect."

"You're so big," she whispers, her voice trembling. Her hands come up to rest on your chest, her fingers pressing into your skin. "You... you fill me up completely. I can feel you all the way inside me."

"I want to feel every inch of you," you say. You begin to move, but not in the hard, fast way you're both craving. Not yet. You pull back, agonizingly slowly, until just the thick head of your cock is inside her. She whimpers, a raw sound of protest at the loss, her hips lifting instinctively to follow you. Then, just as slowly, you push back in, letting her feel the full length of you sliding home once more.

"Oh, god," she moans, her head tossing on the pillows. "That... that feels..."

"I know," you say, continuing the slow, torturous rhythm. In and out. A deep, deliberate friction that is designed to let both of you savor every millimeter of contact. "I want you to feel all of it. Every time I slide into your tight, wet pussy. I want you to remember this feeling forever."

You do this for what feels like an eternity, just fucking her slowly, deeply, letting the tension build to a fever pitch. Her initial awe begins to melt away, replaced by a raw, hungry lust. Her hips are no longer just receiving you; she’s starting to push back, meeting your slow thrusts with an eagerness that makes your blood run hot. She’s ready.

"Okay, baby," you rasp, grabbing her hips firmly, your thumbs digging into the soft flesh above her hipbones. "You wanted this. Now you're going to get it."

You change the rhythm. Your thrusts become hard, deep, and punishing. You slam into her, your cock slapping against her wet folds, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing in the quiet room. You fuck her with a desperate, pent-up energy, each thrust driving you deeper, stretching her, filling her completely.

And she loves it. She cries out with every powerful slam of your hips, her legs wrapping around your waist to pull you even deeper. Her head is thrown back, her neck arched, a long, continuous moan spilling from her parted lips. This is what you’ve both been waiting for.

You watch her as you fuck her, your gaze devouring the sight of her. And her breasts… fuck, her breasts are perfect. With every hard thrust, they bounce, a heavy, hypnotic jiggle that mesmerizes you. They are large and full, their weight made obvious by the way they sway and tremble with the force of your fucking. Her nipples, still hard and puckered from your earlier attention, are a deep, flushed pink, pointing right at you as if in offering.

"Look at them," you pant, your voice strained with effort and lust. "Look at your perfect tits bouncing for me. Every time I fuck you."

She glances down, a dazed, lust-filled smile spreading across her face as she watches the motion. "Fuck..." she breathes. "They're… they're so heavy…"

"I love how they move," you say, never breaking your rhythm. "I want to see them bounce harder."

You increase your pace, pounding into her with a relentless, frantic energy. You’re lost in it now, lost in the feeling of her tight, wet heat, the sight of her beautiful body taking you, the sound of her cries filling the air.

"More!" she screams. "Please, don't stop! Fuck me harder! I need it harder!"

"Like this, baby?" you growl, slamming into her with as much force as you can muster. "You want your pussy fucked like this?"

"Yes! Oh god, yes!" she cries, her nails digging into your back, leaving fiery trails on your skin. "Your cock… it feels so fucking good inside me! It's hitting everything! Please… don't ever stop!"

You are both drenched in sweat, your bodies slick, moving together as one. You lean down, fucking her senseless, and she is taking every inch, begging for more. You press her deeper into the soft mattress, your combined weight creating a perfect hollow of heat and friction. You are buried inside her, a seamless join of wet, hot flesh, and yet you crave more. You need to consume her, to taste her, to feel her surrender in every way possible. You capture her lips, crashing your mouth against hers again. It’s not a tender kiss; it’s a rough, hungry claiming. It’s the kiss of two people who have starved for years and just found a feast.

She kisses you back with an equal, startling fervor. This isn’t a passive acceptance; it’s a demand. Her tongue pushes against yours, her hands leaving your back to tangle in your hair, pulling your mouth harder against hers. You are both lost in it, fucking and kissing, a closed circuit of overwhelming sensation. The deep, rhythmic plunge of your cock into her pussy is punctuated by the wet slap of your mouths, the soft, desperate moans she makes when you deepen the kiss, the guttural groans you can’t hold back when she sucks your tongue into her mouth. It’s filthy, it’s perfect, and it’s driving you both insane.

But it’s still not enough. You break the kiss, leaving her panting and breathless, her lips swollen and glistening. You look down at her, at the magnificent sight of her breasts, flushed and trembling with each powerful thrust of your hips. You need to taste them again. While maintaining the relentless, pounding rhythm of your fucking, you lower your head. Her skin is slick with a fine sheen of sweat, and it tastes salty and sweet as you lick a path from her collarbone down to the valley between her breasts.

"God, you're so beautiful," you rasp, your lips moving against her skin. "So fucking perfect."

You reach the peak of her right breast and take the nipple into your mouth. She screams, a high, sharp sound of pure ecstasy. The dual stimulation; the deep, stretching fullness of your cock filling her pussy while your mouth works its magic on her sensitive nipple: is too much for her nervous system to handle. Her back arches violently off the bed, trying to push herself deeper onto your cock and, somehow, press her breast harder into your mouth at the same time. You suck strongly, laving the hardened peak with your tongue, nipping gently with your teeth. Her moans change, deepening from pleasured cries into long, keening wails.

"Fuck! Oh, fuck, yes!" she gashes. "That… your mouth… while you're… inside me… it's too much! I can't…"

You switch to the other breast, giving it the same devoted attention, refusing to let either feel neglected. You feel the frantic thrumming of her heart against your chest, the way her entire body is trembling on the verge of completely unraveling. You continue to fuck her hard and fast, your hips a relentless engine of pleasure, your mouth a vortex of sensation on her breast. She is being attacked from all sides, besieged by a pleasure so intense it’s a breath away from pain.

"Please," she sobs. "Please, I need to… I need to cum. You have to let me."

You lift your head from her breast, your lips slick, and look her in the eyes. Her gaze is wild, unfocused, pupils blown wide. "You want to cum for me, baby?" you ask, not slowing your pace for a second. You drive into her, hard, and she cries out. "You want to feel my cock deep inside your pussy when you come?"

"Yes! Yes, please, I'm begging you!" she cries, her hips bucking wildly, trying to match your frantic rhythm. "I can't hold on anymore. It's so good… it's too good. Please, make me cum. Fuck me until I cum."

This is it. This is the surrender you crave, the sound you are addicted to. Her begging is the sweetest music you’ve ever heard. You lean in close, your mouth right next to her ear, your hot breath ghosting over her skin. You can feel the fine hairs on her neck stand on end.

"You're so close, aren't you?" you whisper. You feel her shiver violently. "I can feel your pussy clenching around my cock. It's getting tighter. You're about to fall apart for me."

"I am," she whimpers, turning her head, trying to capture your mouth with hers, but you deny her, wanting her to focus on your words, on your cock filling her. "Please… let me. Let me go."

"Then go," you command, grabbing her hips, lifting them slightly to change the angle, driving your cock into a spot deep inside her that makes her see stars. She lets out a sound you’ve never heard before, a raw, animalistic cry of pure sensation. "Let go for me, Jimin. Come for me. I want to feel you come all over my cock. I want to feel your pussy milk me while you scream my name. Cum for me now!"

The command, the raw filth of your words, combined with the relentless, punishing fucking, is what finally does it. You feel the first tremor deep inside her, the unmistakable sign that she's tipping over the edge.

"I'm gonna cum!” she screams, the sound exploding right next to your ear, a hot, vibrating wave of pure ecstasy. "OH FUCK, I’M CUMMING!!”

Her orgasm is a violent, beautiful storm. Her body convulses around you, her inner walls clenching and pulsing on your cock in a frantic, unstoppable rhythm. She throws her head back and screams, a long, ragged sound of pure, untethered release. Her hips slam against you, no longer in rhythm, just wild, spasmodic movements as the pleasure rips through her. You don't stop fucking her; you match her intensity, pounding into her as she comes, driving her deeper into her climax. You feel her hot juices flood her cunt, coating your cock in her release.

After what feels like an eternity, the violent convulsions begin to subside, replaced by deep, shuddering tremors. She collapses back onto the mattress, completely spent, a string of breathless, broken sobs escaping her lips. You slow your thrusts, moving in and out of her gently now, letting her ride the last waves of her pleasure. You pull out slowly, your cock slick and dripping with her essence, and collapse beside her, pulling her sweat-drenched body against yours. You are both trembling, both breathless, both utterly, completely undone.

You hold her, your bodies slick with sweat, tangled together in the rumpled sheets. You can feel the frantic, rabbit-fast beat of her heart starting to slow against your chest, her ragged pants gradually deepening into something more controlled. For a long moment, you just lie there, listening to the sound of your own breathing mingling with hers, feeling the aftershocks of her powerful orgasm tremble through her body. You press a soft kiss to her damp forehead, your thumb gently stroking her back.

After a few minutes, she stirs, letting out a long, contented sigh. She lifts her head from your chest, her hair a wild, beautiful mess, her face flushed and glowing.

"Hey," you whisper. "How are you feeling?"

She looks at you, her eyes still a little dazed, but shining with a bright, clear light. A slow, languid smile spreads across her face. "Great," she pants, the word a soft puff of air. She shifts, propping herself up on one elbow to look down at you. "No, that's… that's not the right word." She shakes her head, as if searching for a better one. "I've never… ever felt that good in my entire life. I feel… obliterated. In the best possible way." She reaches out, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "You made me cum so hard. I think my soul left my body for a minute."

"Good. That's what I was going for." You love seeing her like this, so completely sated, so open and unguarded. "So, I guess that answers my next question," you tease, your hand sliding down her back to cup her ass, squeezing gently. "Or do you think you can take any more?"

You expect her to laugh, to say she needs a break, to maybe curl up and fall asleep. But the look in her eye changes.

"More?" she says. She lets out a soft, throaty laugh. "Of course I can."

Before you can react, she moves with a sudden, surprising strength. She grabs your shoulders, pushing you firmly onto your back. You go willingly, sinking into the mattress, intrigued by this sudden shift in energy. She straddles your chest, her knees on either side of your head, and leans down, her face just inches from yours.

"But," she whispers, her hair falling around you like a dark curtain, "it's my turn now."

She pulls you up by your hands, maneuvering you until you're sitting up, then pushes you back down again until you're lying flat on your back in the center of the bed. She crawls over you, her movements fluid and deliberate. She settles over your hips, straddling you, her knees planted firmly on the mattress on either side of your body. The view is breathtaking. You look up at her, at the perfect, heavy swell of her breasts, the soft curve of her stomach, her pink, swollen pussy still slick with her juices.

She reaches down, her fingers wrapping around your still-hard cock. You hiss as her cool fingers touch your hot, sensitive skin. She strokes you slowly, once, twice, watching your reaction, her eyes glittering with newfound power.

"You liked making me beg, didn't you?" she asks. "You liked hearing how much I needed you." She leans down, her lips brushing against yours. "Well, now it's your turn to feel what it's like. To just lie there and take it."

She positions herself, guiding the thick, slick head of your cock to her entrance. You can see the muscles in her thighs tense as she prepares to take you. She lowers herself with agonizing slowness, her eyes locked on yours. You watch her face as she takes you in, her expression a mixture of intense concentration and dawning pleasure. Her lips part, a soft hiss escaping as the head of your cock slides past her wet folds. She sinks down, inch by excruciating inch, her tight, hot pussy swallowing you whole.

The feeling of her taking you, of her being in complete control, is a whole new kind of ecstasy. When she has taken your entire length, she sits still for a moment, letting you both get used to the feeling of being joined again in this new configuration.

Then, she begins to move. It’s not the hard, frantic fucking from before. This is different. This is pure, sensual control. She starts with a slow, deep grind, her hips rolling in a lazy, circular motion. You groan, your hands coming up to grip her hips, but she just smiles, placing her hands on top of yours, stilling them. "No," she whispers. "My turn, remember? Just lie back and enjoy the ride."

She moves with an innate, hypnotic rhythm, her hips swaying, rotating, grinding your cock against all of her most sensitive inner walls. You can do nothing but lie there, completely at her mercy, as she plays your body like an instrument. She leans forward, bracing her hands on your chest, her breasts dangling just inches from your face. She picks up the pace slightly, her slow grinds transitioning into a steady, sensual bounce. She rises up on your shaft, then sinks back down, her movements fluid and graceful. With every downward slide, she lets out a soft, contented sigh, her head falling back, her eyes closing in bliss. This is Jimin in her element, a performer, a dancer, and right now, you are her stage, and she is giving the performance of a lifetime, her hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles, grinding your cock against her deepest, most sensitive walls.

Each rotation sends a wave of exquisite friction through you, a pleasure so profound it’s almost agonizing. You can do nothing but lie there, a willing captive to her rhythm, your hands gripping the sheets at your sides to keep from grabbing her, from disrupting the perfect, hypnotic control she has established. Her head is thrown back, her eyes closed, a single, continuous, breathy moan spilling from her lips. She is completely lost in the sensation of filling herself with you, of being in total command.

It is, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing you have ever witnessed. The soft light from the window traces the elegant curve of her spine, the subtle flex of the muscles in her back and stomach as she moves. Her breasts, full and heavy, sway with each languid motion, their own mesmerizing dance. You watch, transfixed, as she smiles, a slow, secret smile of pure, selfish pleasure.

You can’t resist any longer. Your hands leave the sheets and come up to her, not to her hips to control her, but to her breasts. You cup their weight, your thumbs finding her still-puckered nipples. Her flesh is soft and warm, yielding to your touch. You squeeze gently, and her eyes fly open, locking with yours. Her moan deepens, becoming a throaty, guttural sound, and her hips grind down on you harder, a clear, unmistakable response. She likes it. She likes you touching her, worshiping her, even as she controls the fucking.

You continue to knead her breasts gently as she rides you, your thumbs flicking over her nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through her that you can feel in the way her pussy clenches around your cock. The combination of watching her, touching her, and feeling her move on you is an intoxicating cocktail of sensations.

She leans forward, bracing her hands on your chest, bringing her face close to yours. Her eyes are dark, swirling with a mixture of lust, power, and something else, something playful.

"Have you ever," she whispers as she continues her slow, steady bounce on your cock, "imagined this? Fucking a K-Pop idol? Having Karina from Aespa ride your dick like this?"

You let out a shaky laugh, the sound half disbelief, half pure awe. "Never," you say. "Not in my wildest, most fucked-up dreams, Jimin. I never thought I'd even speak to you again, let alone… this." You gesture vaguely to the impossible reality of your bodies being joined. "This is… beyond anything I could have ever imagined." You reach up, your hand leaving her breast to cup her cheek. "You are so unbelievably beautiful right now. On top of me. Taking my cock. I can't… I can't even process how beautiful you are."

She leans into your touch, her hips never ceasing their hypnotic, sensual movement.

"I think…" she says, so soft you have to strain to hear it over the wet sounds of your fucking. "I think this is where I belong." She searches your eyes, a desperate need for validation in her gaze. "On your cock. Like this. It feels… right."

"You do," you say. "You're right. This is exactly where you belong, Jimin. You're mine."

Your words are the final permission she needs. It’s as if you’ve unlocked the last cage, unleashing the wild, untamed creature she keeps hidden from the world. The shift is instantaneous. The slow, sensual grind vanishes. She picks up the pace, her hips slamming down on your cock with a force that drives you deep into the mattress. She starts riding you with a frantic, desperate energy, no longer teasing or exploring, but fucking. She is fucking you with everything she has.

Her hair whips around her face, her body is drenched in sweat, and a stream of filthy, broken moans pours from her lips. She moves with a startling, intuitive skill, her hips tilting, rotating, grinding in a way that she knows, that her body inherently understands, will maximize your pleasure. She’s hitting hard with every downward slam, dragging the head of your cock along all the right walls. Her breasts are no longer swaying gently; they are bouncing wildly, a beautiful, chaotic jiggle that mirrors the abandoned rhythm of her hips. You are completely at her mercy, pinned beneath her, as she rides you with a single-minded goal: to drive you absolutely insane.

"Fuck, you're so hot," she pants. "Your body… I can't believe this is real. I can't believe I'm actually doing this, that I'm riding you." She shakes her head, a look of genuine, wondrous disbelief on her face. "I feel like I'm going to wake up."

You want to anchor her to this reality, to prove to her that this is not a dream. You lift your hands from her tits and reach for hers, the one still braced on your chest and the other tangled in the sheets beside you. You capture them, your fingers intertwining with hers, your grip firm and steady. She gasps, her eyes locking with yours. You squeeze her hands, a silent message passing between you. I'm real. This is real. We are real.

The gesture works. A new wave of confidence washes over her, the last vestiges of her disbelief burned away by the simple, grounding touch of your hands locked with hers. A fierce, determined look enters her eyes. She picks up the pace again, her bounces becoming higher, harder, each downward slam of her hips punctuated by a shared grunt of effort and pleasure. You can feel the tension coiling in your own body, the familiar pressure building deep in your balls. You’re getting close, and she can feel it too. The way your hips have started to buck up to meet her thrusts, the way your breath is catching in your throat—she knows.

She leans down, her face close to yours, her expression a perfect mixture of seductive confidence and genuine curiosity. "You're close, aren't you?" she asks. "I can feel you twitching inside me. You're going to come for me soon." She grinds her hips down, a slow, deliberate circle that makes you groan her name. "Tell me where you want it. Where do you want to cum?"

The question is so direct, so filthy, so utterly her in this new, empowered state, that a raw laugh escapes you. "Guess," you manage to rasp.

A wicked, knowing giggle bubbles from her lips. She doesn't even have to think about it. "On my breasts," she says immediately, full of certainty. "You want to cover my tits with your cum, don't you?"

"Is it that obvious?" you ask, your hips thrusting up involuntarily.

"A little," she teases, a wide, beautiful smile lighting up her face. "You're such a pervert."

"Can you blame me?" you groan, your gaze dropping to her magnificent, bouncing breasts. "They're perfect. I've been thinking about doing this since the moment you took off your sweater."

"I know," she says, and the way she says it, so full of pride and satisfaction, makes your cock throb inside her. "They're all yours." She leans in again. "But you have to make a good mess. I want you to cover them completely. Get them all sticky and hot with your cum. Promise me."

"Fuck, Jimin," you gasp, your body trembling. "Don't say things like that unless you mean it."

"Oh, I mean it," she says, her hips beginning to move in a final, frantic assault. She’s bouncing on your cock with a wild, desperate energy, trying to wring every last drop of pleasure from you. "I want it all. I want you to empty your balls for me. Cum for me, baby. Come on my tits now!"

"I'm going to!" you shout, the words ripped from you. "Karina, I'm going to cum!"

Without a word, she breaks the connection, sliding her body off your cock with a wet, sucking sound that echoes the hollowness you now feel. Before you can even question it, she moves with a dancer's deliberate grace, crawling to the edge of the bed and sinking to her knees on the soft rug below. She looks up at you from the floor.

You follow her lead, your mind reeling, your body acting on pure instinct. You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand before her. The world has tilted on its axis. The sight of Jimin, your childhood best friend, Karina, a global icon, the woman whose face adorns billboards and magazines, kneeling at your feet is so surreal, so intensely erotic, it feels like a fever dream. Her hair is a tangled mess around her shoulders, her face is flushed with exertion, her lips are swollen and parted, and her eyes… her eyes are fixed on your cock with a look of devotional worship.

She is waiting.

You take your cock in your hand, the skin slick with her juices and your own precum. The head is swollen, twitching with need. You start stroking yourself, a slow, steady rhythm, your gaze locked with hers. You want her to watch. You want to see her expression as you bring yourself to the edge for her.

Your hand moves on your cock, a slick, frantic motion, but it's almost unnecessary. Her gaze, her posture, her very existence in this moment is all the stimulation you need. She squeezes her breasts together, pushing them up, the pale, heavy flesh forming a perfect canvas, a perfect target. The nipples are hard, dark points in the soft mounds, practically begging to be decorated.

"Please," she whimpers. "Look at them. They're waiting for you. I want to feel your hot cum all over them. I need it. Please, baby, give it to me. Drench me." She shifts on her knees, her eyes wide and pleading. "I want to be your good, filthy whore. I want you to paint my tits."

Her words are a lit match to a barrel of gasoline. A deep, primal roar tears itself from your throat, a sound of pure, untethered release. Your hips snap forward, your eyes roll back into your head, and the world dissolves into a blinding, white-hot flash of sensation.

"Fuck! Jimin!" you scream as the first torrent of your orgasm erupts from the tip of your cock.

It's a powerful, shockingly thick shot that arcs through the air with surprising force, splattering directly in the center of her chest, in the deep valley created by her hands squeezing her breasts together. A thick, pearlescent glob lands with an audible smack against her hot skin.

She gasps, a sharp, shuddering intake of breath, her whole body jolting as if you’d touched her with a live wire. "Yes!" she cries out, her eyes fluttering shut. "Oh god, it's so hot... so warm..."

But you're just getting started. Your body is a machine now, completely outside of your conscious control. You grip your cock, your knuckles white, and with another guttural groan, a second, then a third powerful spurt are unleashed. These ones are ropes, thick and heavy, that land higher, one splattering across her right breast, covering the dark, puckered areola completely, the other hitting her delicate collarbone and starting to drip slowly down her neck.

"More!" she pants, her eyes still closed, lost in the sensation of being covered by you. "Give me all of it! Don't hold back!"

You obey her command, your hips continuing their involuntary bucking motion. Spurt after spurt flies from you, a relentless, massive load that you didn't even know you were holding. You paint her with your release, a chaotic, beautiful masterpiece of pure lust. A thick shot coats her left breast, another lands on her shoulder. You see a long, thick strand connect from your cock to her chin for a split second before it falls, adding to the growing mess on her chest. She is taking it all, not flinching, not shying away, only sighing and shivering as each hot, wet impact makes contact with her skin.

Even as the initial, powerful torrents begin to subside, you don't stop. You wrap your hand firmly around the base of your shaft and start to stroke, determined to give her everything. "Every last drop is for you, Jimin," you manage to gasp out. You milk your cock, forcing out the last, thickest globs of your semen, adding them to the already considerable mess. Your cum is everywhere. It’s pooled in the hollow of her throat, it’s dripping in thick, slow trails between and under her breasts, it has completely coated her chest and neck in a sticky, glistening layer.

Finally, your orgasm spends itself completely. You sway on your feet, your knees weak, your body utterly drained. You stare down at the scene, your breathing coming in ragged, harsh pants.

Karina stays kneeling for a long moment, her chest rising and falling heavily beneath the cooling, sticky evidence of your pleasure. Then, slowly, she opens her eyes. She looks down at herself, a look of pure, unadulterated awe on her face.

"Wow," she whispers. She looks up at you, her eyes shining. "Look what you did to me. You came so much."

Then, she does something that makes your already overloaded brain short-circuit again. She dips the index finger of her right hand into the thickest pool of your cum between her breasts. She lifts it, watching the thick, white strand stretch and then snap. A slow, mischievous smile spreads across her face. She uses her finger to swirl the cum around, drawing lazy circles and patterns on her own skin.

"It's so sticky," she says with a giggle, completely devoid of shame, full of nothing but a raw, playful joy. She dips the fingers of her other hand in, spreading the mess further, connecting the splatters, ensuring every inch of her chest and the full, heavy curves of her breasts are coated in a uniform, glistening layer of you. "Am I pretty like this?" she asks, looking up at you through her lashes, her face a picture of filthy innocence. "All covered in your hot cum?"

You can only nod, completely speechless.

She sees your state and her smile widens. She leans forward, takes the now-sensitive, post-orgasm head of your cock into her mouth, and gently, reverently, sucks you clean. Her tongue is soft and methodical, a soothing, incredible sensation that makes your knees threaten to buckle.

When she's done, she pulls back and looks up at you again, her own masterpiece complete. "All clean," she says softly. She gestures down at her chest. "All of it is on me now. Just like I wanted."

You finally find your voice. "You're… perfect," you say. "Absolutely fucking perfect."

You sink to your knees in front of her, your strength completely gone. You cup her face, your thumbs wiping away a stray drip of your own cum from her chin. You look at her, this incredible woman, your childhood friend, your idol, your lover, covered in your filth at her own request. And then you kiss her, a deep, soul-searing kiss that tastes of salt, and sweat, and sex.

—

You crack an eye open, the morning light filtering through a gap in Jimin’s bedroom curtains, painting stripes across the far wall. The space beside you in the massive bed is empty, though the sheets are still rumpled, still faintly radiating her warmth and her unique, intoxicating scent. You’re sprawled on your stomach, clad only in your boxer briefs. You push yourself up, wincing slightly as your muscles protest, and swing your legs over the side of the bed.

The apartment is quiet, save for the distant, comforting clatter of something in the kitchen. Coffee. The thought alone is enough to make you move. You pad out of the bedroom, your bare feet silent on the cool wooden floor, still feeling the pleasant, lingering ache in your groin, a happy souvenir from the night’s activities.

And there she is.

Jimin is standing at the kitchen counter, her back to you, humming softly to herself as she expertly works her fancy espresso machine. And she’s wearing your shirt. Your button-down from last night, the one you’d discarded so carelessly on her bedroom floor. It’s ridiculously oversized on her frame, the sleeves rolled up multiple times, the hem falling to her mid-thighs, offering tantalizing glimpses of her long, pale legs. Her hair is piled on top of her head in another one of those effortlessly perfect messy buns, a few errant strands escaping to kiss the nape of her neck.

It’s such an incredibly domestic scene, but the irony isn't lost on you: one minute she’s a K-pop idol, the next she’s your childhood crush confessing feelings, then she’s a screaming, cum-covered goddess, and now… now she’s just Jimin, making coffee in your shirt in her sun-drenched kitchen. Your head is still trying to catch up with the whiplash.

You lean against the doorframe just watching her for a moment. She moves with an easy grace, even when she’s just reaching for a mug, a quiet confidence in her posture that wasn’t there when you first reconnected. She turns then, two steaming mugs in her hands, and her own smile, soft and a little shy, blooms when she sees you.

"Oh, good morning," a slight blush creeps up her cheeks, but her eyes are warm. "I wasn’t sure when you’d surface. Or if you’d even remember where you were."

"Morning," you reply, your own speech still a little rough from sleep. You push off the doorframe and walk towards her, your gaze lingering on the way your shirt drapes over her. "And trust me, last night is pretty… unforgettable. Slept like a fucking log, though. Best sleep I’ve had in ages."

"Me too," she admits, her blush deepening slightly as she hands you one of the mugs. The rich, dark aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills your senses, a welcome antidote to the lingering haze of your hangover. "Black, two sugars, right? Or has your sophisticated palate evolved since our high school instant coffee days?"

You chuckle, taking a grateful sip. Perfect. "Still remember, huh? Impressive. And no, some things are sacred. This is… this is exactly what I needed." You take another long, appreciative gulp. "So, are you feeling the after-effects of that wine as much as I am?" you ask, gesturing vaguely to your head. "My skull feels like it's been crushed by a baseball bat."

She laughs, a light, airy sound. "Tell me about it. Definitely a two-aspirin, one-gallon-of-water kind of morning for me too." She sips her own coffee, her eyes meeting yours over the rim of the mug, a comfortable, knowing silence settling between you for a moment. "So," she begins, her gaze dropping to her mug for a second before returning to yours, a hint of that earlier vulnerability creeping back in. "Last night… that was… " She trails off, searching for the words.

"Amazing," you supply, your own words soft but firm, leaving no room for doubt. "It was fucking amazing, Jimin. All of it."

A relieved, almost dazzling smile breaks across her face. "Yeah," she breathes, her shoulders relaxing visibly. "Yeah, it really, really was." She takes another sip of coffee, then, almost as if she can’t help herself, she adds, "You… you really know how to make a girl feel good. Like, really good."

"Just returning the favor," you say, a teasing glint in your eyes. "You weren't exactly holding back yourself." The memory of her, riding you with such wild abandon, her cries echoing in the room, makes a heat rise through your body, making your cock give a responsive throb in your boxers. You discreetly shift your weight. This domestic morning-after scene is lovely, but your body clearly hasn't forgotten the main event.

A comfortable lull settles as you both sip your coffee, the shared memories of the night before a warm, unspoken presence. But then, you see a flicker of something in Jimin’s eyes, a subtle shift in her expression. She sets her mug down on the counter, her fingers tracing the rim. The tension, which had dissipated, slowly begins to creep back into the room. Here it comes. The inevitable "what now?"

"So…" she begins, her gaze fixed on her coffee cup, her words careful, almost tentative. "What… what happens now? With us?" She finally looks up at you, her eyes wide and searching. "Was last night just… you know… a one-time thing? Because of the wine, and the confessions, and… everything?"

You set your own mug down, your heart giving a familiar, uncomfortable thump.

This is it. The moment of truth.

"A one-time thing?" you repeat. You let out a short, humorless chuckle, running a hand through your already messy hair. "Jimin, after last night… after you… do you honestly think I could just… walk away from that? Pretend it didn't happen?" You meet her gaze, your own expression deadly serious now. "I really, really like you. More than like you, if I’m being completely honest. And… and I don’t think I can be the same around you anymore. Not after yesterday." You take a deep breath. "I think… fuck, I know… I need you. Like it’s oxygen. And that terrifies the absolute shit out of me, but it’s the goddamn truth."

The silence that follows is deafening. For a heart-stopping moment, you think you’ve said too much, gone too far, laid yourself too bare.

Then, slowly, miraculously, a smile begins to spread across her face. It’s not just any smile. It’s a Jimin-smile, a radiant, all-encompassing beam of pure, unadulterated happiness that lights up her entire being, that chases away every last shadow of doubt and fear in the room. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

Without a word, she pushes herself off the counter, closes the small distance between you in two quick steps, and then her arms are around your neck, her body pressing against yours, and she’s kissing you. It’s a kiss that tastes of coffee, and relief. It’s a kiss that seals the deal, a kiss that says everything you both needed to hear. And as you kiss her back, your own arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer, feeling the soft warmth of her body clad only in your shirt against your bare chest, You suddenly remember that Jimin, your Jimin, is no longer just yours, is no longer just Jimin, your dork childhood friend.

You pull back slightly, your gaze searching hers. "Jimin," you begin, "this is… this is incredible. You’re incredible. Last night was… beyond anything." Her smile softens, her eyes shining with affection, but you press on. "But… what the hell do we do now? I meant what I said, about needing you, about all of it. But us… like this…" You gesture vaguely between the two of you, encompassing the intimacy, the secret now hanging palpably in the air of her sunlit kitchen. "You know what your life is like. The spotlight, the fans, the company… SM isn’t exactly known for its progressive stance on its idols having, well, this." Your irony here is bitter, a defense mechanism against the very real fear clenching your heart. "This could be… dangerous for you. For your career. I don’t want to be the one who…"

Jimin’s fingers gently press against your lips, silencing you. Her expression is soft, understanding, but there’s a new firmness there too, a resolute calm that wasn’t present during her earlier, more vulnerable moments.

"Shhh," she murmurs, her thumb brushing your lower lip. "Don't. Don't do that. Don't spiral." She leans in, pressing a soft, reassuring kiss to your mouth, then another to your cheek, then your forehead. Her touch is like a balm, soothing the sharp edges of your anxiety. "I know all of that. Believe me, I live it every single day. But right now," she continues, her eyes holding yours, clear and unwavering, "right now, I don’t want to think about any of it. Not SM, not the fans, not the potential fallout. Not yet."

She pulls back just enough to look you squarely in the eyes, her hands now resting on your shoulders. "What happened last night, what’s happening right now," she says, "this is real. And it’s ours." Her lips curve into a small, almost conspiratorial smile. "No one needs to know about this. Not now, anyway. It’ll be our secret, okay? Just for us."

Her words, her confidence, the delicious, illicit thrill of a shared secret with her: it’s an intoxicating, dangerous combination.

"Our secret, huh?" you echo, an eyebrow quirking upwards. "You know, that’s… that’s actually kind of fucking sexy, Jimin. The danger of it all… it’s a little exciting, isn't it?" You can't help the way your own words deepen, the way your gaze drops to her lips.

She lets out a delighted, throaty chuckle. "See? I knew you’d get it." She leans in again, her lips brushing yours, a silent promise of more to come. "Danger is always more exciting." Her breath is warm against your skin, her proximity reigniting the embers of last night’s events.

Between feather-light kisses that dance along your jawline, your neck, she murmurs, "But, speaking of not wanting things to get… complicated… or, you know, result in tiny, K-pop-superstar-related accidents…" She pulls back slightly, her expression turning a little more practical, though the sultry glint in her eyes remains. "I think it might be a very, very good idea for you to acquire some condoms. Like, a lot of them. A truly impressive, perhaps even alarming, quantity." A playful smirk dances on her lips. "We can’t exactly keep pushing our luck like last night, as… memorable as it was."

"Duly noted. I’ll arrange for a strategic acquisition of latex-based defenses. Consider me on a mission."

"Good," she purrs, pressing a final, lingering kiss to your mouth. Then, her hand, which had been resting on your shoulder, slides down your chest, a slow, deliberate trail of fire, down, down, until it reaches the front of your boxer briefs. Her fingers close around your already-hardening cock, her touch light but possessive, sending a jolt straight through you. You gasp, your hips giving an involuntary twitch.

She looks up at you through her lashes, her smile turning wicked, utterly predatory. "Because," she whispers, her breath hot against your lips, her fingers giving you a slow, deliberate squeeze that makes your knees weak, "while we wait for those… reinforcements… there is something I can do for you right now. Something that definitely doesn't require a condom."

And with a final, devastatingly innocent flutter of her eyelashes, she slides from your embrace, her hand never leaving your groin, and slowly, gracefully, sinks to her knees on the kitchen floor in front of you. The morning, it seems, is far from over.

In fact, this is just the beginning.

#karina x reader #karina aespa #aespa karina smut #karina smut #aespa karina #aespa karina x reader #yoo jimin #yoo jimin smut #kpop smut #kpop m!reader #m!reader #kpop male reader #kpop male oc #gg smut #kpop gg smut #Aespa #aespa smut

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corkinavoid · 9 months ago

Text

DPxDC Recount Your Kids, Batman

[A loose continuation to this post]

Talia doesn't visit the Wayne manor. At least not regularly nor officially. All the batkids and Batman know she comes sometimes, just to check up on Damian and maybe bother Bruce from time to time, but this is the first time she has ever shown up to a dinner.

And, as they all take their seats, she gives Damian a long curios glance. Then, she looks to Bruce.

"Is that everyone?" She asks, easy and lighthearted. One might think she is simply not acquainted with the number of Wayne children or that she is teasing Bruce on the sheer amount of them. But Damian is looking down to his plate, and Tim knows for sure Talia keeps up with Wayne's head count, and Dick is fairly certain Talia would never tease Bruce, at least not so subtly.

It could have been some sort of a hint at Jason. If he was not here, that is. But he is, for once, so this is really all the family at one table.

"Yes?" Dick tries, looking around the table just to make sure. Steph and Babs are not here today, but that's definitely not what Talia could have meant. Bruce also looks just a little confused, which is a nice change of pace since he looked guarded and on edge from the very moment Talia showed up.

The woman hums, her eyes studying Damian. The youngest bat keeps his gaze down on his empty plate. No one really understands what's going on, but they all feel like there's something important and heavy hanging in the air.

Then, Talia stands up and turns to Alfred, "We will be dining later. It has come to my attention that kids are a lot more secretive than I thought," she explains cryptically and smiles at Bruce, "Beloved, will you come with me to the training grounds? I have something to show you."

Bruce doesn't move for a long moment, and Talia's smile becomes almost gentle, "It's about your son."

At least that makes the man move.

When they get down to the Cave - since Talia insisted this was not a matter that could be resolved in the manor's training room - it's not only her, Bruce, and the little bat there, of course. The whole family was way too intrigued, and some were even alarmed.

The most alarming part, though, was the fact that Damian had been uncharacteristically quiet on their way down. Yet, when Dick looked to Cass, she just shook her head slightly. The boy was not worried. To Cass, he looked almost resigned, if a bit displeased.

"Your sword, Damian," Talia commands, and the boy presses his lips into a thin line.

"This is not necessary, Mother."

"It is," the woman looks amused, but there's an underlying layer of concern to her tone.

"...Yes, Mother," Damian nods his head on what feels like surrender and takes his katana. Not the training one, the real blade. Bruce makes a soft, alarmed grunt, but Talia waves him off.

"Not to worry, Beloved. I will not harm our brethren."

She doesn't take a stance, nor does she pick out a weapon, simply lunges for Damian as soon as they are both on the mats. Two daggers seem to appear in her hands out of nothing, and, contrary to her words, her aim is towards Damian's neck. The boy blocks, jumps away, and blocks another attack.

Tim steps closer, "You can't just-"

"Step away, Drake," It's the first time Damian has spoken to them since they've sat down for dinner. His voice is tense, but not derisive. If anything, it sounds a bit tired.

Talia lunges for him again, faster, meaner. Metal clings against metal.

"You understand this can not keep going, my child," she tells the boy, startlingly gentle on the contrary to her definitely dangerous strikes.

Damian doesn't answer.

The rest of Batfam are forced to simply watch the encounter: Damian is mostly on defense as Talia goes for him, harder and harder with every hit. Until, without any warning, the woman strikes for Damian's arm, making him drop his katana, and-

A few things happen at once.

Talia lunges for Damian's throat. Bruce jumps onto the mats so fast that he almost trips. Tim yelps.

But Talia's blade doesn't strike.

A figure of another child, eerily similar to Damian and wearing the League of Assassins uniform, is standing in front of the littlest bat, two crystal clear blades in his hands, blocking the dagger.

Bruce halts midstep. The rest of the family holds their breath.

But Talia simply smiles and drops her daggers, backing away and looking at the boy between her and Damian with a fond gaze.

"Danyal," she greets, and the boy huffs, lowering his weapons. He doesn't drop them - they simply dissipate in the air, turning into tiny snowflakes.

"Mother," he greets back begrudgingly, and his voice is the exact replica of Damian's. A clone? No, because Damian reacts to him nothing like he had to the clones, simply clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes.

"You could have simply asked, Mother," he comments, taking a step forward and stading near the other boy. Danyal. When standing side by side, they look nearly identical - same facial features, same posture, same hair, even if Damian's is a little more tame.

But Danyal's eyes are just a few hues off. Still green but lighter than Damian's.

"I assumed if you have spent years living here and never bothered to mention your brother, I would need a little more than asking, my love," Talia doesn't laugh, but it sounds like she wants to. Both boys roll their eyes, perfectly in sync.

Hold the fuck up, brother?

"Huh. I thought you died," Jason mentions offhandedly, and the whole family whips their heads to him. Yet, before any of them speak, it's Danyal who answers.

"I mean, I did? Kinda?" He waves his hand in the air and shrugs, and he acts so unlike Damian while also simultaneously having his face, that it makes Tim shiver a little.

"You-" Bruce starts, seeming to finally find his voice, but the boy cuts him off.

"I'm not actually yours," he snorts at Bruce's facial expression, "Yeah, I know I look like I am. Blame the ghost sewers, Chronos, and my stupid ass for making decisions while not being fully awake."

There is so much to unpack in that sentence that no one has the barest of ideas on where to start.

Damian curves his lips down in a sneer.

"The longer you stay there staring, the colder the dinner will be when we return," he reminds them, and Danyal suddenly perks up.

"Dinner? Can I join? It's been ages since I've had anything home cooked," he smiles, like there's some kind of an inside joke in that sentence. Damian rolls his eyes.

"The food doesn't come alive in this household, Danyal."

"Bummer," the boy looks a bit disappointed, but not too much. "And it's Danny, for the thousandth time."

Talia picks up her daggers, hiding them somewhere in her clothes in an unnoticeable motion. Then, she gives Bruce a small, if a bit sly, smile.

"You can not call it 'family dinner' if not all your family is there."

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buckysleftbicep · 18 days ago

Text

the cat's out of the bag 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: teeth rotting fluff

summary: during a storm, you rescue a stray kitten and spend the next week trying to keep her hidden from your boyfriend.

word count: 2k

author's note: i love cats and dogs, genuinely would run a little zoo of my own if i could. enjoy my loves and stay safe out there! please drop a like or a reblog if you enjoyed! <3333 based on this request

i love soft!bucky with my whole heart

It started with a storm and a pair of very, very round blue eyes.

You hadn’t meant to adopt a cat.

The plan was simple. Boring, even.

Drop off your mission report to Val, grab a too-sweet latte with Yelena while listening to her complain about Walker’s latest disaster, and then spend the evening wrapped in your favourite blanket, bingeing your comfort show for the fifth, okay, seventh time.

That was it. No drama. No interruptions. Definitely no unexpected pets.

But fate, and a suspiciously open cardboard box near the alley dumpsters behind your usual deli—had other plans.

That’s where you found her.

Or rather, that’s where she found you.

You hadn’t even noticed the box at first. You were halfway through texting Yelena about her ridiculous idea for matching leather jackets when a faint sound stopped you cold.

A mewl, soft, reedy, desperate. You turned, heart already twisting, and there she was.

Soaked. Shivering. All fluff and no fight.

Her white fur was a grimy, matted mess, stained gray from the rain and dirt. She couldn’t have been more than a few months old—tiny and fragile, huddled against the crumpled side of the box like it might still protect her.

When your shadow fell over her, she didn’t flinch. She just blinked up at you with those huge, too-wise eyes, let out one pitiful little cry, and tucked her nose into her paw like she was already giving up.

And that was it. You were done for.

You crouched without thinking, hands already moving before logic caught up. She was cold, so cold you swore you could feel it through your fingertips when you scooped her up and tucked her against your chest.

Your jacket came off next, hastily unzipped and wrapped around her as you stood, shielding her from the steady drizzle like instinct had overridden every ounce of your common sense.

She didn’t struggle. Didn’t even try to claw or hiss. Just curled tighter against your chest, her body trembling as a soft, tentative purr vibrated against your sternum.

You looked down. She looked up.

That was the moment.

You didn’t have a name for her yet. You didn’t have a plan. Hell, you didn’t even know if pets were allowed at the compound.

But none of that mattered.

You walked the rest of the way with one arm wrapped around your jacket, cradling a soggy, wide-eyed ball of fur like she was the most precious thing in the world.

You didn’t even make it two steps into the building before Bob spotted you and said, flatly, “You’re keeping it.”

You didn’t argue. Because he was right.

You hadn’t meant to adopt a cat. But it turns out, she’d already adopted you.

"Your name is Alpine," you whispered as you tiptoed into your shared bedroom with Bucky, cradling the tiny fluff ball like a state secret.

She was warm in your arms, damp fur already drying against the softness of your shirt, her little body nestled in like she belonged there. "And you, my girl, are a secret agent."

Alpine blinked up at you with slow, sleepy eyes. Then she let out the tiniest sneeze, her whole body jolting with the force of it.

You smiled, tucking her closer. “We’ll work on stealth.”

Operation Hide-The-Cat was officially underway.

You were surgical in your efforts. Strategic. Diligent. The litter box went in the back of your closet, camouflaged behind a wall of boots and a perfectly draped robe. Her food and water bowls were slipped into a lower drawer you’d emptied and converted into a makeshift dining nook, lined with a towel and everything.

You bought a ridiculous amount of pet wipes and dry shampoo to keep her from smelling too obviously like cat. Her toys were buried between pillows and blankets, and her treats were stashed behind rows of books on your shelves, labeled as "protein bars" in case anyone peeked.

Alpine had more square footage and amenities than some junior agents in the compound.

You even rigged the air vents with dryer sheets to mask the scent, knowing full well Ava liked to crawl through them when she was bored—or looking to scare the shit out of someone. If she found out about Alpine, it would be game over.

Not because Ava would snitch. But because she’d absolutely try to recruit her into the team.

The first few days were a breeze. Alpine slept for hours, nestled in the crook of your arm or burrowed into the soft blankets you arranged like a throne.

She ate delicately, gave you tiny headbutts whenever you reached for your phone, and purred like a small engine when you read aloud at night. It was like living with a warm, sleepy marshmallow who occasionally attacked your socks.

Then she discovered Bucky’s jacket.

It was just hanging there—carelessly draped over the back of your chair, like he always left it when he stayed over in your room.

Dark blue, soft with wear, the kind of thing he grumbled about losing but never actually took back. It smelled like him—pine and clean soap and just a trace of that cologne he insisted he didn’t wear.

The same jacket he’d left behind after that quiet night in, when the two of you had curled up on your bed with takeout and old black-and-white movies. You’d fallen asleep on his chest halfway through Casablanca, and he hadn’t moved a muscle until morning.

You never gave it back.

Apparently, neither could Alpine.

You caught her the first time while brushing your teeth, half-asleep, groggy, and wondering what the soft thump-thump-thump was behind you.

There she was, in all her tiny glory, rolling back and forth on the jacket like she’d claimed it in the name of the feline empire.

You watched in disbelief as she kneaded her little paws into it—making biscuits like it was hers, purring so loud it echoed off the tiles.

From that point on, it was a losing battle.

Every time you turned around, there she was—wrapped in it like a burrito, dragging it off the chair like a victorious hunter, or burrowed into its folds with her head poking out like royalty in a four-poster bed.

You tried to relocate it. Hang it up. Even hide it. Somehow, she always found it.

You started picking fur off it obsessively, lint rolling like your life depended on it—every sleeve, every seam, every goddamn inch of it.

But it was too late.

Because when Bucky walked in three nights later, gaze sharp and mouth already forming some sarcastic comment about your tendency to “hog all the blankets,” he paused mid-step. His eyes dropped to the chair. His brows furrowed.

Then he picked up the jacket.

Held it at arm’s length.

And pulled one long white hair off the collar.

You froze.

Alpine, traitor that she was, chose that exact moment to sneeze again—from under your bed.

Day Seven.

You were in the kitchen reheating leftovers, Alpine nestled warm and content inside Bucky's jacket like a smug little stowaway.

She’d made herself a nest just under the zip, her tiny head poking out beneath your chin, her soft purr vibrating gently against your sternum.

Her paws were tucked against your chest, and her tail flicked lazily beneath the fabric, occasionally brushing your ribs like a mischievous secret waiting to be exposed.

You stirred the pasta one-handed, trying not to disturb her. She’d been sleepy and clingy all morning, refusing to be left alone in the pile of blankets you’d made for her on the bed.

You’d tried sneaking away twice, once for the bathroom, once for food, and both times she’d meowed like you’d abandoned her forever.

So here you were, cooking one-handed with a clingy fur baby zipped into your jacket like the world’s neediest hot water bottle.

That’s when your boyfriend walked in.

Fresh from training. His shirt clinging to him like a second skin, damp with sweat in all the distracting places.

He had that casual, unbothered look about him—like he didn’t even realise how effortlessly distracting he was.

He paused the second he saw you.

His brows drew together, subtle but sharp. “Hey,” he said, voice low as he crossed to the cabinet for a mug.

“Hey,” you echoed, far too casually, heart skipping when Alpine’s tail twitched right as he passed behind you. You subtly shifted your stance to hide the movement.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder, frowning faintly. “...You purring?”

You blinked. “What?”

He tilted his head, mug in hand, a smirk just barely beginning to tug at his mouth. “I swear I just heard purring.”

“No you didn’t.”

He stepped closer, eyes narrowing slightly, “Are you purring?”

“Why would I purr?” you asked. "That’s not even something people do.”

“Not usually, no,” he said slowly, taking another step forward, eyes dropping briefly to the suspicious lump in your hoodie.

You held your ground. “I’m cold.”

“In June?”

You cursed the climate-controlled compound. Couldn’t they have made it slightly more believable?

And then—of course—Alpine chose that exact moment to stretch.

A soft meow slipped out of her as she extended one paw toward your zipper like she was participating in the worst game of peekaboo. Her little white head pushed through next, blinking sleepily at the sudden light.

There was a long beat of silence.

Bucky just stared.

Alpine blinked up at him, completely unbothered, tail flicking like she was proud of herself.

And Bucky—

He smiled.

Not a smirk. Not one of his usual crooked, knowing grins. A real smile. Slow and soft and a little stunned, like it had crept up on him without warning. Like he hadn’t expected it. Like he hadn’t expected you.

“You adopted a cat,” he said quietly.

“Rescued a cat,” you corrected quickly, your hand already stroking her head out of pure guilt. “I didn’t mean to. She was just... there. In a box. In the rain. She looked at me. And sneezed. I didn’t stand a chance.”

Bucky stepped closer, something unreadable in his eyes. “She yours?”

You nodded. “Technically, she’s off the books. Like… extremely off the books.”

He crouched slightly, careful and deliberate as he reached out and scratched behind Alpine’s ear.

She melted instantly. Eyes fluttering shut. Purr ramping up like a motor.

You watched, heart thudding.

“Well,” he murmured, not looking away from her, “she’s got good taste.”

“In jackets?” you teased, a little breathless.

“In people,” he said, finally meeting your eyes.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Alpine let out a pleased little chirp, completely oblivious to the tension she’d just wandered into.

You exhaled slowly. “Guess the secret’s out.”

Bucky chuckled. “Wasn’t much of a secret. Pretty sure Yelena saw her yesterday licking marinara off the kitchen counter.”

You groaned, leaning your head back against the fridge. “Of course she did.”

“She took a video,” Bucky added, laughing now.

You covered your face with your hand. “She’s never letting this go.”

“Relax,” he said, voice warm. “No one’s kicking her out. She’s... kind of perfect. A little menace. Like you.”

You looked at him then. Really looked. His expression was open, easier than you’d seen it in days. Like Alpine’s very presence had cracked something in him.

“You mean that?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. She can stay.”

You grinned. “But she has to share the jacket?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You mean my jacket that you permanently borrowed?”

“You left it here, technically.”

He leaned in and kissed your temple. “Semantics, sweetheart.”

Later that night, when you wandered into the living room with a book in one hand and Alpine’s new toy in the other, you stopped in the doorway.

There they were.

Bucky was stretched out on the couch, hair still damp from his post-shower rinse. One arm tucked behind his head, mouth parted slightly in sleep. And curled right on top of him, nestled into the center of his chest like she’d been born to be there—Alpine. Her tiny paws rose and fell with his breathing, purring so loud you could hear it across the room.

Neither stirred. You didn’t say anything.

Just stood there, smiling softly, heart full and warm in a way you hadn’t expected when this week started.

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cipheress-to-k-pop · 1 month ago

Text

beauty and the beast (m.r.)

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Word Count: 9.3k

Summary: Mattheo Riddle, the infamous heartbreaker, gets his heart broken.

Part 2

A/N: this is my first fic ever for matty but basically what happened was i read @redeemingvillains's amazing amazing fic called 'Dove' and it made me feral and i wrote this when i was supposed to be studying for my finals

im not so sure abt it lol because i feel like it's all over the place but this is what happens when i get depressed and get inspired at the same time

so, i hope you enjoy the product of my academic burnout and procrastination

also vee i hope you like the fic cuz ur most definitely my celebrity crush hehe 👉👈

Mattheo Riddle and you made an odd couple—at least, that’s what everyone said.

He was the son of the Dark Lord, Slytherin’s crowned king. All sharp edges and smoldering glances, more beast than boy. Mattheo solved problems with fists long before he used his brain, and even then, he was more likely to headbutt the issue than think it through. Fights, bruises, bleeding knuckles—he was practically the poster child for them.

You, on the other hand, were his opposite in every imaginable way.

Hufflepuff’s sweetheart. A sunbeam in human form. You were always wrapped in soft pastels with flower crowns tucked into your hair, hands sticky with sugar from baking treats or speckled with soil from planting herbs. You loved baby animals and warm tea, and your hands only ever got dirty in the name of creation or care.

So when Mattheo Riddle—the dark moon to your warm, gentle sun—started showing interest in you, your friends were quick to intervene.

Mattheo loved flustering you. Whether it was a cocky compliment or a teasing nickname, he’d always say something just to catch that bashful blush on your cheeks. He’d lean in too close, grinning like a devil as you tried to hide your smile.

“Ah! You’re just so cute. Muah!” You giggled one afternoon, pressing a kiss to the head of a tiny kitten. You’d found a litter of them near the castle grounds and built a makeshift shelter, lining it with soft blankets. To your delight, your friends had fallen in love with them too, helping feed and cuddle the kittens when they could. You came today for the usual dose of kitten therapy.

“Wow, where’s mine?”

The deep voice startled you so much you nearly toppled over from the crouch you were in, silently praying to Helga that your arse wouldn’t land on a defenseless kitten.

“Woah there!”

Luckily, someone caught you—one hand steadying your back, the other gripping your elbow just enough to stop your fall. The kitten in your arms squirmed and you realized you might’ve squeezed it in your surprise. Loosening your grip, you gently pet between its ears with a single finger, smothering it with kisses as an apology.

“You really know how to make a bloke jealous, sunshine,” Mattheo said, his voice a low purr near your ear, “I save you, and you’re still more invested in the kitten.”

You turned, only to find him inches from your face. You squeaked again, your blush rising fast as you looked away, tucking your face into your shoulder. Mattheo grinned.

You cleared your throat, trying to gather yourself, “Well, if you recall, you’re the reason I almost fell in the first place.”

His smirk widened, one brow arching—the same brow with the notch he’d gotten in a fight just a few days ago. You’d heard about it in passing, less concerned about the fight and more about whether anyone had been seriously hurt. Your friends had smiled gently at your concern, telling you you were too sweet for this world.

“I didn’t realize I distracted you, princess.”

The nickname was your undoing. Again.

You turned away, hiding behind another kitten as your cheeks burned. You couldn’t understand how someone like Mattheo Riddle found so much joy in tormenting your poor, flustered heart.

You cleared your throat, flustered, “So… you came to see the kittens too? Don’t they just cheer you up after a long day?”

Mattheo gave you a look—something between a smirk and a genuine smile, an expression that made your heart stumble over itself before he even opened his mouth.

“I am cheered up now,” He said, his voice low and warm, “But I must say, it’s not because of the kittens, Sunshine.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Your friends had immediately tried to intervene—purely out of concern for you, as you came to realize that night in the cozy safety of your dorm room, when Mattheo Riddle’s name was brought up.

“We just want you to be careful,” Lila said gently, her dark curls falling into her eyes as she spoke, “Mattheo isn’t exactly a stranger to other girls’ beds, (Y/N). He’s gone all the way with them—four bases, easily. Hell, with him, there’s probably an extra base we don’t even know about.”

Imani winced, “And well… we know you aren’t as experienced.”

You felt your cheeks flush. They weren’t wrong.

They were referring to the fact that you were a virgin. You’d never dated anyone. Never even had a boyfriend.

“…Is that bad?” You asked softly.

The girls’ eyes widened and they immediately jumped to reassure you.

“No! Not at all!” Lila said quickly.

“Of course not!” Imani added, shaking her head.

“That’s not what we meant,” Daisy chimed in, reaching over to squeeze your hand, “You just… you deserve someone who’s patient with you.”

“Mattheo’s part of a rough crowd,” Evangeline said, hesitating. She always chose her words carefully, “I don’t want to sound mean or make you feel like we’re judging him, but… I’ve been overthinking this whole thing. And you really can’t be sure he’s not doing this as some kind of cruel joke. Or a dare. Or something equally awful. I wouldn't put it past some of his friends.”

She looked you right in the eye, her voice softening.

“I feel bad assuming the worst, I really do. But I also don’t want to trust just anyone with someone as precious as you.”

That made you smile despite yourself.

Evangeline. The mother of the group. Always looking out for everyone. Always making sure you were safe, happy, and loved. She deserved something in return for how diligently she cared for you all.

You made a mental note to bake her favorite strawberry jelly pastries as a thank-you.

“I understand what you’re all saying,” You said, voice warm, “Thank you… for looking out for me.”

Thus began the excruciating process of trying to remind yourself of everything your friends had said—every time Mattheo began to flirt with you.

You returned his charm with a polite smile. You laughed at his silly jokes. You reminded yourself, this probably isn’t that serious to him.

He could have any girl on his arm—any girl who actually knew what she was doing. What business would Mattheo Riddle, famed Slytherin heartbreaker and rumored womanizer, have with someone like you? Someone who wasn’t experienced. Someone who needed emotional connection to feel safe. Someone who couldn’t even tell whether this was real or just another one of his games.

It all came to a halt the day Mattheo—so casually it could have been mistaken for a joke—suggested you two actually go out.

It happened in passing, half-directed at someone else in the conversation. But you noticed the way he paused. The way he looked at you afterward, as if waiting—hoping—for an answer.

You stared at the hand he extended toward you, palm open.

Then your gaze lifted, meeting his eyes. Wide. Hesitant. Innocent.

He laughed, trying to play it off, “What? Don’t you trust me?”

You froze.

The corner of your mouth dipped downward, a subtle but telling movement. And Mattheo noticed instantly. The playful spark in his expression faded, replaced by a chill that settled into his shoulders like dread.

“Oh.”

“Mattheo, I—” You stopped, unsure what to say as you tugged anxiously at the edge of the shrug you’d crocheted, “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“You didn’t, princess,” He said quietly, shaking his head, “Truth is… I’ve never given you a reason to trust me.”

You paused, chewing your bottom lip nervously. The sight of it made something sharp and aching stir in Mattheo—an urge to pull your lip from your teeth with his thumb and press his own mouth to yours, just to stop you from doubting yourself.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered.

Mattheo gave you a gentle smile.

It was a sad kind of smile—soft, genuine, and far too forlorn for someone who was always so cocky and sure. Seeing it on his face made something twist in your chest.

“Don’t be, princess.” He said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

The next couple of days were filled with a Mattheo-shaped hole in your life—and it left a heavier ache than you expected. You tried not to dwell on it, but it was hard not to overthink. Had he only wanted one thing from you? Had your rejection truly been enough for him to discard the little friendship you’d built?

Was that all he ever wanted? Was that all anyone wanted?

Still, the thoughts didn’t consume you completely. You had your friends. You had your kittens. You had the little chaos garden you were growing with Professor Sprout’s permission just beyond the greenhouses, where wildflowers grew beside pumpkins and honeybees lazily floated between blooms.

That was enough… mostly.

At least until Mattheo found you in the library.

You were seated near the back, flipping through your Herbology notes, when he strolled up and set a small vial down on the table in front of you. The clear liquid inside shimmered faintly, catching the candlelight. You looked up at him, eyebrows raised.

Mattheo’s chest was puffed out in obvious pride. He looked like he expected you to gasp or leap into his arms or start clapping.

But you just stared between him and the vial.

His posture deflated slightly, “Come on, princess. At least pretend to be interested. I spent days trying to get my hands on this.”

You bit back a smile, secretly amused by the way he still spoke to you like nothing had changed. Like you hadn't broken his heart—or at least bruised it. The fact that he was here at all made something flutter in your chest.

You gave in with a curious tilt of your head, “Alright, Mattheo. I’ll bite. What’s in the vial?”

“Veritaserum.”

Your eyes widened, but before you could even think to stop him, Mattheo uncorked the tiny bottle and downed it in one go like it was a shot of Firewhisky. He slammed the empty vial back onto the table and leaned forward, smirking.

“I’m completely at your mercy now, sunshine. Ask me anything. I’ll prove I’m not messing with you.”

You blinked, taken aback by his dramatic display. Then you pouted a little, your lips tugging downward as your eyes softened.

“How do I know that was actually Veritaserum?”

He laughed, grinning at you, “Trust issues much, princess? I respect it. Go on—ask me something I wouldn’t answer unless I was under the influence.”

Your eyes flicked over him, unconvinced. That was when you noticed the fresh cut across his nose—no doubt from yet another fight. It should have made you concerned, should have made you check him over for any other bumps and bruises. Instead, you had the completely embarrassing thought that it looked… sort of adorable.

You cleared your throat and hummed, thinking, “Your best friend is Theodore, right?”

He smirked, already cocky again, “Of course. Come on, angel. Give me a tough one.”

You tilted your head, pretending to ponder. Then, as sweetly as ever: “Have you ever thought about kissing Theodore?”

Mattheo froze.

His entire face lit up in a furious blush, red blooming across his cheeks and ears, “I—I mean, yes—but I wasn’t fantasizing about it or anything!” He sputtered, “It was just… a random thought that popped into my head once, I swear!”

You clapped a hand over your mouth, giggling uncontrollably. “Well,” You managed through your laughter, “I guess it really was Veritaserum.”

He covered his face with one hand, groaning into his palm, “That was embarrassing. I am embarrassed.”

You paused, your laughter fading into a soft frown as concern overtook your expression, “Mattheo… if you regret it, it’s okay. I won’t ask you anything else until the serum wears off, you don't have to answer anything else.”

He peeked at you through his fingers and smiled, slow and sincere. “You really are too good for this world, princess.” He let his hand fall and leaned forward, eyes never leaving yours, “No—I don’t regret it. I want you to trust me. And this was the only way I could think of doing it.”

You let out a breathy laugh. Of course it was. Of course the way Mattheo Riddle tried to earn your trust was something absurd, reckless… and somehow incredibly endearing. Just like him.

You hesitated, then asked the question that had been sitting on your chest for weeks, “All those compliments you give me… when you say I look beautiful… do you really mean that?”

His expression softened so much it almost hurt to look at. “Without a doubt,” he said without missing a beat.

Your heart stuttered in your chest. A blush crept up your neck, spreading across your cheeks like warm sunlight, “…Do you really want to date me?”

“More than anything.”

You swallowed hard, “Is this possibly part of a joke? Or a dare? Or something else I should be scared of?”

Mattheo didn’t even flinch, “Believe me, princess, I would rather fall twelve stories from the Astronomy Tower than ever do something like that to you.”

Your breath caught. You’d been cold earlier, the drafty corners of the library nipping at your sleeves—but now you felt hot all over, your skin tingling like you’d been dropped into sunlight.

You blinked, “…Are you using me as a beard to hide your true feelings for Theodore?”

“(Y/N!)” He exclaimed, utterly scandalized, your name leaving his lips for the first time ever instead of a teasing nickname. The outrage on his face was so genuine that you couldn’t hold back anymore—you burst into a fit of laughter, face falling against his bicep as you tried to muffle your giggles.

Mattheo was still huffing beside you when you finally peeked up from his arm, and the expression he wore—soft, amused, fond—made your breath hitch all over again.

You shifted nervously, “Do you… like me?”

“More than you realize.” He said, quiet but certain.

You lowered your head, flustered, heart pounding as you fidgeted with the sleeves of your jumper. You weren’t usually so forward. Asking him all those questions had taken a surprising amount of courage. And now that you had your answers, you didn’t know what to do with them.

Mattheo tilted your chin up with a featherlight touch, catching your eyes. He glanced at your lips, then back into your gaze with so much reverence it almost made you dizzy.

“Will you go out with me, sunshine?”

Your lips curled into a shy smile, “I’d love to, Mattheo.”

His smile widened, something boyish and sweet in it that you hadn’t seen before. But before you could let yourself fully sink into the glow of that moment, the nagging voice of self-doubt tugged at your courage.

“I… don’t know if you know this about me,” You started hesitantly, “but I’ve never really done this before. Dated, I mean. So… I might need to take things slower than what you’re used to. Is that okay with you?”

There was a beat of silence where your heart was convinced it might just split in two from the pressure. But then Mattheo leaned in, pressing the gentlest kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

When he pulled back, his eyes were soft with something so genuine it made your throat tighten, “We’ll go as slow as you need to, princess.”

You smiled, chest loosening as you leaned slightly into his side, your hand brushing his.

It wasn’t until later—when you were curled up in bed, running back through every detail—that you realized something.

He had never actually clarified if that pace—slow, careful, uncertain—was okay with him.

He had said you could go slow.

But you didn’t know if he wanted to.

***

It had been about three weeks since you and Mattheo started dating, and even now, it sometimes didn’t feel quite real. Not because he didn’t show it—if anything, Mattheo Riddle was a surprisingly attentive boyfriend. He brought you little things he thought you’d like (a flower he saw outside Greenhouse Three, a charm that reminded him of your favorite animal, a quill in your favorite color just because you said yours was running out). He always waited for you outside class, always carried your books if your bag looked even slightly heavy, and never let a day pass without calling you by some new sweet nickname.

But more than that, he never pushed.

On your first date, you'd gone to the edge of the Forbidden Forest—somewhere quiet and peaceful with just enough sunlight trickling through the trees to give the illusion of safety and magic. You’d spread out a blanket, shared pumpkin pastries and pumpkin juice, and talked about anything and everything. Mattheo hadn’t even tried to hold your hand until you'd gently brushed your pinky against his, and even then, he’d waited for you to fully intertwine your fingers.

Since then, it had been a slow rhythm of delicate moments: shoulders brushing in the corridor, pinkies linked under the table, his fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with careful reverence. He never took more than you offered. Never asked for what you weren’t ready to give.

Even now.

Now, it was late—past curfew—and you stood with him in a shadowed alcove near the Astronomy Tower, where moonlight pooled like spilled silver. The castle was hushed, and your heartbeat was the loudest thing in the world.

Your hand touches his cheek, featherlight, like you’re still unsure if you’re allowed to touch him this way. Your voice trembled at the edges when you spoke—

“Can I kiss you?”

Mattheo’s heart stops.

“You—you wanna…?” His voice catches, and he mentally curses himself because he’s Mattheo Riddle, for fuck’s sake, and now he’s stammering like a schoolboy.

“I want to kiss you,” You admitted, voice soft and just a little shaky, “But… I’ve never really done this before. I mean—not really.”

Mattheo’s expression softened immediately. He reached out, his fingers ghosting along your cheek before curling gently around your hand, “Me either.”

You blinked, “You’re kidding, right?”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head, “No. I mean—I know what people say. I know what you’ve heard. And yeah, I’ve kissed girls before. But those… they didn’t matter. They didn’t mean anything.”

You stared at him, skeptical, “But you’ve done things, Mattheo. With other girls.”

He didn't deny it. Instead, he took your hand in both of his and guided it to his chest, just over his heart. The steady thud was frantic beneath your palm.

“You’re the first one,” He said, voice quiet and steady, “who’s made me feel like this… from just being around me.”

Your breath caught. And then, slowly, you rose onto your toes, brushing your lips against his.

It was tentative, uncertain—but real. So real it made your knees wobble and your heart race.

Mattheo barely moved, just kissed you back softly, reverently, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he wasn’t careful. When you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, smiling like you’d just handed him the stars.

“Still nervous?” He whispered.

“Only a little.” You replied, cheeks warm.

And then he leaned in again like you were sacred.

Not like a boy kissing a girl. Like a sinner kissing a prayer.

He didn’t grab. Didn’t take. He just kissed you like it was all he ever wanted to do, like your kindness was the only thing that had ever made him feel clean.

When you finally parted, your breath was uneven, your hands still trembling faintly in his.

For the first time, you understood what people meant when they talked about wanting. The way your heart kept whispering more in the stillness. The way you leaned closer without even realizing.

“I think,” You said, barely louder than a breath, “I might need some more practice.”

Mattheo grinned, brushing his nose against yours, “Good thing we’ve got time, then.”

And he kissed you again—just once more, until you asked him for more—like you were the only thing that had ever made his heart beat like that.

***

The morning sun poured lazily through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, casting golden light over half-finished bowls of oatmeal and drifting owl feathers.

You slid into your usual spot at the Slytherin table beside Mattheo, nudging his side lightly with your shoulder, “Good morning, Matty.”

His lips quirked up immediately, voice still raspy with sleep, “Good morning, baby.”

A chorus of greetings chimed around the table.

“Hi, (Y/N),” Theodore greeted, already mid-sip of pumpkin juice.

“Morning,” Lorenzo added with a grin, elbow-deep in toast and marmalade.

Draco gave you a nod, lifting his chin. “(Y/N).”

You smiled sweetly. “Hi, Theodore, Lorenzo, Draco.”

Mattheo tried to hide the way he preened, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. His hand casually slid onto your thigh under the table, his thumb brushing tiny circles there. You weren’t one for PDA-heavy nicknames in front of the boys, so the fact that he got a "Matty" while everyone else got their usual names? That was better than syrup on pancakes. And he was smug about it.

“What are you guys talking about?” You asked, pouring yourself some tea.

“We’re just messing with Draco,” Lorenzo said with a snort, “Apparently Pansy invited him to go flower picking in the Far East Forest.”

Your eyes lit up, “That sounds like fun!”

The table went silent for a moment—and then all three boys burst into laughter.

“You’re so precious,” Lorenzo wailed, wiping a tear.

Theodore leaned in, “Oh, it is fun. Just not in the way you’re thinking.”

Your brows furrowed, “Huh?”

Mattheo snorted, clearly amused, “Flower picking in the East Forest is a very hands-on activity, sunshine.”

Draco looked smug, “It's basically a date with, uh, extra-curriculars.”

You gasped, “Ew! Draco!”

Mattheo leaned closer to you with a smirk, his voice dropping suggestively, “If you’re that interested, I could take you flower picking sometime…”

Your head whipped toward him, scandalized, "There’s a whole brood of sweet little ducklings that nest there! Don’t you dare snatch their innocence!”

The boys lost it.

Draco buried his face in his hands, laughing helplessly, “You sound like a disappointed forest fairy.”

“I am!” You declared, scandalized, “Honestly, I hope that every time you try to do anything with Pansy out there, you open your eyes and see a baby duckling staring right at your soul. Judging you. Silently.”

Lorenzo practically choked on his juice, “Even her threats are innocent!”

Mattheo couldn’t stop grinning. He looked at you like you’d personally hung the moon, brushing his knuckles against your cheek affectionately.

Just as the laughter around the table began to settle, a familiar voice called out from the entrance of the Great Hall.

“(Y/N)! Come on, we’re gonna be late!”

You turned to see Evangeline waving you over, with Lila and Imari flanking her, each holding an enchanted picnic basket floating obediently beside them.

Mattheo let out a quiet groan beside you, letting his head drop gently onto your shoulder. “Where are you going? It’s not even time for class yet. It’s so early…”

You giggled, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “I know, but we haven’t played with the kittens in days thanks to that Charms essay. I promised the girls we’d have breakfast outside with them.”

He sighed like it was the worst tragedy known to man, looking up at you with tired eyes and a pout. “So you're ditching me... for a bunch of furballs.”

“They’re our furballs,” you said with a soft smile, standing and brushing off your skirt.

Mattheo looked up at you—his hair a mess, his expression still sleepy, but his eyes so warm and full of something you couldn’t name. You leaned down and pressed a featherlight kiss to his cheek. It was barely anything, just a brush of your lips, but it had heat blooming across your cheeks.

“Bye,” You said quickly, “Save me a seat in Charms?”

He nodded, watching you trot off toward your friends with a smile so dazed it made him look a little lovesick.

As soon as you were out of earshot, Theo let out a low whistle, “Mate. You’re gone.”

Lorenzo leaned in with a grin, “Did you just blush? Over a cheek kiss?”

Draco raised a brow, amused, “You’ve had girls snog you senseless behind greenhouses. 'The Hufflepuff Sweetheart' kisses you on the cheek and you look like you're ready to write her a sonnet.”

Mattheo blinked slowly, still smiling like a right fool, “It was a very good kiss.”

Draco smirked, “She barely touched you and you look like you’ve been hit with a Confundus charm.”

None of them noticed the two girls lingering near the entrance—eyes narrowed, arms crossed—who’d heard every single word.

***

You weren’t supposed to hear them.

Their voices were just a low hum at first—giggling, whispering—coming from around the corner as you walked the quiet corridor. You weren’t trying to eavesdrop. You weren’t looking for trouble.

But the words found you anyway.

“Mattheo Riddle? Merlin, he’s such a fuckboy,” One of the girls said, her voice dripping with judgment, “He’s probably seen more girls naked than he can remember. And now he’s with her? Sweet, innocent little thing? She doesn’t stand a chance. I mean, how could someone like her—so sweet, so innocent—keep up with him?”

Another girl snickered, her tone mocking. “It's probably just a corruption kink. He’ll get bored as soon as he realizes she can’t give him what he really wants.”

You paused mid-step, your heart sinking into your stomach. The words struck you harder than you could have imagined.

“She doesn’t have what it takes, though. Look at her—so naive. You think she even knows what to do with a guy like that?” One of them continued, “You really think she knows how to keep someone like him satisfied?” The rest of their words faded, but they’d already done their damage. The words had been carved straight through your chest.

You hadn’t meant to listen. But now you couldn’t unhear it.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you could feel the sting of tears burning behind your eyes, the cruel weight of their words crushing your chest.

You wanted to shake it off. You wanted to tell yourself it didn’t matter. But their voices stuck to your skin like smoke. You weren’t enough. You never would be.

You felt stupid.

You’d been so blind to think someone like Mattheo, with all his past, could ever truly want someone like you. You weren’t like the other girls. You were soft, innocent—too innocent, it seemed. You knew it, deep down, but hearing them confirm your worst fear was unbearable.

You didn’t even know how you managed to make it to your dorm. Everything blurred—walls, portraits, passing students—until finally you reached your bed and collapsed onto it, curling in on yourself like you could disappear. The tears came hard and fast, soaking into your pillow no matter how tightly you shut your eyes.

You couldn’t shake the image of Mattheo and his past. Of all the things he’d done, of all the girls who had been in his life. And here you were—so different from them. You were certain he deserved someone who could keep up with him, someone more experienced, more capable of handling whatever it was that he needed.

What if Mattheo needed someone more experienced—someone who could match the fire in his veins, not melt under it?

Could he really be happy with someone like you?

The ache in your chest tightened. You tried to brush it off, to convince yourself it didn’t matter, that Mattheo wouldn’t care what those girls said. But the words kept echoing, louder with every breath: He’ll get bored. She’s not enough. She can’t keep up.

You’d always known you were different than the girls he'd usually chased. You thought he liked that about you. But… maybe you’d been delusional to think he could feel the same way. Really feel it.

The sadness settled over you like fog—thick, inescapable. You tried to reason with yourself, tried to dismiss the ache as insecurity, paranoia, nothing real. He told you he didn’t mind. He’d said it plainly, truthfully—Veritaserum coursing through his veins, no way to lie. You could take all the time you needed. He liked you, chose you, in spite of your hesitation.

And still, the doubt crept in.

Maybe he had meant it at the time.

But maybe he’d change his mind.

Maybe one day he’d wake up and realize what he was missing. Maybe he’d grow tired of your softness, your innocence, your quiet kind of love.

The ache deepened, dull and steady, like something inside you had cracked and wasn’t going to heal quickly. You curled tighter under the blanket, trying to shut it all out—the voices, the doubt, the image of Mattheo with someone who could give him more than you ever could.

You told yourself it didn’t matter.

You told yourself to stop.

But the feeling wouldn’t leave.

***

The next morning, when Mattheo met you in the corridor, he noticed it instantly.

There was a weariness in your eyes that hadn’t been there before—an invisible weight pressing down on your shoulders. The usual lightness in your step, the spark in your smile, your warmth—all dimmed, like someone had drawn a curtain over you overnight.

“Hey,” He said softly, tilting his head to meet your gaze, “You okay?”

You forced a smile, but it felt brittle—like glass about to crack. “Didn’t sleep well,” You murmured, brushing your hair behind your ear as you looked anywhere but at him. The floor suddenly seemed very interesting.

Mattheo’s brows pulled together. He didn’t press, not yet, but the shift in your energy felt like a punch to the ribs. You were always open with him. Bright, effervescent—sunlight in human form. Seeing you closed off like this, hiding behind half-smiles and lowered eyes, made something twist deep in his chest.

He leaned in for your usual morning kiss—your quiet tradition, simple and grounding. Mattheo loved giving affection, and you adored receiving it, but he’d always let you close the gap. Let you decide. Whether it was a quick kiss, a lingering one, or just a soft touch on the cheek—he followed your lead, always careful not to push your boundaries.

It was something that had always made your heart flutter. His patience. His gentleness with you.

But this morning, all you could think about was Fifth Year—when he’d grabbed the girl he was dating at the time and snogged her senseless in front of half the Great Hall. No hesitation. No care for who was watching. His hand had been tangled in her hair, the other gripping her waist like he needed her closer, and when she’d giggled against his mouth, clinging to him like he was gravity itself, he’d laughed—carefree, cocky, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It had been effortless for him then. Confident. Public.

Your heart seized.

How much did he have to restrain himself now? How many times had he accepted your fleeting pecks, when he might have wanted more? How often had he pretended it was enough?

A wave of guilt washed over you. You wanted to reach out, to grab him by the tie and kiss him breathless. Maybe then the whispers wouldn’t matter. Maybe then he wouldn’t get bored. Wouldn’t leave.

But even with that desperate thought flickering in your mind, your body didn’t move. There was ice in your veins. Fear anchoring your limbs. So instead, you leaned up just enough to brush your lips against his, featherlight. Barely there.

Mattheo froze.

You always smiled after your kisses—grinned and scrunched your nose, sometimes added a ridiculous muah sound that made him roll his eyes but secretly love you more. But now…

Now, you didn’t even look at him.

“Sunshine,” he said gently, “are you sure you’re okay?”

You sighed, and this time the smile didn’t even try to reach your eyes. “Just feeling… tired,” you murmured, the words barely above a whisper.

He didn’t believe you. Not for a second.

***

The next few days felt like a slow drift—like two ships caught in different tides.

You weren’t as quick to meet him between classes anymore, often ducking into the crowd or lingering behind with classmates until he was gone. You still spoke when you ran into him, but only when he spoke first. Your voice lacked its usual lilt, and the pauses between your words were longer. Heavier. When he asked to see you, you hesitated. “I’ve got homework,” you’d murmur, “I think I’m getting sick.” Excuses—flimsy, transparent.

You didn’t even show up for breakfast.

Your absence was glaring, something his friends immediately picked up on.

“Where’s your sweet little princess, Matty?” Theodore teased around a mouthful of toast, “Too busy with the mice and birds baking a pie?”

Mattheo didn’t answer.

Because in all honesty… he didn’t know where you were. Just like he hadn’t known yesterday. You’d slipped through the day like a ghost, nowhere to be found, avoiding every place he’d looked for you.

He’d even sent an owl that morning. A soft, simple note: Missed you at breakfast. Meet me after class? I miss you.

All he got back was a short reply scribbled hastily on parchment: Sorry, slept in. Was up late. Just really tired. Maybe later.

There was no little kiss-mark of your lip gloss. No sweet spritz of your perfume clinging to the paper. Not even a heart at the end of your sentence.

And it hurt him—visibly, deeply. More than he could ever admit.

Mattheo wasn’t stupid. If anything, he was painfully perceptive when it came to you. He noticed the way your eyes didn’t light up when you saw him anymore. The way you flinched—subtly, but undeniably—when he reached for your hand. How your laughter came less often. How your smile no longer reached your eyes.

You were pulling away.

At first, he tried to play it cool. Maybe you were stressed, maybe you just needed space. He’d seen you have bad days before. But the quiet between you kept growing louder, stretching taut with everything unsaid. Every time he reached out, you slipped further from his grasp—like sand slipping through his fingers, no matter how tightly he tried to hold on.

And it scared him.

Because this time… you weren’t just hesitant. You weren’t just unsure, or overwhelmed, or waiting for him to take the lead.

You were running away.

And he didn’t know why.

***

It had been nearly two weeks.

Two weeks of avoiding his eyes, his touch, his voice. Two weeks of skipping dinners and brushing past him in corridors like he was a stranger. Two weeks of burying the ache in your chest and pretending like you didn’t feel the pull of his absence every second of every day.

And now… you were here.

Standing outside the boys’ dorm, your fist hovering just inches from the door.

You hesitated—long enough to wonder if this was a mistake, long enough to feel the lump rise in your throat again—but then you knocked. Once. Twice.

It creaked open immediately.

“Oh—hey,” Theodore said, surprised but smiling, “Uh… Mattheo’s inside.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

Around the room, the other boys lifted their heads. Recognition dawned quickly—followed by an awkward shuffle of movement. They exchanged glances, and then, wordlessly, began to file out.

“We’ll give you two a minute,” Lorenzo said with a wink, nudging Blaise toward the door.

Draco gave you a small, kind smile as he passed, brushing your shoulder gently, “Good to see you again, (Y/N).”

And that made it so much worse.

You swallowed hard. Guilt pooled in your stomach like lead.

When you finally stepped inside, Mattheo was sitting on the edge of his bed, a book abandoned in his lap. His head snapped up the moment he saw you.

“(Y/N),” He breathed, standing quickly, his eyes searching your face, “You—you’re here. Are you okay? Are you finally gonna talk to me?”

He looked so hopeful. So relieved. Like your silence had just been a bad dream he was waking up from.

You couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I wanted to talk,” You said softly, “Can we sit?”

He nodded quickly, motioning for you to sit beside him on the bed. You did, folding your hands tightly in your lap.

He sat close—close enough to touch, to reach for you—but you shifted slightly away, just enough for him to notice.

His smile faltered. “(Y/N)…?”

You forced yourself to breathe, to speak the words that had been lodged in your throat for days. To finally speak the words that had been festering inside your chest like poison.

“I think we should break up.”

Silence.

You couldn’t look at him.

It took him a moment to react—like the words had hit, but the meaning hadn’t quite registered yet.

“What?”

Your heart cracked in your chest.

“I don’t think we’re right for each other, Mattheo.”

He flinched—actually flinched—like you’d slapped him, “What are you talking about?”

“I just…” You struggled to keep your voice steady, “I think we’re too different. You and me. It’s not working. I don’t want to waste your time.”

He was staring at you now—like you’d just confessed something absurd, “You don’t want to waste my—(Y/N), what are you saying? You’re everything to me.”

“Mattheo—”

“No.” He stood suddenly, running a hand through his hair, pacing a few steps like the motion might help him make sense of the spiral, “You’re lying. This isn’t you. Just tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it. Is it something I did? I can change. I will change. I’ll do anything. Just—don’t do this.”

You stood, too, voice quieter now, “That’s the thing. Even if you change…it wouldn’t make a difference.”

Because I’m the reason everything is falling apart—but you couldn’t say it.

And Mattheo was standing there like the wind had been knocked out of him.

He opened his mouth—but no words came.

So you left.

You turned on your heel, walked out the door, down the stairs—your legs trembling the entire way. You were halfway across the common room before—

“(Y/N)!” His voice tore through the air like lightning.

You froze.

Then you felt it—his hand wrapping around your wrist, desperate and trembling, pulling you gently back around.

His friends were there, scattered around the couches, watching with wide eyes.

“Can you just please tell me what’s going on?” He asked, breathless and hurting, “I’m not mad—I just… I don’t understand. You don’t even look at me anymore, you’re avoiding me, and now this? If you want space, I’ll give you space. If you need time, I’ll wait. Just… please. Tell me the truth. I can’t fix it if I don’t know what I broke.”

You looked up at him then. His eyes were shining, lips parted, pain carved into every inch of his expression.

And it shattered you.

You shook your head slowly, tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

“You didn’t break anything,” You whispered, “But some things just…can’t be fixed.”

And that was all you gave him before you slipped your wrist out of his hold and walked away—this time, for real.

He didn’t chase you again.

Mattheo stood there, unmoving, eyes locked on the spot where you’d stood.

“What the hell was that?” Blaise asked quietly.

Mattheo didn’t respond.

He just stared at the door, still trying to catch his breath.

“We just broke up,” He said hollowly. Then he sank into the nearest armchair, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His fingers threaded through his hair, trembling as he blinked rapidly—like the world was spinning too fast, and he couldn’t keep up.

***

It had been nearly a month since the breakup. And every second of it had been hell.

Mattheo wasn’t just off—he was unrecognizable.

He stopped showing up to class unless someone physically dragged him. On the rare occasions he did, he’d sit slouched in the back, hood up, glowering at the floor, snapping at anyone who dared speak to him. He skipped practice. Ignored meals. Picked fights for no reason.

And when Quidditch rolled around? It was brutal.

He played like he had nothing to lose—like every match was a battlefield, every tackle a personal vendetta, every swing of his bat a desperate attempt to release something festering inside. Players left the pitch bruised, limping, bleeding. Referees issued warnings. Professors whispered behind closed doors. Students started walking on eggshells whenever he passed, careful not to catch his eye.

But still… even through all of that, he searched for you.

Every time he walked into a room, his gaze found you. Across the Great Hall, surrounded by your friends. In the courtyard, hunched over your journal. In the corridors, where you kept your head down and your footsteps quick—where you avoided him like it physically hurt to meet his eyes.

Because it did.

Once—just once—you ran into each other between classes.

You turned a corner and there he was.

His steps halted. Your breath caught.

“(Y/N)—” He breathed, his voice low and hopeful, like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming.

But you couldn’t look at him. You ducked your head and brushed past, your heart hammering in your chest.

You kept walking, fast, willing yourself not to cry.

And just before you rounded the corner, you paused.

Just for a second.

You glanced back, hoping—aching—for even the smallest sign that he was looking back.

Mattheo didn’t see your heartbroken gaze.

But Evangeline certainly did.

***

“This is ridiculous.” Theo muttered one night, slamming his book shut.

Blaise didn't look up from his game of exploding snap with Enzo, “He didn’t even show up to practice today.”

“He was out back,” Enzo said quietly, “Feeding her cats at the shelter again."

The tension in the Slytherin common room was already thick when the door opened and four girls stepped inside.

Evangeline, Lila, Daisy, and Imari strode in with a kind of urgent determination that made every conversation falter mid-sentence. Heads turned. Even Draco glanced up from where he sat lounging by the fireplace.

When him and the others saw the girls heading straight for them, their expressions shifted from curiosity to mild alarm.

“You lot,” Evangeline said firmly, folding her arms as they approached, “We need to talk.”

“Uh…” Theo blinked, “Hi?”

Lila didn’t waste time, “It’s about (Y/N).”

That got their attention.

Blaise sighed and put down the Exploding Snap cards.

“She’s not eating,” Daisy said quietly, “I’ve been sitting with her at meals, and she hardly touches anything. She’s barely there. Her eyes are dead, and I know she’s been crying herself to sleep every night. I can't watch it anymore."

Imari added sharply, “And she won’t tell us what happened. All we know is that she broke up with Mattheo, and ever since then, it’s like we’re living with a ghost.”

The boys exchanged glances—uneasy, guilt-ridden glances.

“Well,” Theodore exhaled, running a hand through his curls, “if it makes you feel any better, Mattheo’s not exactly thriving either.”

Draco snorted, “Thriving? He’s on the verge of a full mental collapse.”

“He’s stopped going to class,” Blaise muttered, “He’s smoking like a chimney again. Got detention twice last week for fighting.”

Lorenzo chimed in, “He damn near took someone’s head off at Quidditch. We’re this close to him being benched for the rest of the season—or expelled.”

Evangeline’s expression softened slightly, “So… they’re both miserable.”

“Clearly,” Theo muttered, leaning against the arm of the couch, “But what are we supposed to do about it?”

That’s when Imari stepped forward, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She fixed the boys with a hard look, “You all know Mattheo better than anyone. What the hell is he doing to fix this?”

Theo’s eyebrows shot up, “Why does Mattheo have to fix anything? (Y/N) dumped him out of nowhere and shattered his heart! Some Hufflepuff sweetheart she turned out to be!”

Lila stepped forward defensively, “She must’ve had a good reason! Mattheo must’ve done something—he’s obviously in the wrong!”

“You shut your Hufflepuff mouth,” Draco snapped, standing up as the tension in the room heightened.

“Enough,” Evangeline snapped, eyes flashing, “This isn’t about blame. We’re not here to fight—we’re here to help them. Or did you all miss the part where they’re both completely wrecked without each other?”

Theo blinked, “…Damn. I like an assertive woman.”

Evangeline didn’t even look at him, instead turning her attention back to the boys, "We need to help them. They’re both falling apart, and if we don’t do something now, it’s only going to get worse."

Imari glanced at the guys, her eyes narrowing as she thought for a moment. Then, a smirk tugged at her lips. She stood up straight, crossing her arms as she looked them over, "I’ve got an idea."

***

It was just past sunset when you heard a stampede of frantic footsteps charging up the stairs to your dorm room. You barely stirred from bed, buried deep in a cocoon of blankets and silence.

Then the door burst open.

“Does anyone have gauze? Or a healing salve? Lila, where’s the bloody first aid kit?!”

The chaos jolted you upright.

Imari was digging through drawers like her life depended on it. Daisy was pacing, hair a mess, muttering under her breath. Lila had inexplicably opened your wardrobe and was rifling through your jumpers. Evangeline was trying—and failing—to look composed.

You blinked, “What’s going on?”

“We found a baby owl,” Daisy rushed out, breathless, scrambling to your bedside, “Abandoned on the Astronomy Tower. Its wing’s all bent—it can’t fly.”

“—and it was crying,” Lila added dramatically, dabbing at imaginary tears, “Little squeaky hoots, like it was calling for help.”

Your heart lurched, “Wait—what? Is it still up there?”

“Yeah, we didn’t want to risk hurting it more by moving it,” Imari said, voice sharp with urgency, “We were grabbing supplies, but honestly, you’re the best with animals, (Y/N). Could you go? Please?”

You were already tossing off your blanket, “Of course. Where?”

“Astronomy Tower,” Evangeline said, “By the west-facing window.”

“We’ll be right behind you with the kit,” Lila added, pushing the nearly empty first aid box into Imari’s arms.

“Go on,” Daisy said gently, “Poor thing’s probably terrified.”

Without another word, you slipped on your shoes and bolted for the door.

The second you were gone, the girls sagged in relief.

“We’ve been trying to get her out of bed for weeks and all it took was a fake injured animal?” Lila muttered.

“She’s too pure for this world,” Daisy sighed.

“I love her for it,” Evangeline said softly.

“Right?” Imari smirked, “Now we just need the guys to hold up their end of the bargain.”

Meanwhile, in the Slytherin dorm…

“Oi, Mattheo,” Blaise called casually, leaning against the doorframe, “Fancy a smoke?”

Mattheo didn’t even glance up. He was slouched in his desk chair, hood up, fingers twitching idly. But after a pause, he sighed and stood, “Sure.”

They walked in silence, the kind that made everything feel heavier. No jokes. No jabs. Just thick, uncomfortable quiet.

Halfway to the courtyard, Theo suddenly froze, smacking his pockets, “Shit.”

Mattheo frowned, “What?”

“My lighter. Left it in the dorm.”

Mattheo narrowed his eyes, “Use your wand?”

Theo blinked, “Uh… right. That would make sense.”

Mattheo stared at him.

Draco stepped in, cool as ever, “Ignore him. Dropped on his head too many times as a child. Just head up to the Astronomy Tower—we’ll catch up.”

Mattheo’s expression tightened, “Why the Astronomy Tower?”

“Best view. Less wind. Good vibes,” Blaise said, waving him off, “Go on. We’ll be right there.”

Mattheo looked at them for a long second. Suspicious. Then he turned and headed toward the tower alone.

As soon as he was gone, the boys broke formation.

“Do you think he’s going to punch someone if this goes wrong?” Lorenzo asked.

“Definitely,” Draco muttered, “I’m blaming that halfwit Imari. This plan is ridiculous.”

“I don’t know,” Theo said thoughtfully, “Evangeline seems like she knows what she’s doing.”

Draco narrowed his eyes, “Theo’s kink is women telling him he’s stupid.”

Theo shrugged, “Not denying it.”

***

You ran up the stairs to the Astronomy Tower, lungs burning, trying to quiet your breathing so you could listen for the pained hoots of an injured owl.

But then you saw him.

“Mattheo?” You breathed, freezing in the doorway.

He leaned against the far wall, bathed in the fading light of sunset, his posture tense, eyes sharp with disbelief, “What are you doing here?”

“I—I didn’t know you’d be—”

The door slammed shut behind you with a heavy clang.

You both spun around, “What the hell?!”

“YOU’RE WELCOME!” Came Theo’s smug voice, muffled through the thick wood, “Not unlocking this ‘til you two sort your shit out!”

“DON’T BOTHER SCREAMING!” Imari added cheerfully, “It’s soundproofed!”

Mattheo stormed to the door, yanking at the handle and pounding his fist against the wood, “This isn’t fucking funny, Theo! Open the door!”

You stood frozen, caught between panic and the overwhelming urge to melt into the floor.

“Mattheo—”

“Honestly, what the fuck were they thinking?” He snapped, pacing now, furious, “Let’s just trap us in a room together, yeah? Brilliant. Force her to spend time with the monster she couldn’t wait to get away from.”

Your chest clenched, “You’re not a monster.”

He laughed bitterly, “Right. That’s why you couldn’t even look at me when you ended things.”

You flinched.

“You didn’t even say anything real,” He continued, voice rising, “Just some vague crap about how we weren’t compatible—like that wasn’t a complete lie.”

You stared at the floor, throat tight, “It wasn’t about you, Mattheo.”

“Oh, no?” His voice cracked, “Could’ve fooled me.”

Your fists clenched at your sides, “It wasn’t you. It’s me, okay?!”

He froze, “What?”

You couldn’t stop the words now, even as your voice wavered, “It was me. I’m the problem. I can’t give you what you need. I’m inexperienced and clumsy and it was only a matter of time before you realized you deserved better—someone who could give you the kind of relationship you actually want.”

He looked like you’d just struck him.

“I didn’t want it to get to my head,” You whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks, “But I couldn’t stop thinking about how I wasn’t making you as happy as you made me. I wasn’t enough. And every time I saw you, it hurt… and I just didn’t want it to hurt anymore.”

“(Y/N)…” He breathed, shaking his head, “I told you so many times. I promised you—we wouldn’t go faster than what you wanted. What you needed.”

“But what about your needs?” You cried, voice cracking, “Why should you have to restrain yourself and ignore what you want just because I’m too scared to give it? What makes me worth that sacrifice?”

Mattheo was stunned silent.

Then, in the quiet, his voice broke through like a prayer, “Because I’m in love with you, (Y/N).”

You froze.

“I love you for who you are. There isn’t another girl in this bloody castle—or the world—who’s as kind and selfless as you. I told you before—I’ve never felt like this with anyone else. And I don’t want to. I’m not going anywhere.”

He stepped closer, voice softer but no less intense.

“I don’t love you in spite of your caution—I love you because of it. Because every time you trust me, even just a little, I know I’m getting a part of you no one else has. That means something to me. That connects me to you in a way I’ve never felt with anyone else.”

His eyes searched yours, earnest and unwavering.

“So if you want to take things slow? That’s fine. If you want to join a convent and die a virgin—I’ll turn into a priest.”

That startled a teary laugh out of you.

“All I need is you, (Y/N). In whatever way you can give me.”

And then, in a blur of movement, he crossed the room and wrapped you in his arms so tightly it knocked the air from your lungs.

“You stupid, beautiful idiot,” He whispered into your hair, voice shaking, “You think I’d ever stop loving you?”

You sobbed into his chest, gripping the back of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“I don’t care what anyone says,” He murmured, “I don’t care if you’re scared, or shy, or awkward—I. Don’t. Care. You’re mine, (Y/N). That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I just didn’t want to disappoint you.” You hiccuped.

“You couldn’t,” He said fiercely, “You never could.”

You pulled back just enough to see his face—his eyes were glassy, rimmed red, but so, so soft.

He cupped your cheek, kissed your forehead. Then your temple. Your cheek. Every inch he could reach without letting go.

“I love you,” He whispered, like a vow, “And I’m gonna keep loving you—no matter how long it takes you to believe me.”

“I—I love you too,” you whispered back, trembling.

And this time, you kissed him first—wrapping your arms around his neck and molding your lips to his, harder than ever before. Not because you felt like you had to, but because you missed him.

You missed him so much.

The stars above bore witness—not to an ending, but a return.

***

Bonus:

You stirred your cup of hot cocoa lazily, a playful smirk tugging at your lips as you watched both groups of your friends awkwardly glance at one another. The kitchens were warm and buzzing with laughter, but a hint of tension from earlier still lingered in the air.

“Unbelievable,” You said, looking more upset than you were considering your eyes were still red and your cheeks were still blotchy, “Lying about a poor injured baby animal like that.”

Lila, ever the spokesperson, threw her hands up with an exasperated groan, “We’re sorry, (Y/N). But you were so depressed! It was horrible. We didn’t know what else to do.”

You raised a brow, grin deepening, “So you told the depressed girl to go to the only place in the castle with a balcony?”

The room went dead silent. Everyone exchanged panicked looks as the weight of that unintended implication sunk in.

Then—your laughter broke the silence, bright and sudden, echoing off the stone walls. The sound was so unexpected that they all visibly relaxed, joining in with nervous chuckles.

Mattheo, seated beside you, leaned in and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, his voice quiet and steady. “Don’t talk like that,” he murmured, his lips brushing your skin, “I don’t like hearing it.”

You blinked up at him, momentarily caught off guard by the tenderness in his tone. His gaze was soft but serious, full of something fiercely protective.

A quiet warmth spread in your chest, and you gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Okay,” You whispered, your smile softer now.

Across the table, Theo let out an exaggerated groan, “And now we have the pleasure of witnessing the tooth-rotting fluff. Again.”

“They’re adorable. Stop being mean,” Evangeline shot back, smacking him lightly on the shoulder.

Theo perked up, undeterred, “Maybe I wouldn’t be so mean if I had some teeth-rotting sugar of my own.”

Evangeline looked genuinely disturbed, “I’d rather third-wheel their disgustingly cheesy romance, thanks.”

“Alright, alright,” Daisy cut in, raising her mug in a faux-toasting motion, “How about we all agree to be mildly happy for them and get back to celebrating the fact that they’re no longer moody shells of human beings.”

“Agreed,” Blaise added, lifting his own cup with mock solemnity, “For the greater good of us all.”

***

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@notslaybabes

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

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