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sceletaflores · 23 days ago

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HEY THERE SUGAR BABY!

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ೃ⁀➷ PAIR: Harry Castillo x fem!reader

ೃ⁀➷ WC: 10k

ೃ⁀➷ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, smoking, drinking, boss/employee relationship, reader is a personal/executive assistant, very much a work husband/work wife dynamic, inescapable sugar daddy tendencies, no actual sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship despite how the title and previous tag makes it sound lmao, harry castillo is a cool boss, romcom tropes cause i’m feeling romantic, slow dancing, first kiss, heavy petting in a limo, oral sex (fem!receiving), multiple orgasms, p in v, porn with way too much fucking plot, no use of y/n.

ೃ⁀➷ NAT’S NOTE: i usually don’t like to write for a new character before i’ve watched the movie but you dangle the idea of a hot billionaire work romance in my face and expect me not to bite at it? i’m just not that strong. also i have zero idea what his actual job in the movie is, i think it’s a basic ass finance bro wall street type job and that bores the hell out of me so he’s an architect because i said so. he's my barbie i can make him do what i want! this whole thing was mainly an excuse to write about my satc, carrie and big vibe slash fantasy but way less toxic. hope y’all love it, mwah!

ೃ⁀➷ NAT’S HEADPHONES: MATERIAL GIRL - Phlotilla

dividers by angel @saradika-graphics!

an architect and his assistant walk into a gala…

You’ve been working with Harry Castillo for four years, two months, and thirteen days.

You know this because his calendar starts and ends with you.

Your name’s not embossed on the front of the seventy story building sitting pretty on 57th street, not splashed across the cover of Architectural Digest, not signed neatly at the bottom of those pristine renderings that get passed around in glass boardrooms and land multi-million dollar deals.

But you know the build order of every project in the past five fiscal years. You know which of the project managers can’t be trusted with deadlines, which board members need their egos stroked, and every single name attached to each of the contracts spanning across five continents.

You were three years out of school and six months into a soul sucking accounting job that felt more like glorified coffee-fetching with a minor in emotional labor when Harry called.

Well—technically, his HR director called, but Harry noticed you, or noticed your resume stacked with respectable internships and juicy recommendation letters. Or maybe it was the fact that during your third round interview, you corrected one of his junior partners on a misquoted quarterly budget breakdown.

Either way, two weeks later you were standing in a glass top floor office owned by one of the most powerful men in the city.

And yes, you knew who he was before he hired you, of course you did.

Harry had been New York’s golden boy since the early aughts, when his first building went up in Tribeca and every magazine with a spine declared him the second coming of Frank Llyod Wright.

He was a genius, innovative. One of the youngest Pritzker Prize winners in history who got the kind of press coverage that made people think “architect” was synonymous with “celebrity”.

Now, at 47, Harry Castillo is an institution in the world of design.

Castillo Atelier is the best firm in the city, maybe even in the world, depending on which Real Estate Digest cover story you read. His name alone makes most clients practically foam at the mouth and drop seven figures without seeing a single blueprint.

You’ve been his executive assistant longer than it took you to get your shiny Business Administrations degree from Colombia, and if anyone knew Harry better than his mother or his therapist, it was you.

You have every number of his black American Express card memorized, front and back. You have every password to every account imaginable tucked away neatly in a file labeled “BLACKMAIL MATERIAL” on your desktop.

You schedule his life down to the minute, from site visits in Abu Dhabi to dental cleanings in Midtown. You know his shoe size, the name of his best tailor's teenage daughter, which marble supplier he trusts in Verona. You know the entry code to his West Village brownstone and you’re on a first name basis with the doorman at his Fifth Avenue penthouse.

You know he drinks his coffee black but only before noon and he switches to espresso, that he smokes Marlboro Golds even though he swears up and down he’s quit, and that when he’s stressed, he starts sketching towers with spiral staircases that’ll never pass code.

It’s morphed into a strange kind of intimacy. Not romantic, but not exactly a normal boss-employee relationship either.

He's the kind of boss who makes you want to roll your eyes at the word, because it's not that simple—not that sterile.

It's late nights spent in his dimly lit office where he sheds his suit jacket and hands you a perfectly poured wine glass without asking when you're the only two left in the building. It's sitting shoulder to shoulder on a leather couch, going over zoning permits while his arm rests behind you, not on you, but close enough to count.

Harry’s careful with you, in a way that’s not always obvious. He buys you the books you idly mention wanting to read in passing and custom David Yurman earrings fitted with your birthstone. If he was ten years younger and you were ten years dumber, you might’ve mistaken it for something else.

As it is, you just tell yourself he likes spoiling things that work well. Like his thousand dollar espresso machine. Like his Aston Martin. Like you.

You should feel like an accessory.

Instead, you feel like a centerpiece—like you’re the sun that his life revolves around.

You can’t tell which is worse.

Today, like most days, starts with you getting to the office an hour before him.

You take the elevator up to the seventy third floor, unlock his office, and flick on the lights. The space is gorgeous, minimalist in a way that doesn’t ever feel cold. Floor to ceiling windows, sleek dark wood floors, and exposed beams.

There’s an open notebook on his desk from the night before, a few handwritten notes scrawled in sharp, narrow pen strokes that he gave up on halfway through and started sketching in the margins.

You roll your eyes, smothering a fond smile as you walk out of the room and to your own desk. It’s less than six feet from his door, close enough that you can always hear clipped phone calls or the soft sounds of Prince playing from his sound system.

You drop your bag, start up your desktop, and begin triaging the day. Your inbox is in a constant state of full to the brim no matter how good you are at your job—bursting with emails from developers, calendar shifts, a client breakfast cancellation.

The whole office smells like bergamot and bergdorf. Someone sent over a Diptyque candle and Harry hasn’t stopped lighting it. Luckily for you, it’s strong enough to keep the scent of lemony luxury permeating long after it’s been blown out.

It’s still not enough to magically cancel out the stress of pushy demands disguised as business and city bureaucracy, but you can still pretend it is.

You’re bouncing between five open tabs and sending increasingly frantic texts to the head of operations about a late shipment of imported glass by the time you finally hear a soft ding from the elevator followed by crisp footsteps coming your way.

Harry rounds the corner holding a pastry bag, Ray-Bans on, hair still wet from the shower and curling around his ears. “Good morning, sunshine.”

You don’t look up from your screen. “You’re late again.”

“No,” Harry tuts, leaning his hip against your desk and dropping the bag in front of you. “You’re just early.”

“I work here.”

“Funny, so do I.”

“Do you?” You finally look up, brow arched. “I forget.”

He’s wearing that suit. The one that makes your job harder in the most inappropriate HR violating ways. Deep blue pinstripe with the burgundy Gucci tie you handpicked last year. It’s fitted like it had been tailored by the hands of God.

He tilts his head, peering at you over the edge of his glasses. “Is that any way to treat the man who bought you breakfast?”

Your eyes cut to the white paper bag, Mah-Ze-Dahr. You don’t need to look inside it to know what it is, a twenty dollar pistachio crunch croissant. Your favorite.

You don’t have time to respond before Harry drops his glasses on your desk, settling into the chair across from you. “Remind me never to take a meeting in Soho before noon again.”

You set the bag aside and continue typing with a soft shake of your head. “You said that last week, and the week before that.”

“And yet I keep doing it.” He rolls his head on his shoulders with a soft sigh. “That’s insanity, isn’t it? Doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result.”

“That’s Einstein,” you say, pointedly ignoring the way he’s looking at you. “Maybe you just like the punishment.”

Harry huffs, amused. “I pay you too much to psychoanalyze me.”

You open a new tab, click on a high priority labeled email and turn your screen in his direction. “Yet you don’t pay me enough to deal with your ex-wife’s lawyer hassling me before seven.”

That certainly gets his attention, his spine straightening as he leans forward, squinting at your screen. “She didn’t.”

You nod, resting your chin on your palm as his eyes flit over the lengthy body. “She did.”

You watched the divorce unfold like everyone else. It was loud, expensive, and painfully public. She was a former model turned gallery owner with a sharp tongue and better connections than half the industry. When she aired Harry out in New York Magazine the tabloids had a fucking field day.

The headlines were vicious. Castillo’s Castle Crumbles. From Manhattan’s Favorite Power Couple to Demolition Duo. Architect of His Own Downfall?

“Christ.” Harry sighs, leaning back and running a hand through his hair. “She promised she’d keep you out of this.”

“She lied.” You turn your screen back around, grabbing a pen to quickly scrawl the lawyer’s number across the front of a Post-It. “She wants her name off the Lakewood project or she’ll go to the press about the Montauk property.”

He drags a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fucking hell.”

You slide the Post-It note across the desk. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

He doesn’t thank you, not out loud, but the way his eyes linger on the note before he tucks it into his jacket pocket says enough.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says, and it’s almost a throwaway comment—but his voice dips a little, gets low in that way that always makes you want to chew glass or scream into a designer throw pillow.

You shrug. “You say that a lot, but I don’t see any new raises.”

His grin is lazy, charming. “You know I’d bankrupt this company to keep you.”

You roll your eyes so hard it should count as cardio. “Please don’t. I like having dental.”

Harry laughs—really laughs—and it’s unfair how good it sounds, how it worms under your skin and stays there.

You turn away, forcing the warm feeling in your stomach to the back of your mind, and pivot. “You have a conference call with Dubai at eleven, lunch with the Fairstein developers at Cipriani, and there’s some plans in the Berlin file that still need to be signed.”

Harry nods once, shifting into business mode at the drop of a hat. “Well, I’ve got my marching orders.”

He checks his watch, stands, and straightens his jacket with a lazy kind of grace. You hate the way your eyes catch on the curve of his wrist, the way the cufflink glints in the morning light. Custom Cartier, a gift from some foreign diplomat client last Christmas. You remember because you signed for the delivery. Wrapped it, even.

Just before he steps into his office, he pauses. “I mean it.” His voice softens, and for a flicker of a moment, he looks at you like he’s trying to tell you something without saying it out loud. “This place doesn’t work without you.”

You glance up, heart skipping in your chest, ready with some practiced quip, but he’s already gone—door shut, his silhouette framed behind the frosted glass like a shadow you can’t shake.

This is how it always is—business talk sugarcoated in flirtation, or flirtation buried under years of knowing exactly how the other one works. If he weren’t who he is, and if you weren’t so damn good at ignoring how often he looks at your mouth when you talk, it might’ve gone somewhere dangerous already.

Instead, it lives in the margins. Like the ones he doodles spiral towers into. Like the ones in the secret planner buried in the very bottom drawer of you desk where you write down things like:

Remind Harry to eat something before 3.

Book flights for Hong Kong.

Don’t fall in love with your boss.

That last one’s underlined. Twice.

The rest of the morning floats by, you busy yourself with three different screens and sporadic bites of croissant and sips of coffee until one of the newer interns shows up with the mail.

You thank her and flip through the small mountain of envelopes until one catches your eye. A sleek black one with loopy silver lettering on the front. To Castillo Atelier, with a familiar logo stamped on the corner. You rip the gold seal, and slip the card out.

The AIA New York Chapter cordially invites Harry Castillo & Guest to the prestigious 2025 Architecture Gala | The Metropolitan Museum of Art | Black Tie.

You blink, and read it three more times before a deep sigh rips itself from somewhere deep in your chest. You skim the rest, going over fine print and steadily sighing louder the more you take it in.

You really should have known, it’s around that time. Award season, charity galas, old rich people stuff. Only this year, Harry Castillo and Guest are in separate states, in separate houses, and very much not on speaking terms.

Nor will they be on them in time for Friday night, or any other night in the foreseeable future.

You stand, letter in hand. Your heels click against the floor until you’re standing just outside Harry’s office, mulling over how bad it would reflect on your part if the invitation mysteriously found its way to the bottom of your trash. You knock anyway.

“Come in,” came the reply—his voice low, rough like it always is after the lunch rush, like velvet dragged over concrete.

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

Harry is at his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, Dior frames perched halfway down his nose as he looms over the stack of blueprints you left on his desk a few hours ago.

You don’t let yourself look at the tan column of his neck as you lean against the door. “You got a minute.”

He looks up, relaxing in his chair. “For you? Always.”

You hold up the invitation like it’s a warrant, shaking it gently. “You’ve been summoned.”

Harry’s eyes bounce from your own to the thick card stock, you watch the recognition register in his eyes. He sighs, “The gala.”

You nod, crossing your feet in front of you. “You’re being honored.”

He shakes his head with a laugh. “I was hoping they’d forget about me.”

Who possibly could?

You arch your brow. “It’s a lifetime achievement award.”

“I’m not even fifty.”

“Apparently, they’ve run out of old white men to honor.”

Harry chuckles, but it’s a tired sound. He rubs slow circles over his temples, tousling the salt and pepper hair scattered there. “Tell them we’re busy, send a fruit basket.”

You can’t explain the feeling that floods your chest, a mix of something like compassion and pity. It makes your heart ache, just a little bit. Enough to make you really feel it, enough to make you bury it before you can really dwell on why it hurts so much.

Harry puts on a spectacular front, but you know him too well. You know that the divorce has weighed on him, that’s it made him question himself. You know it was a massive shot to his self esteem, as both a person and as a company.

You also know deep down it’s not the company that you care about.

“No.” You shake your head, making your way over to his desk.

He looks up at you, brow raised. “No?”

“No,” you emphasize, setting the invitation down on his desk. “You may think this is pointless, and that you’re too young—”

“Watch it.”

“—But you deserve this,” you finish, tapping a manicured nail on the card. “You deserve a whole room full of people fawning over you for no reason other than the fact that you’re you.”

Harry's eyes find yours again, slower this time. He doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks at you—really looks at you. And for a second, it’s too much. Too focused, too quiet, too…tender. It’s the kind of look that makes your skin prickle, your stomach twist.

But you don’t flinch under the weight of his stare. You never do.

He leans forward, resting his arms on the desk. “Okay.”

You blink. “Okay?”

“Okay.” He nods, lacing his fingers together. “I’ll go.”

It feels anticlimactic somehow. You expected more of a fight—more pushback or maybe even a snide comment about black tie events like this becoming less about the accolades and the charity and more about new wave firms bustling around like show ponies scuffling over who signed the best contract with the most zeros tacked neatly on the end.

Instead, he just says okay. Like it’s simple. Like you aren’t the reason he’s saying yes.

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious. “Just like that?”

“You make a compelling case." Harry shrugs, reaching for the invitation. “Besides, you know I love it when you compliment me.”

You huff, shaking your head, but you can’t fight the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth as you lean on his desk. “You’re ridiculous.”

“So I’ve been told.” Harry nods, but he’s smiling wide enough to outdo your own.

He looks down at the invitation, scanning over the text languidly. He hums as he reads, dragging his thumb across the raised font.

You let yourself watch him, cataloging all the details you’ve already memorized a thousand times. Your eyes trace the shape of his brows, the deep set lines that fan out from the corners of his eyes, the strong arch of his nose, the soft curve of his lips.

When he’s done, he taps it against his palm once and looks back at you. “And who, pray tell, is coming as my guest?”

You tilt your head. “I can get you someone,” you offer, even if the words make your stomach churn as you say them. “You want blonde or brunette? Bashful debutante or discreet NDA?”

Harry doesn't answer right away.

He leans back in his chair, looking at you like you're a puzzle he’s not quite finished solving. Like you’re a building he’s still sketching, still drafting, still trying to figure out if the foundation can handle the weight of what he wants to build on top of it.

“I don’t want someone,” he says finally.

The words land softer than you expect, but they still hit like a hammer to the chest.

“You should bring someone,” you deflect, professional, clean. “It’ll look good. The press will be there.”

“I’m aware,” he says, still watching you. “Which is why I don’t want just anyone.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. Not with the way his voice sounds—quiet, certain, threaded with a dangerous kind of warmth that makes your pulse kick.

Harry reaches up to slip his glasses off his face. “I don’t want someone,” he says again, voice even. “I want you.”

He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like your pulse doesn’t trip itself up three times over.

You blink. Once. Twice. Then scoff, forcing a laugh. “Excuse me?”

“Come with me.”

It’s too sincere, too heart stoppingly warm.

Your stomach drops. Then flips. Then rises again in the same way an express elevator does at fifty floors a second. “Harry—”

He cuts you off. “Don’t make that face.” He points at you with his glasses, shaking his head. “You’ll look incredible in black tie. And I trust you more than any PR wrangled plus–one they’d set me up with.”

You shake your head, brows pinched. “This isn’t just some client dinner at Nobu I’m playing third wheel at, Harry. This is extremely important. It’s the goddamn Met for architects.”

Harry just smiles, squinting at you. “When have I ever let you feel like a third wheel?”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

You just stare at him, lost for words. The city buzzes beneath you, the familiar noise of traffic and life blending together.

Harry doesn’t look away, he keeps your gaze, quietly drumming his fingers along his desk. It’s infuriating, the way the setting sun bathes him in a soft golden light, illuminating the smile on his face. A smile that makes it clear he knows he’s already won.

It makes you hesitate, the weight of it. Because it would be a date. Maybe not on paper or by any certain labels—but in every meaningful, messy, deliciously complicated way it matters, it would be.

Harry Castillo and guest, you filling the role perfectly.

You hold his gaze for a few moments longer, dragging it out just enough to make it seem like you’re putting up a real fight.

Finally, you cross your arms over your chest with a low sigh. “Okay.”

He cocks his head, smug grin on his lips. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you repeat, raising a shoulder more casually than you feel. “I’ll go.”

“Really?” His tone is suspicious, but his smile doesn't budge. “There’s no catch?”

“You made a compelling case." You push off his desk, smoothing your hands down the front of your pencil skirt. “Besides, you know I love it when you compliment me.”

Harry laughs, a rich, warm sound. “I should’ve known.”

“I’ll need a dress,” you say, slowly making your way to the door. “I think the rest of the evening off should give me plenty of time to find one, don’t you agree, boss?”

Harry shakes his head, easy as anything. “I’ll take care of it.”

You pause, hand on the doorknob. “Tell me you’re not trying to play sugar daddy, the interns are already gossiping.”

He arches a brow. “If the shoe fits.”

“Harry.”

“Okay, okay.” He raises his hands in surrender, another laugh spilling from his chest to make the room just a few degrees warmer. “I’ll handle it. Trust me.”

You roll your eyes, pulling the door open before you do something stupid like smile back. “Do I really have a choice?”

Just as you go to leave, he calls your name—softly. It stops you mid-step.

You glance over your shoulder.

He doesn’t say anything else right away. Just looks at you like you’re something he’s still trying to figure out how to know, even after all this time.

“Thank you,” he says finally. Quiet. Sincere.

Your throat tightens. Not because of the words—even if you give him shit for it, he’s said them before—but because of the way he says them now. Like he means it for more than just the RSVP. Like he means it for staying. For putting up with the late nights, and the stress, and the divorce fallout, and the birthday gifts he forgets until the day of.

You nod, once. “You’re welcome.”

And then you slip out the door before the silence swells too much and gives you away.

You’re not in love with him. Not yet, but something about the way he looked at you—like you were both a solution and a problem—makes your chest ache in a way you don’t quite know how to ignore anymore.

You’ll go to the gala. You’ll wear something ridiculously expensive, if Harry has any say on the matter. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll let yourself enjoy it.

Just a little.

The package arrived that same night.

A man in a suit knocked on your door and had you sign for a box bigger than your work desk. He had to help you drag it into your hallway and denied the tip you tried to give him, assuring you it was already taken care of.

There were no labels on the box, no receipt or return address or anything other than an obnoxiously large gold bow wrapped neatly around all four sides.

Well, that and a note taped to the front.

Your name was written in a familiar, looping handwriting that you’d recognize by touch alone. You peeled it off with careful fingers, and with more ceremony than necessary, flipped it open.

“Make them think I built you myself - H.”

You stared at it for an embarrassingly long amount of time, not bothering to stifle the smile on your lips as you ran your thumb over the ink. You were alone anyway.

The box groaned a little when you finally opened it, layers of black tissue paper rustled softly as you peeled them back.

And there it was.

Midnight blue. Backless. Heavy silk. The kind of thing that knew how to behave under dim lights and the weight of eyes.

You could already feel it—how it would cling to your waist, slip along your thighs when you walked, turn your skin into something luminous. You didn’t even need a mirror.

Of course he picked this one. Of course he knew your size.

You reached for it, fingertips grazing the fabric like it might evaporate, still slightly dazed. There was an overwhelming aura about it—like this wasn’t just a dress, but a thesis.

A statement. An intention, signed and sealed in French seams.

And somehow it still smelled faintly of him. Not in a creepy way. In a way that made you wonder if he’d touched it before it left the boutique. If he’d looked at it and pictured you, just for a moment too long. If he’d smiled when he imagined what you’d say.

You unfolded it like you were handling a newborn, held it against your body and turned toward the hallway mirror, half laughing at yourself, heat rising to your cheeks.

You turned this way and that, staring at your reflection in the dim light, pretending—just for a second—that he was behind you, watching.

Your phone buzzed on the counter. One sharp vibration, tearing you out of your little fantasy world and back to the present.

You crossed the room still holding the dress to your chest, and bit your lip when you saw his name at the very top of your screen.

Hairy

Try not to cause a scene unless you want to make headlines. I’d like to keep your promotion rumor free, for now.

You laughed softly, thumb hovering above the keyboard for just a moment before you started typing.

You know this is deranged behavior, right?

You hit send before you could overthink it, watched the read receipt pop up a second later before the three little bubbles came to life.

They vanished, then reappeared.

Hairy

I’m aware.

But I have impeccable taste. That absolves me of quite a lot.

See you at 8.

You swore softly under your breath and set the phone down like it was overheating.

You looked back at the dress. At the mirror.

God help you—you were going to wear the hell out of it.

Friday comes both too fast and too slow.

You glide through the whole rest of the week pretending this is normal—just another event, just another night of shaking hands and schmoozing.

You tell yourself it doesn't mean anything, but the butterflies in your stomach don’t listen quite as well.

You hardly see Harry at work, most of his time spent across town busy with clients like he always is near the end of the week. You can’t tell if it would have helped or hindered your nerves to see him before you both showed up to one of the most prestigious events held in his field, together.

Maybe it’s better this way.

Now, you’ve spent the better part of the evening after work pacing the floor of your apartment in a silk robe, nerves reaching a fever pitch.

Your phone is blowing up from its spot next to you on your vanity with calendar alerts and panicked texts from Harry about the misplacement of a single Prada tie he just has to wear even though he has hundreds of others to choose from lining an entire wall of his walk-in. You know that, you’re the one who hung them.

You do your hair and makeup on what feels like auto–pilot, the playlist you put on to distract you playing softly in the background until your phone lights up again, buzzing with a text that cuts through the static like a wire to your nerves.

Hairy

Found the tie, crisis averted.

Just need you now. Be there in 15.

You take a deep breath, exhaling through your nose and sending a quick thumbs up before you're standing on shaky legs.

The dress has been hung safely on the back of your bedroom door since you unboxed it. You take a second to just stare at it, before reaching for it with reverence, like touching it too fast might break the spell of the whole evening.

It slips from the hanger like water through your fingers, the fabric heavier than you remembered, or maybe that’s just the weight of new expectations.

You slide it on slowly, smoothing it over your hips, tugging the zipper up with a practiced hand. It fits perfectly, almost like it was made to your exact measurements.

Your reflection stares back at you in the mirror. You barely recognize her. Poised, elegant, flushed with anticipation. You look like someone who belongs next to a man like Harry Castillo.

The thought alone makes your pulse thrum a little faster.

You swipe on lipstick last—something deep and sultry, a few shades bolder than you usually wear, because tonight is different.

You’re not just the assistant tonight. You’re his date. Sort of. Kind of. Not really.

But he asked you to come, he wanted you there, with him.

The buzzer sounding from your door slices through your thoughts.

With one last deep breath, you grab your phone, your keys, and the clutch you’re borrowing from a fashion editor you sometimes get drunk with at Bemelmans, and you walk out the door.

The click of your heels echo as you make your way down the hall to the elevator.

Harry is the first thing you see as the doors to your building slide open.

He’s leaning against the limo waiting for you, the door open next to him as a cigarette dangles between his fingers. He looks like he stepped straight out of a GQ spread. His Kiton suit fits him like a glove, the charcoal velvet hugging broad shoulders and tapering at the waist like it was stitched directly onto him.

You make your way down the stairs until you’re standing on the pavement. Harry looks up at the sound of footsteps.

The cigarette stops halfway to his mouth.

For a moment, he just stares.

You can feel his eyes on your body like a caress, ghosting from your heels all the way up to the Cartier necklace he bought you after you saved a merger in Thailand, resting gently on your collarbones.

The silence stretches, taut like a violin string.

You clear your throat, fighting the urge to squirm on the spot. “Is it too much?”

Harry blinks, like the sound of your voice broke him out of a trance. “No,” he breathes, shaking his head distractedly. “It’s perfect.”

Your heart lurches in your chest, fluttering wildly like a Monarch trapped beneath a mason jar. “You don’t look half bad yourself, Castillo,” you murmur, trying for playful, but your voice comes out too soft, too breathy.

He smiles at that—slow, crooked, absolutely devastating. The kind of smile that makes your knees a little weaker than heels this high should allow.

“Well,” he says, flicking his cigarette into a nearby trash can. “We’re already late, we might as well make an entrance.”

Harry offers you his hand, and without thinking, you take it.

“We might as well.”

The Met is bathed in glowing opulence—decked in gold and white, chandeliers like constellations above you. There’s jazz swelling from a live quartet near the Temple of Dendur and the room comes alive with it.

You glide through marble halls on his arm, greeting developers and designers and too rich donors who want nothing more than to be photographed with nights' most respected attendant.

Harry is a natural here—effortless. He laughs, he charms, he plays the part of the adored genius.

You also play your role perfectly.

You smile. You exchange polite hugs and shake hands. You whisper names into his ear just before he needs them.

The two of you work the room like a well oiled machine. Not a screw out of place.

“You do realize they all think I’m sleeping with you,” you murmur as you pass a table full of ancient structural engineers throwing pointed looks at the two of you.

“Let them,” he says, not missing a beat.

“Isn’t that bad for business?”

Harry looks at you sideways. “Who’s going to call us on it?”

You don’t answer. You don’t look away either.

There’s champagne, and a brief moment where a reporter mistakes you for his fiancée. Harry doesn’t correct her. You do, of course, all while violently fighting the heat crawling up your neck. You don’t miss the way his mouth quirks when you do.

Dinner is some overly fussed beet amuse-bouche followed by lamb you barely taste. You’re seated next to Harry at the center of a table surrounded by board members and art world fixtures who all speak in the same Upper East Side cadence that makes everything sound like a question and an insult.

But Harry listens to you. He lets you finish your thoughts. He asks you what you think of the new public art installation in Battery Park and snorts when you call it “egregiously derivative” even when the rest of the table frowns.

“You’re such a snob,” he murmurs, voice low against the shell of your ear.

You smile behind your glass. “And yet here I am, slumming it with my boss.”

He grins bright enough to rival the candle light. “Lucky me.”

At some point, about halfway through a debate about the authenticity of modernism in design, you notice the way his knee brushes against yours under the table and stays there. You don’t move. He doesn’t either.

It’s become a theme. The touch. The contact.

Harry kept his hand on the small of your back most of the night, it was practically glued to the spot before dinner began. This is no different, except for the fact that this touch is hidden. It's shielded from the prying eyes of members and photographers and reporters.

It’s just for you.

The awards are handed out shortly after.

Harry’s name echoes across the room to rounds and rounds of applause. The speech is short, tasteful, elegant, moving. He stands under a golden spotlight and says something about legacy, about cities and their hearts and how architecture is just the blueprint of human longing.

You watch him from your seat at the table, heart caught in your throat. He looks radiant on stage, confident and alive in a way you haven't seen in months.

You clap until your palms sting.

When the speech is over, he doesn't have a foot off the stage before many of the other attendees swarm him. You let out a slow breath as you watch him receive hugs and kisses and claps on the back.

You only slip out onto the terrace when everyone at your table has left to join in, clutch in hand.

The cool night breeze is a welcome escape, soothing as it blows across the bare expanse of your skin and seeps into the rich fabric of your dress.

It’s not that you weren’t enjoying yourself, that you weren’t enjoying watching Harry. You just found it, almost hard to breathe all of a sudden. The range of different emotions swirling through your stomach certainly didn’t help, but that was a problem you could repress and compartmentalize for sometime in the near future.

You’re maybe five minutes into your emergency cigarette when he finds you, your heels kicked off as you sit on a marble bench.

“You never smoke.” he says, setting his award down next to you and plucking the cigarette from between your fingers, taking his own slow drag. His lips seal directly over where your own were just a second ago, circling the ruddy lipstick stain wrapped around the filter.

You look out to the city, exhaling a steady stream grey. “I also don’t usually wear a custom made, six thousand dollar dress or fake laugh at old men who won’t stop calling me ‘darling’ while they openly stare at my tits.”

Harry hums at that, amused, the smoke curling lazily from his lips as he tips his head back to look at the sky. “You handled it like a pro, you were brilliant tonight.”

He holds out the cigarette, reddened embers float down from the tip, losing color as they fall until they’re nothing but a black speck on the pristine sea of white beneath your feet.

You take it, your fingers brushing against his. “I’m very good at pretending.”

His eyes shift to you, the kind of look in them that settles somewhere deep and heavy in your chest. “I know.”

There’s a beat of quiet between you, filled only by the wind brushing through the terrace hedges and the distant echo of jazz from inside. The city glimmers out past the railing, a mirage of light and motion.

You clear your throat, raising the cigarette to your lips. “You didn’t have to come find me.”

“I know,” he says again, softly this time. “But I wanted to.”

You turn to face him fully. “Because you couldn’t remember Natalie Rebuck’s name, or because you were worried I’d throw myself off the balcony?”

He doesn’t smile. He looks at you too seriously for either of those to be one off jokes. “Because you’re the only person I wanted to see.”

That stills everything in you. Just—stills it.

There’s nothing ironic about the way he says it. It’s not teasing, not playful. Just a quiet truth. And somehow, that’s more disarming than anything else he could’ve said.

“You saw me fifteen minutes ago,” you manage, your voice not quite as sharp as you want it to be.

“Yeah.” He shrugs and says it again, slower this time. “And I missed you.”

It’s that same tone. Soft, reserved. Gentle enough that it makes you feel like the only person in the world and sick to your stomach all at once. The cigarette hangs limply by your side, dwindling to nothing between your fingers. You wonder, idly and far too late, if you can even smoke in a dress like this.

The silence stretches on like taffy. You’re just about to respond when the music starts up again inside. It’s something old and very romantic. Maybe Sinatra, or Ella. You can’t quite place it.

Harry seems to, perking up instantly. He glances through the open door, where many couples inside are pairing off and filling the dance floor one by one. He looks back at you, eyes glinting dangerously under the terrace lights. “Dance with me.”

You can’t help the laugh that bursts from your chest, eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

“I just won a very important and highly coveted award given out only once every single year.” He takes a step closer, offering you his hand. “You’re telling me I don’t get one dance?”

You shake your head, inching back the tiniest bit. “I don’t dance with my boss.”

He winks, warmth sparking to life in his eyes just beside the glow of the lights. “Good thing I’m off the clock.”

You stare down at his outstretched hand for a second too long, lips parted in soft protest, breath caught somewhere behind your ribs. There’s something so deeply unfair about the way he’s always been able to make you feel like the only woman in a city of millions. Even now. Especially now.

You give him your hand.

You still hesitate even as you stand and slip your heels back on. You glance at the terrace doors and wearily eye what feels like a sea of people. “Out here?”

“No,” he says, turning your hand over in his and brushing his thumb along your pulse point like it’s nothing. “Inside. Just one song.”

You hesitate again. Not because you don’t want to, but because you do. Too much. And that terrifies you.

But then his hand tightens just slightly around your wrist, grounding you. His palm is warm, and you realize—of course he knows. He always knows. Knows how to read a room, read a blueprint, read you. Better than he probably should.

He tugs gently, and you let him lead you back inside.

The terrace doors hush closed behind you and the city disappears, replaced again by the ambient, golden warmth of the Met’s grand hall. You weave through the swaying bodies with ease, like they part from the sheer energy you must be oozing as you find a spot in the center of the room.

Harry draws you in close.

Too close for coworkers. Too close for anything you could explain away come Monday. But not close enough for the ache it sparks low in your belly. One hand finds the dip of your waist, the other laces your fingers in his. His touch is elegant. Familiar. A little too knowing.

You slide your arm around his neck and let him sway you into the rhythm. You’re too aware of every point of contact. The velvety fabric of his tuxedo beneath your hand. The graze of your thigh against his leg. The way he smells—Tom Ford, Tobacco Vanille. But there’s something else, something hidden under it that’s just Harry.

The rhythm is slow. Intimate. His hand is an inescapable plane of heat on your back, just beneath the dip of the dress, the pad of his thumb draws tiny, absent circles against your spine.

He hums the melody under his breath as you move together, you can feel the deep rumble of it against your chest.

“You’re trembling,” he says suddenly, quietly—whispered against the shell of your ear.

“No I’m not,” you lie, pulling back to meet his gaze. “It’s probably the nicotine.”

Harry laughs, the corners of his eye crinkle endearingly as he does. “Is it?”

You nod. “It is.”

The music hums all around you, but you hardly hear it. It fades away into the soft air of complete nothingness, same as all the people around you wane and dwindle until you’re almost certain you and Harry are the only two left standing.

You can’t break away from the weight of his gaze, drawn to it like heavy metal to a magnet. His gaze sweeps across every inch of your face, like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“You look so beautiful tonight,” he murmurs, so softly it nearly melts into the melody. “You always do, but tonight…” His voice tapers off as if he can’t quite land on the word. He doesn’t need to.

“Harry…”

He shakes his head. “I mean it, you are absolutely gorgeous.” He spins the both of you slowly, his eyes never straying from you. “And that’s the least interesting thing about you.”

It feels like a physical blow, but it lands in the softest way possible. His words washing over your skin feels a million times more luxurious than the miles of silk encompassing you.

You wonder if this is how it starts—not with fireworks, but with slow dancing in a museum full of strangers with your boss whispering something like worship in the space between you.

It’s nothing. It’s everything.

“Well,” you reply, voice shaking and almost far away. “You did hire me because my resume reads like a Vogue spread. You said it yourself, the firm doesn’t work without me.”

It should ruin the moment, bringing up work—where your relationship actually stands in the real world, outside of this fantasy of a night—but Harry doesn’t let it.

He just shakes his head, brows pinched together like he’s deep in thought. His hand tightens around yours, he’s so close now that you can feel the steady beat of his heart.

Can he feel yours?

“When I look at you, and I think of all that you are…” Harry trails off again, the chocolate brown of his eyes shining under the twinkling lights as he holds your gaze. “That doesn’t even cross my mind.”

Your breath stutters, and you know—you know—that if you speak, it’ll all come tumbling out. Everything you’ve been trying not to say, not to want. The feelings you’ve tried to laugh away or roll your eyes at or bury under hundreds of deadlines and calendar alerts buzzing from two separate phones and all the plethora of ways you’ve told yourself this can’t happen.

“I…”

And then he kisses you.

And then you can’t speak at all.

It’s slow at first, but not hesitant, not unsure—deliberate. Harry kisses you like he’s been carving space for it, like it’s been trapped in him for too long. His lips are soft, but sure, coaxing rather than claiming.

His hand slides from your waist all the way up to cradle your jaw, leaving behind a trail of heat along the plane of your spine. His thumb brushes your cheekbone, you can feel the faint callous left behind by countless pens and pencils.

Your hands bury themselves in the soft curls of his hair as you melt into his body. It’s so simple, the shift. You’ve spent so long running, so long lost in the dark waters of denial that you almost can’t believe how easy it is—how perfectly you fit together.

It’s like the last piece of a puzzle finally falling into place, slotting into all the others that came before it.

Harry exhales shakily, lips barely parting from your own. “Christ,” he whispers, forehead touching yours. “You’re—”

You kiss him again before he can finish.

His lips part under yours with a sigh that borders on desperate, and the heat crackles between you now, undeniable. Dizzying. When your mouth opens to him in turn, he groans low in his throat, like the first taste of you has broken something open inside him.

Slow becomes hungry. Your hand slides to his jaw, thumb brushing the rough edge of stubble. He tastes like champagne and citrus and the heady edge of smoke

The kiss turns molten under your fingertips.

You feel it in your knees, in your chest, in your core—the sharp, sudden ache of need blooming within you that has nothing to do with polite society.

When you finally pull apart, it’s only because air insists you do.

Harry rests his forehead against yours once again, his eyes still closed when yours slip open. His cheeks are flushed, his lips slick and smeared with the barest hint of your lipstick. You can feel his breath puff over your skin in short, quick pants that you match.

He opens his eyes, and your knees nearly buckle at the look in them. His pupils are blown, wide and black as ink under the lights. Your pulse is a drum in your throat, beating just as loud and fast in your ears.

He swallows hard. “We should leave.”

Your voice is barely a whisper, but it’s just as firm. “Yes.”

The ride back to the office is a blur.

You’re not even sure how Harry got you out of the Met so quickly, how you made it past the new swarm of admirers once again trying to shake his hand or take a photo or congratulate him.

The limo was already waiting by the time you made it out the doors. You barely remember the valet, just the cool feeling of the seats beneath your thighs and the sharp click of the partition going up behind Harry’s head.

His eyes pin you to your seat, hot and heavy and impossibly dark as the hum of the engine carries you through the city, velvet wrapped and haloed in streetlight.

He hasn’t even touched you yet, not really, but your skin feels like it’s blistering beneath your dress—your pulse high, your thighs pressed tight together in anticipation that makes your stomach twist and flutter.

“Come here,” Harry says, voice low, rasped from restraint and heavy need.

Two words. That’s all he says.

Your legs move before your brain catches up, straddling him in the backseat like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hands come to your waist as you settle into his lap, and fuck—he’s hard already, thick and burning a plane of heat against your high.

“You have no idea,” he breathes against your neck, mouthing at the skin just under your ear, “what you do to me.”

“Tell me,” you whisper, even as your eyes slip shut, hips rolling forward instinctively against him

Harry groans—deep and pained and real. “You walk into a room and I can’t think. Not clearly. Not rationally. It’s all static, it’s all you. Your eyes, your mouth, your fucking mind—” He nips your jaw, tongue chasing the sting. “You kill me.”

You moan, your hands digging into the strong muscle of his back. It draws a ragged growl from Harry’s throat, his fingers twitching on your hips.

“Are you wet for me?”

You’re nodding your head before you even realize it. “Yes.”

He curses under his breath, burying his nose in the sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder. “I haven’t even touched you properly, and you’re already making a mess.” His voice is rough velvet, soaked in lust. “What do you think that says about you, sweetheart?”

“That I want you,” you breathe, already half-gone. “So fucking badly, Harry.”

Harry lets out a slow breath through his nose, his touch slides down your thighs, bunching your dress. “What I want…” He trails off, slipping his hand under your skirt. You gasp as his fingers skim the waist of your panties. “is to spread you open, taste how needy you are. I want to make you come with my mouth before I even think about fucking you.”

His fingers brush over the soaked center of your panties and he groans, low and dark. “Fuck.” He presses the pads of his fingers into you through the fabric—just enough pressure to tease, to leave you gasping. “This all for me?”

You whine, high and light in the back of your throat as you nod frantically. That’s not enough for Harry.

His eyes narrow, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Use your words, baby. Who made you this wet?”

“You,” you whisper. “You did.”

“That’s right.” He slides the lace aside to run two fingers through your folds slowly. Your hips jolt, and he grins against your throat.

Your head drops against his shoulder, hips bucking against his fingers. He holds you in place with an iron grip, not letting you grind down for friction just yet. You feel the twitch of his cock beneath you, straining against the fabric of his tuxedo pants.

“Harry—” you gasp, breath breaking as he circles your clit with the barest pressure. Just enough to tease.

“Mm, I know,” he murmurs, kissing your throat. “I know what you need, but not yet. I want you squirming by the time we get to the office. Can you be good for me and wait, hm?”

Your stomach clenches in anticipation, your cunt throbbing between your legs. You’re not sure how much more desperate you can get, grinding on your boss in the back of a limo while his hand is up your skirt seems like the highest form of desperation.

Still…

You nod—barely—because your throat is tight with need, but Harry clicks his tongue.

“I said use your words.” It’s not mean, the demand. The tone of his voice. It’s strong, rich with the same power and authority you’ve seen countless times over the past few years.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I’ll be good. I’ll wait.”

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, brushing his mouth over your jaw like he’s proud of you, like he’s already rewarding obedience.

He keeps his hand there the whole drive—just resting. No pressure. No movement. Just the heat of his skin against your soaked center, the weight of his hand where you need it most, while the city blurs past the tinted glass. It’s maddening.

Every bump in the road jolts you slightly. Every turn shifts your hips, makes his fingertips graze your clit. It’s not enough. It’s torture. You bite your lip raw trying not to move, not to grind down and take what you want.

It would be so easy, you’re pathetically close to the edge as is.

But you told Harry yes, breathed it against his shoulder in soft surrender.

You promised to be good, and you’re dying to see what it gets you.

Getting up to Harry’s office is a mess of stumbling feet and frantic hands that refused to stop touching any longer than they have to.

Harry kisses you against the door, your back pressed to the frosted glass. His mouth is hot and hungry and unrelenting, like he’s trying to make up for the months of waiting with every glide of his tongue.

You’re the one who breaks away just long enough to fumble for the keycard clipped inside his jacket, but Harry’s already sliding it free with one hand while the other stays around your waist.

The lock beeps open and you stumble through the door, breath ragged, dress askew. Harry kicks it shut behind you, his lips never leaving yours as he walks you backwards until the tops of your thighs hit his desk.

You barely have time to gasp before you're lifted—effortless—onto the surface of his desk, papers fluttering to the floor beneath you as he spreads your legs apart with both hands.

“Lean back,” he says hoarsely, helping you as your hands fumble for balance. The cold glass of the desk kisses your palms. “Let me see you.”

Your dress is hiked up around your waist, pooling all around you like ink, your thighs parted. Harry looks at you like he’s starved. His eyes drag up your body like a man measuring the cost of ruin and deciding to pay it gladly.

He makes quick work of his jacket, only needing to shuck it off his shoulders after you made quick work of the buttons back in the elevator. He collapses back into his chair with a shaky breath, sliding in between your legs.

His hands find the waistband of your ruined panties, eyes glued to your core as he peels them down your legs. “Fuck,” he mumbles, running his index finger through the wet mess that greets him. He kisses the inside of your thigh once, then higher, and higher. “So beautiful.”

His mouth is on you in a second—hot, wet, consuming.

He licks a long stripe from your entrance to your clit, groaning like he’s tasting something decadent.

“Shit.” Your moan is loud, hips jolting off the desk. “Harry—”

“Christ,” he groans against you. “You taste—Jesus. I could stay here all night.”

He takes your legs in his hands, throws them over his shoulders and he devours you—there’s no other word for it. Messy, greedy, reverent. His tongue works in tight, filthy circles, alternating pressure, pulling gasp after gasp from your throat.

He sucks your clit, slow and deep, lips sealing over it and pulling it into his mouth. His tongue flicks once, twice, and your hips jolt off the desk.

“Fuck, yes—right there—don’t stop—”

His hands spread your thighs wider, thumbs digging into soft flesh as he groans into you, like you’re the thing getting him off.

Your head falls back with a cry, hands burying themselves in his hair. “God—Harry—”

“That’s it,” he mutters against you, voice vibrating into your core. “Use my mouth. Take what you need.”

You don’t even realize you’re doing it—rocking forward, grinding down on his face like it’s instinct. His nose bumps your clit perfectly, the stubble on his jaw sending aftershocks through your skin. He hums with satisfaction, like he knew you’d lose control, like he wanted it.

You’re already squirming, already close all over again. Your head lolls back as you cry out, desperate and high and wanton.

“Look at me,” he demands, voice muffled. “Right here. I need your eyes on me, honey.”

You do.

You look down and see him between your thighs, hair mussed, lips slick, eyes nearly black. He’s never looked more beautiful. Or more ruined.

Your fingers tighten in his curls, yanking—he groans like he likes it, grinding his mouth harder against you, tongue flicking over your clit until you cry out, arching into his face.

“Harry—Harry, I’m gonna—”

“Come,” he commands. “Let go for me.”

And you do.

Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave—sharp and blinding. You cry out, thighs trembling, nails digging into the wood of the desk as Harry keeps licking you through it, gentle now, savoring every second.

Only then does he pull back, licking his lips like he’s just finished dessert. He rises to his feet slowly, towering above you.

“Beautiful,” he pants, voice rough and heartbreakingly earnest. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

You can barely breathe, your chest rising and falling with every sharp inhale. But you still reach for him, pulling him down by the collar of his shirt. “Please.”

Harry doesn’t hesitate. He undoes his belt with one hand, the other bracing beside your head as he kisses you again—filthy, deep, you taste yourself on his tongue. “I need to be inside you,” he says, voice wrecked. “Now.”

You shift, moving to turn onto your stomach.

“No,” he says sharply, hands tightening on your hips. “No, I want to see you.”

Your lips part on a soft breath, something dangerous squirming to life under your skin. “Okay…”

The sound of his zipper rings in your ears, and you glance down just in time to see his cock freed from the soaked cotton of his boxers. It’s thick and flushed, rosy tip already slick with precome. Your breath catches when he strokes it once, twice, eyes pinned to your cunt like he’s imagining exactly how you’ll take it.

“You ready?” he asks, soft again, lining himself up with your shaking entrance. “I need you to say it.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “I want you, Harry.”

He pushes in slowly—so slowly—and your back arches, a shocked moan catching in your throat at the sheer stretch of him. He’s thick, unrelenting, and your body clamps down around him greedily.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to yours. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

You gasp, nails digging into his arms as he fills you. “Oh god—Harry—”

“That’s it,” he groans, teeth gritted as he bottoms out. “That’s my girl. Taking me so fucking well.”

He doesn’t wait long after that. The first thrust is slow, the second is harder. By the third he’s fucking into you like he can’t get deep enough, the desk creaking beneath you, the sound of skin on skin filling the dim office air.

You clutch at him, gasping as he hits every spot that makes you see stars.

Harry fucks you with purpose, with hunger, but he never loses that softness—his thumb on your cheek, his lips pressing kisses to your jaw, your shoulder, the hollow of your neck, the swell of your breast. He cradles your head in his hands so you don’t knock it into the glass.

It’s all too much. Too much and not enough.

It feels like home, like this is where you should have been instead of running every chance you got, like a coward. Your hands dig into his shoulder, his name falling from your lips over and over.

“Yes.” He kisses you again, bruising and messy like he’s trying to taste the way it sounds right off your tongue. “Say my name.”

“Harry—fuck—Harry!”

“That’s it,” he growls, fucking into you faster now, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the office. “You’re mine now, aren't you? You're finally going to let me have you?”

“Yes—yes—oh my god—”

“Say it.”

“I'm yours, Harry—yours—fuck, I’m—”

He pulls you tight against him, fucking you so deep it’s like he’s imprinting himself inside you. “Come for me, sweetheart. Show me how good I make you feel.”

You come with a sob, clenching around him, unraveling completely beneath his weight and his words and the unbearable sweetness in his eyes as he watches you fall apart.

“I’m gonna come,” he grits out, thrusts growing erratic. “Where do you want it, sweetheart? Tell me.”

“Inside,” you whisper. “Want to feel it. Please, Harry…”

That’s all he needs.

He spills inside you with a groan—deep and raw—thrusting once, twice more before spilling into you, his mouth dropping to your shoulder with a quiet, reverent moan of your name.

New York’s skyline shines through the window, bathing you both in a shimmering light.

The only sounds filling the office are the light, gentle breaths as you both come down. The dull hum of the city underscores it, muted and fuzzy around the edges.

Harry’s hands don’t stray from your hips, his thumbs absentmindedly draw small circles over your bare skin. The night plays through your mind in flashbacks, each snapshot of all the moments where things shifted like a slideshow behind your eyes.

The stairs of your building, the touch of his hand on your back, the looks from across the room, the terrace.

“Fuck,” you say suddenly, raising your head off the desk in alarm. “Harry, your award. You left it on the terrace.”

It’s quiet, until his shoulders start to shake and the unmistakable sound of laughter fills the space between you.

“It’s not funny!” You slap his shoulder, but you’re still smiling. “That was the whole fucking point of tonight.”

Harry lifts his head, meeting your gaze. “Was it?”

You look back, puzzled. “Wasn’t it.”

Harry chuckles again, shaking his head fondly. He leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, slow and indulgent. “I’ve already got the only thing I wanted tonight.”

Your heart does a small, dangerous thing in your chest. “Well, this is definitely going in my yearly review.”

Harry hums. “I look forward to reading it.”

You don’t muffle your laugh, you don’t turn your face to hide your smile. You only raise your hand, carding your fingers through the sweaty curls laying on his forehead.

Harry turns his head, pressing one last kiss to your palm.

You’ll email the AIA tomorrow, for now, they can wait.

MINI NAT’S NOTE: if you would have told me a year ago that i would be writing for a pedro pascal character in a movie that chr*s ev*ns is ALSO in, i would have laughed in your face, HARD. oh how the sands of time can change us.

anyway this actually wasn't the harry fic i originally wanted to post. i was working on something completely different when this idea manifested in my brain and i immediately jumped ship…but in my defense this is the fastest i've written something since the semester ended so ofc she's being uploaded. thank you so much for reading, love you!

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fatehbaz · 1 year ago

Text

was thinking about this

To be in "public", you must be a consumer or a laborer.

About control of peoples' movement in space/place. Since the beginning.

"Vagrancy" of 1830s-onward Britain, people criminalized for being outside without being a laborer.

Breaking laws resulted in being sentenced to coerced debtor/convict labor. Coinciding with the 1830-ish climax of the Industrial Revolution and the land enclosure acts (factory labor, poverty, etc., increase), the Metropolitan Police Act of 1829 establishes full-time police institution(s) in London. The "Workhouse Act" aka "Poor Law Amendment Act of 1834" forced poor people to work for a minimum number of hours every day. The Irish Constabulary of 1837 sets up a national policing force and the County Police Act of 1839 allows justices of the peace across England to establish policing institutions in their counties (New York City gets a police department in 1844). The major expansion of the "Vagrancy Act" of 1838 made "joblessness" a crime and enhanced its punishment. (Coincidentally, the law's date of royal assent was 27 July 1838, just 5 days before the British government was scheduled to allow fuller emancipation of its technical legal abolition of slavery in the British Caribbean on 1 August 1838.)

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"Vagrancy" of 1860s-onward United States, people criminalized for being outside while Black.

Widespread emancipation after slavery abolition in 1865 rapidly followed by the outlawing of loitering which de facto outlawed existing as Black in public. Inability to afford fines results in being sentenced to forced labor by working on chain gangs or prisons farms, some built atop plantations.

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"Vagrancy" of 1870s-onward across empires, people criminalized for being outside while being "foreign" and also being poor generally.

Especially from 1880-ish to 1918-ish, this was an age of widespread mass movement of peoples due to the land dispossession, poverty, and famine induced by global colonial extraction and "market expansion" (Scramble for Africa, US "American West", nation-building, conquering "frontiers"), as agricultural "revolutions" of imperial monoculture cash crop extraction resulted in ecological degradation, and as major imperial infrastructure building projects required a lot of vulnerable "mobile" labor. This coincides with and is facilitated by new railroad networks and telegraphs, leading to imperial implementation or expansion of identity documents, strict work contracts, passports, immigration surveillance, and border checkpoints.

All of this in just a few short years: In 1877, British administrators in India develop what would become the Henry Classification System of taking and keeping fingerprints for use in binding colonial Indians to legal contracts. That same year during the 1877 Great Railroad Strike, and in response to white anxiety about Black residents coming to the city during Great Migration, Chicago's policing institutions exponentially expand surveillance and pioneer "intelligence card" registers for tracking labor union organizing and Black movement, as Chicago's experiments become adopted by US military and expanded nationwide, later used by US forces monitoring dissent in colonial Philippines and Cuba. Japan based its 1880 Penal Code anti-vagrancy statutes on French models, and introduced "koseki" register to track poor/vagrant domestic citizens as Tokyo's Governor Matsuda segregates classes, and the nation introduces "modern police forces". In 1882, the United States passes the Chinese Exclusion Act. In 1884, the Ottoman government enacts major "Passport Nizamnamesi" legislation requiring passports. In 1885, the racist expulsion of the "Tacoma riot".

Punished for being Algerian in France. Punished for being Chinese in San Francisco. Punished for being Korean in Japan. Punished for crossing Ottoman borders without correct paperwork. Arrested for whatever, then sent to do convict labor. A poor person in the Punjab, starving during a catastrophic famine, might be coerced into a work contract by British authorities. They will have to travel, shipped off to build a railroad. But now they have to work. Now they are bound. They will be punished for being Punjabi and trying to walk away from Britain's tea plantations in Assam or Britain's rubber plantations in Malaya.

Mobility and confinement, the empire manipulates each.

---

"Vagrancy" amidst all of this, people also criminalized for being outside while "unsightly" and merely even superficially appearing to be poor. San Francisco introduced the notorious "ugly law" in 1867, making it illegal for "any person, who is diseased, maimed, mutilated or deformed in any way, so as to be an unsightly or disgusting object, to expose himself or herself to public view". Today, if you walk into a building looking a little "weird" (poor, Black, ill, disabled, etc.), you are given seething spiteful glares and asked to leave. De facto criminalized for simply going for a stroll without downloading the coffee shop's exclusive menu app.

Too ill, too poor, too exhausted, too indebted to move, you are trapped. Physical barriers (borders), legal barriers (identity documents), financial barriers (debt). "Vagrancy" everywhere in the United States, a combination of all of the above. "Vagrancy" since at least early nineteenth century Europe. About the control of movement through and access to space/place. Concretizing and weaponizing caste, corralling people, anchoring them in place, extracting their wealth and labor.

You are permitted to exist only as a paying customer or an employee.

#get to work or else you will be put to work #sorry #intimacies of four continents #tidalectics #abolition

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probablyasocialecologist · 4 months ago

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A new Washington Post report found that the tech mogul/fascism enthusiast built his fortune from $38 billion in government contracts, loans, subsidies, and tax credits going back more than 20 years. Musk’s companies received at least $6.3 billion in commitments from state and local governments in 2024 alone, and this is likely an undercount. The total amount of government funding that Musk has received is likely much higher, given that federal funding related to defense and intelligence projects is often classified. For example, Musk’s company SpaceX has a contract to build spy satellites from the National Reconnaissance Office, an intelligence agency tasked with building satellites for national defense. That contract is reportedly worth $1.8 billion, according to The Wall Street Journal. According to the Post, Musk’s companies have close to a dozen other local grants, tax credits, and reimbursements whose costs are not publicly known. Musk also has 52 ongoing contracts with seven government agencies—including the Department of Defense, the General Services Administration, and NASA—that could pay his companies $11.8 billion in the next few years. Tesla has been a major beneficiary of federal and state government funding, receiving $11.4 billion in regulatory credits meant to boost electric cars. Tesla sales have been helped by a $7,500 tax credit for buyers of electric vehicles too. The electric car company may not have even survived without government help: When Musk took over as CEO of Tesla in 2008, he pressed the Department of Energy for a low-interest loan for the company, which was then cash-poor. A $465 million loan would arrive two years later, allowing Tesla to build its first luxury electric sedan and buy a factory in California. “Tesla would not have survived without the loan,” said one former high-level Tesla employee, who spoke to the Post anonymously. “It was a critical loan at a critical time.”

26 February 2025

#elon musk #us politics #DOGE #tesla #spacex #billionaires

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memories-of-ancients · 2 months ago

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For the last 14 years, when it rains in Lowndes County, Alabama, contaminated standing water builds up around Annye Burke’s home. When the septic tank breaks down, raw sewage backs up into her toilet, she said.

Although “frustrated” by the unhealthy and inconvenient conditions, Burke said she doesn’t let it get her down. Human wastewater contaminating homes and yards in these rural parts of central Alabama “has become a way of life,” she said. The problem has existed so long and was so pervasive that a 2017 study determined 1 in every 3 adults in the county had the intestinal parasite hookworm.

The Biden administration investigated and allocated nearly $26 million to rebuild Lowndes County’s water infrastructure, with the Department of Justice declaring the majority-Black area was suffering from “environmental racism.”

But earlier this month, President Donald Trump issued an executive order to kill the deal, calling it “illegal DEI.”

The DOJ’s Harmeet K. Dhillon, the assistant attorney general for civil rights under Trump, said the agency “will no longer push ‘environmental justice’ as viewed through a distorting, DEI lens,” referring to diversity, equity and inclusion programs.

A 2023 investigation sparked by environmental activist Catherine Coleman Flowers and conducted by the DOJ found that low-income residents of the county, most of whom are Black, have lacked basic sanitation services for generations. Given the area’s especially hard, impermeable soil and the high cost of installing private wastewater systems, many residents have resorted to straight piping to deal with human wastewater. This method involves guiding human wastewater away from the home into a series of ditches and crude piping systems, according to the DOJ report. That water collects in nearby yards, open areas and woods.

In more recent years, heavier rainfall related to climate change has meant that contaminated water floods into the home, spills across open areas, and contaminates local vegetation and water, exposing residents to illness.

And so, Burke and more than 300 other families in Lowndes County — located about 40 miles southwest of Montgomery — are forced to live with a failing water infrastructure that has led to serious health concerns, including hookworm, which at one point had been thought to be eradicated from the United States, according to a 2021 study by the Baylor College of Medicine and the Alabama Center for Rural Enterprise.

Hookworms are mainly contracted by walking barefoot on soil contaminated with infected feces. It can cause abdominal pain, skin rashes, diarrhea, fever and other ailments.

“We have to be extra sanitary because people getting sick can be a problem,” Burke, 58, said. “The health concerns are real. In 2025 we shouldn’t have to deal with this, but it is what it is.”

She said she uses various disinfectants multiple times a day to clean her home and protect her family, which includes her children and grandchildren who come to visit.

This environmental quagmire has persisted for more than 20 years in this rural part of the state, where 72.4% of the population is Black and the median household income is $35,160, according to the latest census; one-third of residents live below the poverty line. Flowers said that much of the problem started back in 1866 with the passage of the Southern Homestead Act, when Black people were first allowed to purchase land there and were offered mostly places that were environmentally unsafe.

In recent decades, it’s not uncommon for untreated sewage to flow from some residents’ toilets into their yards or back up into their homes through sinks or bathtubs. Drinking water from the tap is out of the question. Some residents have dug ditches in an attempt to drain rainwater away from their homes.

Flowers, who grew up in Lowndes, has been fighting for 23 years to fix the water infrastructure in the county. Her efforts led to the Biden administration’s $26 million commitment. She said Trump’s cancelation of the agreement did not surprise her.

“There are some people who are not going to make it a priority to get this work done,” Flowers said. “That’s the way it’s always been.”

Alabama Rep. Terri Sewell, a Democrat who represents the area, said in a statement that the DOJ’s reason for abandoning the deal was weak.

“This agreement had nothing to do with DEI,” Sewell said. “It was about addressing a public health crisis that has forced generations of children and families to endure the health hazards of living in proximity to raw sewage, as the DOJ itself documented. By terminating it, the Trump Administration has put its blatant disregard for the health of my constituents on full display.”

When announcing the results of the 2023 investigation, former Assistant Attorney General Kristen Clarke said the Justice Department found evidence that suggested Alabama’s Department of Public Health showed “a consistent pattern of inaction and/or neglect concerning the health risks associated with exposure to raw sewage.”

Sewell added that the burden to “remedy this injustice” fell to the Alabama Department of Public Health. But the ADH said in a statement to NBC News that “the installation of sanitation systems and related infrastructure is outside the authority or responsibilities.”

A second statement from ADH said the department had received $1.5 million of the funds from the Biden agreement and used it in part to pay for three septic tank installations. With the remainder of that money, ADH will pay a contractor to complete more work by May 2026, according to the statement. Trump killed the agreement before any additional funds could be distributed toward fixing the water infrastructure.

Annye Burke said her daughter, who lives next door, is in a dilemma because she was hoping to receive a new septic tank when hers recently collapsed. She’s lived the last four years with her water issues.

“Being raised in the country and at one point of having to use outside facilities, I know how to make do,” Burke said. “I just take one day at a time and pray about it and keep moving on. I don’t let it get me down. But my daughter grew up differently, so I worry about how she deals with this stuff.”

Flowers, the activist, said that while she hopes the agreement will be reinstituted, she has seen communities come together to make change. Last week, she pointed out, she was in Mount Vernon, New York, where sewage issues were resolved with the combined work of the city, county and state government.

“They fixed it because they should have,” Flowers said. The problem was discovered in 2021 “and it’s fixed five years later. I’ve been working on this in Lowndes County since 2002.”

Some families have been able to afford to move away, but many cannot. Then the connection to the land is also a factor, said Flowers, who spent her childhood there and whose father was raised in Lowndes County.

“My family has been in Lowndes County since slavery,” Flowers said. “It’s home for people. Why would we want to move? That’s where our people are buried.”

Changing homes is not just about occupying another house.

“We’re talking about giving up a culture,” she said. “So, we will continue this fight.”

#news #politics #trump #dei

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saywhat-politics · 2 months ago

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'A shocking abuse of power' | Judge blocks Trump order targeting firm representing Dominion Voting Systems in election defamation suits

U.S. District Judge Loren AliKhan said President Donald Trump's order against Susman Godfrey amounted to a "personal vendetta."

Author: Jordan Fischer

Published: 4:24 PM EDT April 15, 2025

Updated: 4:24 PM EDT April 15, 2025

WASHINGTON — A federal judge blocked the Trump administration Tuesday from enforcing an executive order targeting the law firm Susman Godfrey, saying it amounted to little more than an unconstitutional “personal vendetta.”

“Frankly, I think the Framers of our Constitution would see this as a shocking abuse of power,” U.S. District Judge Loren AliKhan said.

Susman Godfrey became the latest law firm targeted by President Donald Trump last week in an order directing his administration to revoke security clearances and contracts from the firm and bar its employees from federal government buildings. The order claimed the firm represented a national security risk over its efforts to “weaponize the American legal system and degrade the quality of American elections.”

AliKhan said Tuesday it was “highly likely” Susman Godfrey would be able to prove those allegations were veiled references to its work representing Dominion Voting Systems and state officials in litigation following the 2020 election. Most notably, the firm represented Dominion in its defamation lawsuit against Fox News, which the right-wing network settled in 2023 for $787 million to avoid a trial. Susman Godfrey is also representing Dominion in its ongoing lawsuits against MyPillow CEO Mike Lindell and a second right-wing outlet, Newsmax. The lawsuit against Newsmax was scheduled to begin trial over damages later this month after a judge in Delaware found last week the broadcaster had defamed Dominion by falsely claiming it had rigged votes.

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twice-inamillion · 1 year ago

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The Company

Peeping Tom

Smut and Story Building (Blackmail, Deep Penetration, Defloration, Creampie, Rough Sex, First Time, Choking, Light BDSM, objectification)

Chapter 6

3,585 Words

(You encounter a peeping Tom as you have fun with one of your assistants. She tries to use her newfound information against you, but instead, you end up using her. By the end, you found yourself a new toy to play with.)

You return to your office with IU after a business meeting outside the company. The two of you talk about what just occurred during the last few days and how busy it’s going to get moving forward.

“How does it feel receiving your first private jet, sir?”

“I’m excited; I remember riding on my father’s jet when I was younger and always wanted one of my own. Now I just need to get it customized, and I’ll be able to use it.”

“Before that, we need to hire a flight attendant.”

“That’s true.”

“What about asking your father for one of his?”

“No, I'd rather get someone that has nothing to do with my father. I don’t want them to tell him anything about my business.”

“I’ll try to put a post online to hire an assistant.”

“Sounds good.”

“Any requirements?”

“Someone not too old, eye candy. You know my tastes.”

“Okay, I’ll try my best.”

“Also, any news on Big Hit and JYP?”

“I’ve heard that they are suffering a bit money-wise, so I think they are going to accept your offer.”

“Let’s see what they say. I don’t want to buy them outright, but I do want to hold a good chunk of shares, especially Big Hit. Bang Si-Hyuk seems like a pretty cool guy. He gave me a tour of his small building and even introduced me to his debuting group a while back. I really want to help the guy.”

“I’m sure he’ll be happy with anything you give him, sir.”

“Let’s see how it goes.”

IU then hands you some documents and says, “This is some information I found out about JYP Entertainment. If you look at the third page, you can see that JYP was going to debut a new girl group under the name “6MIX,” but it fell through.”

“Oh, it seems like they had a hard time debuting due to one of their members leaving.”

“Yes, they added another member, Sana. It seemed like they were going to debut, but another of their leader also left the company, so they ended up scrapping the whole thing.”

“Poor girls, so much hard work and training to debut only to have it scrapped.”

“Yes, one in particular has been in their company for a long time. I heard she’s a very good singer.”

“Oh really? If JYP accepts the help, maybe I can ask him to release them from their contracts and send them my way.”

“I’ll keep you posted if there is any news, sir.”

“Thank you.”

“Would that be all, sir?”

“Yes.”

“I have a meeting with one of the girls, so I’ll head to my office.”

“Actually, I’m going to grab a bite at the cafeteria, so I’ll walk with you.”

The two of you walk towards the hallway, slap IU's ass, and walk the opposite from each other. Little did you know that you were seen by someone, the person IU was going to have a meeting with.

————

You get a message from IU that she has received some inflation about the deal with Big Hit and JYP as you are coming from the gym. It’s been a few days since you got any information, so you’re excited to see what’s going on. Without changing, you walk into her office, sit on the couch, and listen to some good news.

You might not have noticed that Jennie has been curious about the relationship you and IU have since she’s a higher-up than you. She doesn’t know about your real position in the company and only thinks of you as one of the staff members. She was shocked when she saw you slapped IU on her ass and decided to follow you after that.

Today, she had another meeting with IU and planned on having a light snack at the cafeteria before meeting up with her. Since she finished early, she decided to head up to the administration floor and relax on the outdoor patio before the meeting. She exits the elevator and makes it to the top floor. Jennie walks down the hallway and notices how quiet it is. She wandered around and found Irene’s and the CEO's office before hearing a faint noise coming from the hall. She quietly makes her way to the noises and gets to IU’s office from where the noise is coming from.

Jennie tries to listen and places her ear by the door. She hears moaning coming from the other side. She tries to make up what the people instead are saying and can only decipher the male voices yelling that he’s going to cum.

After some silence, she notices that the voices are getting nearer and runs towards the opposite side of the hallway to where the patio is. She peeks her head out and sees you coming out the door and IU fixing her skirt.

“What the fuck, were they fucking in her office?”

“Omg, he’s getting it on with a higher-up in the company. Maybe I can use this.”

————

Later that night, you get a message from Jennie from your staff phone. You read the message, and it is asking you for help moving some items around the house. You’re not in the mood to message her that you can do it tomorrow, but she is persistent.

Somewhat annoyed, you put on a shirt and head down the elevator to the floor where their apartment is. You ring the doorbell, and Jennie opens the door within a few seconds. She wears a loose crop top and small shorts that show off her petite body.

“You said you needed to move some stuff, right?”

“Yeah, it’s in the living room.”

You walk to the living room and see the items she was referring to. You spend about ten minutes moving the things, and Jennie is watching you up close the whole time.

“Is that all you needed?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Alright, I’m going. I’m tired.”

“Okay, but I’ll call you if I need anything.”

“Please, don’t. The stuff wasn’t that heavy. Maybe try moving it between the five of you before calling me.”

You can tell that Jennie got upset by this based on her facial expression. “I don’t know why you’re complaining; it's part of your job.”

“It’s not. I was just doing this as a favor since you all just moved into the apartment, but that was a few months ago. You girls can figure stuff out,” as you grab your phone and head for the door.

Upset, Jennie yells, “If you’re going to be a douchebag about it all like the CEO, you’re messing around with his assistant.”

You turn around and see a grin on her face, blackmailing you. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“I know that the two of you were fucking in her office the other day.”

“Lies.”

“I saw smack her ass a while back, and this time, you were leaving her office, and she was skirted and had a smile on her face.”

“If that’s true, how would you know?”

“I heard the two of you doing it.”

“No one is going to believe you.”

“Hmph, I wouldn’t be so sure. I have the CEO’s number.”

“You’re bluffing. You don’t have his number.”

“Yes, I do,” she said, holding her phone out.

“Alright, do it.”

“Okay, I will” and is about to press the call button but then says, “actually, he might be busy with important stuff. I don’t want to bother him.”

You know she doesn’t have your actual work number, so you tease her, “I don’t think he’s busy. Why don’t we go visit him and tell him the situation? I think he would be more than happy to hear about it.”

You can see her expression change, and she says, “No, I think we can just leave it like that.”

You grab her waist, “Let’s clear things up. I don’t want rumors that I’m messing with the CEO’s assistant.” You pull her hand, exit her apartment, walk towards the elevator, and press the button for the top floor.

Jennie looks nervous but tries to hide her expression. “He’s going to be upset that we’re bothering him.”

“I don’t think so, plus you’re blackmailing me.”

When you arrive at the top floor, the elevator rings, and you both exit and walk towards the hallway. You ring the doorbell, but there is no answer.

With a faint smile of relief, Jennie says, “See, he’s not here, so let me waist go.”

“Hmm… let me try something.” You press the numbers on the keypad and hear a ring, unlocking the door.

“How did you do that?”

You pull Jennie and lock the door. “Seems like no one is home. CEO-nim! Jennie and I are looking for you!”

“Stop, he’s going to be made that we’re inside his home. Let’s go.”

“No, I don’t want to; let’s have a bit of fun.” You walk towards the kitchen, open the fridge, and grab a beer. “He has some good taste, nice.”

“Leave it; he’s going to get mad!”

“No, he won’t.”

“Yes, he is. I heard that he’s mean.”

“Really? They said that?”

“Irene said that he makes them work to the bone.”

“No, I don’t. Wait until I see her tomorrow.”

Jennie’s reaction changes, and she says, “What did you say?”

“Nothing, forget about it.”

“You said something.” She stops, looks around, and walks to the living room. She sees pictures of you and freezes.

Frozen for also a minute, she turns around and says, “Are you CEO-nim?”

You want to play it off, but know that the gig is over. Instead, you smile and say, “Dang, you caught me. Surprise!”

Many things go through her mind, like how she ordered you around the apartment, teased you, and even tried to blackmail you.

“So what’s this about having my phone number and blackmailing me about fucking IU.”

Jennie gets on her knees, rubs her hands together, and begs, “I’m sorry. I was just joking around. I didn't mean it.”

“It wasn’t funny. Why did you do it?”

She bites her lip and tries to come up with a reason, saying, “I don’t know. I just wanted to tease you a bit and got jealous.”

“Jealous? What for?”

“You’re my type, and when I saw you and IU, I wanted to blackmail you so you can do whatever I say.”

“You know, that could have really gone bad and gotten someone hurt.”

“I’m sorry.”

“If you’re sorry, how will you take responsibility?”

“Ehh?”

“You said I’m your type, and you’re pretty cute yourself. How about we have some fun?”

Jennie can’t believe what your words. She knows she said that you’re her type, but that was as a staff/trainer. Now that she learned you’re the one in charge of the company, she doesn’t want to do anything that might endanger her chance at debuting but, at the same time, finds it kind of hot.

“What did you have in mind?”

“What do you think?” giving her a smirk.

Jennie knows what you’re thinking; it’s not like she hasn’t thought about it herself. You come close to her and grab her small behind, causing her to yelp.

She’s being this close to her. You know that she’s small and petite, “too, like a doll.”

“What?”

Instead of replying, you pick her up, carry her to the guestroom, and toss her onto the bed.

“Wait… what are you doing?”

“I’m going to fuck you.”

“I’m not ready yet.”

“I didn’t ask you if you were. I’m telling you what I’m going to do to you.”

Jennie is stunned by your words. The image of you has been turned 360 from ordering you around to the other way around. Deep down, she can’t help but feel small and submissive by someone so huge and powerful enough to change her life.

“Okay, I understand.”

“Since you do, then strip. I want to see what I’m going to be working with.”

Jennie gets off the bed and stands in front of you. She slowly begins to undress herself, taking off her crop top and her small shots.

Now in underwear, she shyly takes off her bra, revealing her small, cute breasts. She tries to cover them, “Don’t forget the bottom.”

You smile as she hesitates to pull down her panties and whines, “Do I really have to pull them down?”

“Do you want me to do them for you? Just letting you know that I won’t be gentle.”

“I…I’ll do it then,” as she slowly pulls them down until it drops on the floor and quickly cover her cunt.

“Take your hands off.”

“But…”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Jennie removes her hands, revealing her semi-bare cunt.

“Fuck, you have a pretty-looking pussy and a nice pair of tits. Lay down on the bed and spread that pussy for me.”

Jennie feels embarrassed but does what you told her. She lays on the bed and puts her legs up. She tries to spread her legs, but the idea of spreading them open and showing her pussy to someone for the first time is nerve-wracking.

“Spread them more!”

She widens her legs until you see her whole cunt in view. With both her index and middle fingers, she slowly spreads her pussy lips, giving you a view of her unused cunt. “How’s this?”

“Hot. You’re making me hard.”

“Really? I’m making you hard?”

“Yeah. Want to see?”

Jennie has never seen a cock before in real life, only on the internet when she would masturbate while in the dorms. Seeing one in real life is making her both nervous and excited, “yeah. I want to see it.”

You undo the bottom and drop your buttons, leaving only your boxers and a large bulge in sight.

Jennie can feel her heart beating faster as you pull down your boxers, which makes your cock springs out. “Wow, it’s so big. Can I touch it?”

“Of course,” you say with a grin.

Jennie, with her index finger, touches the tip of your cock and throbs, “Haha, it’s likes me.”

“How about grabbing it with your two hands?”

“Okay, but I don’t think I’ll be able to wrap my hands around it.” With her small hands, she tries to wrap her hand, almost touching her fingertips.

Turned on, you ask, “Can I take a picture?”

Jennie looks up at you and smiles, “Sure, you’re the boss, right? I have no say.”

“Glad to see you know your place.”

You grab your phone and take a shoot of Jennie handling your cock. “Try putting it in your mouth.”

“Like this?” as she uses the tip of her tongue to lick the head of your cock. “Yes, just like that.”

You record her slowly licking your length, your shaft, pulling the head in her mouth, and even her trying to take a bit of your cock in her mouth as she plays with her cunt.

“Fuck… I knew you were a slut” you say as she has your cock in her mouth. “Hmmm… I’ll be your slut, Daddy,” giving you a devilish smile. You grab her chin in between your hands and say, “We’re going to get along very well.”

She stands and lays on the bed once more and willingly spreads her legs for you, spreading her pussy, and says, “Make sure you get a picture of this.”

“You know how to turn on a guy, huh.”

“I just want to please you, Daddy. Plus, I want everyone to know that you’re going to be my first.”

You can’t wait any longer; you need to fuck her now. You set the phone down, walked back, and spread her legs. She grabs your cock and presses it against her belly, and asks, “Is all of that going inside of me?”

“It’s going to go right in here and reach all the way up here,” as you trace your finger and her wet cunt all the way up to her belly button.

“Fuck me already, Daddy. Make me a real woman,” begs Jennie.

You grab your cock and rub your shaft against her wet lower lips, spreading them and covering them in her sticky nectar. “I’m going to put it in; just relax.” She balls up her waist against her chest, “Okay.”

Jennie nervously watches as you align your massive cock against her small entrance, waiting for you to be her first and only cock she’s ever going to taste.

You press the tip on your cock and slowly insert yourself until you reach her thin barrier, which separates her from womanhood. You look directly into her eyes, signaling that you’re going to go all the way into it. She nods back and tries to prepare herself for what’s to come.

You grab her small waist and, without mercy, put your weight onto her petite body and slam yourself into her fresh womb. “Fuck!!! I’m cumming; you’re too big; you’re making me cum!”

Jennie’s body spasms, and she tilts her head back as she feels her orgasm overwhelming her.

“Haha, you just came from me putting it in? Let’s see how many times you cum.”

You don’t let her rest and put her into a mating press. She groans from not being able to ride off her orgasm, “Daddy, wait. You’re going to make me cum again. Let me rest.”

“A girl like you doesn’t deserve to rest; you’re my sex toy. I get to use you however I want,” slamming yourself inside her once again.

Jennie cries as she feels her insides being rearranged by your cock, “Ahh, you’re messing me up inside! I won’t be able to with anyone beside you! Fuck…you’re stretching my small pussy out!”

Watching her becoming a mess is getting you more turned on. Even if it’s her first time, she’s a natural. You place your hand on her neck and firmly tighten your grip. Jennie panics when she feels your hand choking her, puts her hands around your arms, and looks at you in terror. “Shh… baby girl, calm down; I’m not going to hurt you, just something the both of us to enjoy. Trust me.”

Directly looking at you, she lets go of her hands and instead focuses on you, thrusting inside of her. “You feel so tight, Jennie; I feel like cumming already,” as you tighten the grip of your hand around her neck.

You see Jennie trying to speak, so you loosen your grip, “Ahhh… cum… cum inside me, Daddy. I… I want to feel your cum in my tummy.”

You tighten your grip on her neck again as you fuck her roughly, only hearing the sound of both your flesh against each other. Little by little, you feel your peak approaching, a cold sensation in your back.

“Fuck… I’m going to dump all my cum in your tight little pussy!”

You feel all your cum shoot deep inside Jennie’s womb with your thick cum. Her eyes roll back from how tight you’re choking her as you pump a large load. Her body starts to go limp from the lack of air, so you let go of her neck and see the imprint of your hand around it.

Immediately, Jennie gasps for air and comes back to her senses. “You’re such a good girl, Jennie. I think you’re going to be my favorite toy from now on.”

She gives you a weak smile, grabs your hand, and places it back around her neck, “Keep fucking me, Daddy. I’m your dirty like toy.”

The two of you keep fucking all night long, every time you pump your cum in and on her body. At the end, you take a series of photos and videos of your work, Jennie’s body covered in cum and her cunt oozing out a mixture of both your juices.

—————

You wake up the next day and see Jennie under your arms. You try to get up, but she’s holding on to you. Rubbing her eyes, she turned around and said, “Good morning, Daddy.”

“Good morning, Jennie. How are you feeling?”

“Sore. I can still feel some of your cummies in my tummy. I feel my pussy gaped. I don’t think I'll be able to get married anymore, haha.”

“Good. You’re mine, anyways.”

“Jealous?”

“No. I just got like sharing my toys.” You grab her by the neck with a firm grip and say, “Don’t forget that, okay? You’re mine.”

“Yes, Daddy,” as she feels your strong hand choking her.

You let her go and walk to the bathroom to freshen up. Jennie looks at her phone and sees text messages from her group mates asking if she visited her mom since she didn’t sleep at the apartment.

Jennie replies to them and immediately gets an idea that makes her smile excitedly, “Daddy.”

“Yes.”

“Since I’m your sex toy, how about making the rest of us your toys?”

“You mean your groupmates?”

“Yeah, how bout it? Sounds like fun, right?”

“Doesn’t sound like a bad idea; I’ll think about it.”

1K notes · View notes

velvetyh · 8 months ago

Text

⌜Between Deadlines and Desires⌝

꒰ PAIRING ꒱ colleague!Sangyeon x fem!reader (corporate world; colleague!au) ꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ sangyeon really admires you from afar and respects you. but what happens after you get disrespected at work? ꒰ WORD COUNT ꒱ 7.9k words ꒰ TW ꒱ 18+, reader and Sangyeon are both overworked, reader gets humiliated by her asshole of a boss, the big boss is a misogynist, sex in a public setting (at work), oral (both receiving), fingering, p in v, protected sex (from me, I know, shocking, right?), multiple orgasms (for reader), facial, fluffy end? ꒰ NOTE ꒱ it was supposed to be self-indulged (yeah, the humiliation happened to me but not the rest lol) but since my colleague is now an ass, it's just a basic colleague!au fic! Enjoy!! (I'm gonna ignore the fact that i focused on the wrong colleague at my work since the beginning I'm so dumb) ꒰ REQUESTED ꒱ nope!

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The atmosphere at work was quiet, your tall building staring down at the long queue of commuters stuck in traffic for the past two hours. The only sounds disturbing the silence of your floor were your fingers tiredly typing on the keyboard and the scattered manly voices in the conference room on the other end of the corridor, a meeting dragging on well beyond the originally scheduled end time.

Downing the rest of your now cold cup of coffee, you stood up, heels clicking on the floor as you walked past the conference room, the voice of your colleague and your boss mixing with some unfamiliar ones in a heated discussion.

You sighed, the bright red numbers of the digital clock on the wall showing 21:09, reinforcing the exhaustion in your limbs. You tried your best to relieve your eyes from constantly staring at your computer screen without smudging your mascara, which was not easy. You defeatedly shook your head from side to side as you heard your boss arguing with a client for the nth time tonight, his voice suddenly becoming louder as the conference room’s door swung open.

“Yeah, I’ll look if we have it in the archives room,” you recognised the stressed voice of Sangyeon, your colleague, as he closed the door behind him and walked in the opposite direction of the break room.

Once the dishwasher was loaded, you took the same direction as him, ready to return to your desk to clock out and go home. Your shoes clicked again on the tile flooring, the cold light of the archives room spilling into one of the many sinuous corridors that composed the building.

Peeking inside the room, you noticed Sangyeon’s broad back clad in a tight white shirt, his muscles tensing even more as he was rummaging through a binder for some documents.

“Where the fuck is that document,” you heard him mumble, his head snapping to the side as you knocked on the wooden door, your gesture startling him.

“Do you need help with something?” you kindly asked, slowly making your way towards him.

“Y/N? Why are you still here?” he blinked, a file in his hand.

“I had some contracts to proofread and some international clients to call. Do you need help?”

“Yeah, sort of. Do you know if we ever made our American clients sign a new contract last year? I can’t find it,” you quickly looked at the name of the client on the file that he was carrying and nodded.

“I think we did. But that’s not the right binder. You’re looking through the accounting one, you should look through the administrative one,” turning around, Sangyeon watched you crouch down to get the right binder, his eyes remaining a second too long on your ass, your curves enhanced by your tight pencil skirt.

Setting down the binder in front of you, Sangyeon’s figure towering over your shoulder, eyes trying to read the documents you were rapidly skimming through, your hands abruptly stopping and opening the folder once you found what you were looking for.

“Here, it should be that one,” you mumbled and handed him the confidential document with a smile.

“You’re a lifesaver Y/N, I hope you know that,” he pointed a gentle finger in your direction as he walked backwards, a smile decorating his lips as he went back inside the conference room.

Feeling nice enough to help your poor, stressed colleague, you gathered all the papers he got out of the binder and put them back in their initial spots before locking the archives room.

You had just finished cleaning your desk and prepared your to-do list for the next day when you heard your boss thanking the clients, the voices slowly going to the elevators before disappearing. A frown appeared as you heard the coffee machine in the break room run again.

“Don’t you think it’s a little late to drink another coffee? You’re going to have a heart attack at this rate,” you rested your handbag on the kitchen counter, your remark startling Sangyeon as his drained gaze was fixated on the black liquid dropping into his cup.

“You’re going to give me a heart attack if you keep appearing behind or next to me so suddenly,” he managed to joke and you giggle, a small smile appearing on your face.

His gaze dropped a second on your pretty mouth before going back to look you straight in the eyes.

“Thank you for your help, by the way,” he mumbled, playing with the spoon he had in hand.

“It’s fine, I thought I could help since they were my clients before he arrived and changed everything.”

A new boss meant a restructuring of the different clients and cases between colleagues. Your boss thought you weren’t efficient enough to deal with those people, so he decided to give you some other clients to deal with and let Sangyeon take care of everything.

“I don’t know why he gave them to me,” he stated, dropping a spoonful of sugar in his coffee, “they keep complaining and want you to be in charge again.”

“You should tell them that you are competent enough to take care of their files and will do your best to fulfil the assigned tasks,” you simply shrugged, feeling a rush of pride in your chest at how the clients wanted you instead of Sangyeon as a professional.

“You should really stop with this and maybe go home to wind down,” you pointed at the coffee he had almost finished drinking since you started talking, “it’s not good for you to consume this much caffeine and stay behind this late.”

He shrugged, taking his last sip.

“I don’t have anyone or anything waiting for me at home so it’s better if I just work as much as I can,” you shook your head at his words and patted your blazer, realising that you had forgotten your phone on its charging station on your desk.

“Well I’m exhausted, so I’m going home. See you tomorrow ?” you suggested with a smile, and he nodded, mumbling a small ‘good night’ as his eyes followed the way your hips swayed as you made your way to the elevators.

Your colleague sat back down at his desk, his now empty cup in hand. He stared at the document in front of him, his mind filled with the pretty smiles that you gave him and how tight your skirt was around your ass and hips.

He groaned, shifting in his office seat as heat rushed down his pants. You were so nice and pretty, always ready to help anyone with a smile on your face, your intelligence and patience striking him.

His heart hammered hard in his chest, not knowing if it was because of the desire he felt for you or the 9 cups of coffee he had throughout the day.

The poor man was stressed, to say the least. Every employee was overworked in the office, but your boss being the misogynist king he is, thought that men could handle the pressure better and gave them all the important clients that were once managed by female colleagues.

Genius move, right?

Sangyeon sighed deeply.

Right now, if a genie granted him three wishes, one of them would be to lay on your couch, his face pressed against your chest as your hands would caress his back and massage his head to help him relax. He craved to feel your steady heartbeat against his cheek, your sweet fragrance and fruity shower gel invading his nostrils.

He sighed in contentment at the thought, abruptly shaking his head and slapping his cheeks, trying to get himself out of this lustful reverie.

“Focus, bro,” he mumbled to himself.

He was at work, it was not the time nor the place to have those kinds of thoughts.

Sangyeon tried everything to get you out of his mind, but it was impossible; when he would start reading the contract, he would think of how, a few hours prior, you offered him your help in a heartbeat, your bright smile shone in only his direction and how you were concerned about his unhealthy caffeine consumption. He loved the attention, more than he was willing to admit, but it felt so inappropriate to crush on his own colleague.

Yet, Sangyeon couldn’t get you out of his head. He was always attentively listening when you were giving him advice, presenting things in meetings, and always here to help when you were carrying boxes of paper to restock your printer or heavy binders to a meeting. Always thanking him with a bright smile or complimenting him on his strength and generosity.

He cursed himself as his dick was now painfully hard in his pants, urging him to let it free. Sangyeon deeply sighed, pondering whether what he was about to do was a good idea.

“Fuck it,” he mumbled to himself and unbuckled his belt, dragging his office pants and boxers to the middle of his thigh, his dick finally springing free from the restraining undergarments. He deeply exhaled when his hand wrapped around his length, resting his head on his chair and closing his eyes. It twitched in his hold as he gave it a tight squeeze, grunting and hissing at the feeling.

Sangyeon thickly swallowed the embarrassment that pumped through his veins at how fast you appeared in his mind. He pursed his lips to stifle a moan, a very vivid image of you on your knees in front of him, looking up at him through your lashes as you teased the leaking tip of his cock.

“Fuck… Y/N,” he embarrassingly muttered your name in a staggered breath, his rushed hand not faltering in its fast strokes.

He adjusted himself in his seat, lowering the right armrest with his free hand to rest in a more comfortable position to keep his little business going.

Precum was oozing from the tip, giving Sangyeon an easier glide up and down his shaft. The pace he set was now agonisingly slow, mimicking the rhythm that you would probably use if you were sucking him off.

The images were really vibrant in his mind, he knew that he was about to come like he never did before. No matter the porn movie he watched or the ex-girlfriend he fucked in the past, they would probably never give him such a strong orgasm as the mere idea of you, on your knees, with his cock in your pretty mouth, would.

“Oh my god,” Sangyeon's voice was breathy, his face twisting in pleasure as his hips bucked in the air, his fist picking up the pace, squeezing his length as if it were your hand.

He swallowed thickly, preventing himself from moaning your name a second time. He was so aroused by his thoughts, yet ashamed of them, never having thought of a colleague this way.

“Y/N… keep going, I’m gonna cum,” he mumbled under his breath, his words sending warmth to his cock.

He wanted to cum so bad, but his exhausted brain was not enough for him to orgasm. Sangyeon had automatically switched to the same usual rhythm he uses when he touches himself at home and always needed long minutes before reaching his high.

That’s when he closed his eyes, again, and stopped his movement for a brief second. His mind focused on your voice, your smile, how sweet you sound when you say his name, how that time you touched his arm as you laughed at his dumb joke…

… how pretty you would look with your legs on his shoulders, your hands gripping his biceps, prettily moaning his name as he would sliding his cock in and out of you?

It was as if his imagination had gathered just enough strength to send him the dirtiest thought he could ever imagine to cum. His cock twitched hard in his hold, a warm wave of relief washing over him as he came all over his hand and shirt, not fast enough to move it upward to avoid staining it. He swore and groaned your name, body twitching in overstimulation when the images lingered in his mind, the thought of painting your face with his seeds close to make him cum a second time in a matter of seconds.

Sangyeon cursed himself for being such a horny idiot, ashamed of the whole situation when he realised the mess he created; the sleeve and bottom part of his shirt were stained with droplets of cum, sprinkled too high for him to be able to tuck and hide it in his pants or under his blazer.

He rushed to the bathroom, washed his hands and grabbed some toilet paper in an attempt to clean the stains on his clothes. He grumbled in annoyance when the stains only grew bigger, giving up and rushing back to his desk. What would have happened if his boss had forgotten something or worse, you witnessed him fantasizing about getting his way with you?

Fortunately, he found the spare t-shirt he kept in case he wanted to go for a run with other colleagues. He put it on, tossed his dirty shirt in his bag and clocked out, driving home with your face in his mind.

The next day, you decided to come to work around 9am, wanting to compensate for the fact that you stayed behind late last night. You waved at Sangyeon with a cute smile when you saw him already sitting at his desk, clearly oblivious to what happened in his office after you had left.

The early birds were already drinking a cup of coffee in the break room when you entered to make yourself a cup of tea. Greeting all of them and chatting with some, Sangyeon appeared right after you, trying to talk to you, but you didn’t notice it.

You slightly frowned when you heard a deep, masculine voice and loud clapping, Sangyeon’s face twisting in discomfort.

“Look how finally decided to show up! Goldilocks, aka Y/N!” your boss exclaimed, rubbing his hands together, a vicious smile decorating his face.

You didn’t like where this was going. At all.

Since Sangyeon was standing between the two of you, your boss stepped to the side to stare at you. The break room went dead silent, some hiding their laughs by sipping on their beverage while others were as surprised as you were.

“Yes?” you calmly replied, dropping your tea bag in your cup.

“Do you think that 9am is a normal time to come to work ?”

“Well, yes, after last nig-“

“Listen,” he cut you, voice becoming menacing, “I don’t care at what time you went home. It could be 6pm or midnight, I do not care. What matters to me is that you play Goldilocks and wake up whenever you want to, just because you feel like it or you’re “tired”. Everyone is tired and overworked, it’s normal in our field, but I have a business to run, okay? We are not here – especially not my lovely Anastasia at the front desk – to take your stupid little phone calls from your stupid little clients when you are not here because you’re playing Sleeping Beauty. Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth, or do I need to repeat myself?” he asked, his condescending tone making your blood boil.

“Understood.” You muttered through gritted teeth, hand clutching on your tea cup, resisting the urge to throw the boiling liquid at his face in front of everyone.

This new boss was one particular character. He loved to humiliate people, especially women as if it turned him on. He was only sweet with Anastasia from the front desk, you wondered with your other female colleagues if it was her breast implants that were draining the kindness out of his cock him that he no longer had sympathy for the rest of the women in the office.

You exited the break room as he sat down at a table, acting as if he didn’t just humiliate one of his employees in front of the rest of the floor. Heart hammering in your chest and cheeks on fire, the tears were threatening to spill out of your eyes, but you managed to keep them in for the rest of the day, despite the constant appearances of your boss in your office.

His words: he wanted to make sure that Goldilocks hadn’t fallen asleep on her desk, and if she was working properly.

Wonderful. The day was going to be long.

5:30pm was the time you wanted to leave to go to the gym for a workout to wind down.

“Y/N? I’m glad you are still there,” your boss said as he invited himself next to you at your desk. You deeply breathed in and stood up, gathering some documents you were working on before putting them in a folder.

“Well, make it quick, I was about to leave. I have a private appointment to attend,” you lied, putting the folder away in your drawer.

“Not so fast,” he said, preventing you from taking your purse, “I need you to proofread this contract before our meeting tomorrow.”

“I don’t have a meeting tomorrow with you,” you spat, knowing your calendar per heart.

“Well, Monica wasn’t feeling so well this afternoon, so she went home and texted me that she forgot to do it. You’re efficient Y/N, I need this done before tomorrow, okay?” he patted you on the shoulder and you took a step back, wanting to defend yourself, but he had already put the file on your desk with such force that you knew that you would be in big trouble if you didn’t do it.

When he closed the door, your eyes turned glossy, your hand frantically searching your purse for a tissue. Your eyes overflooded, your mascara running down your cheeks as you muted your sobs as best as possible. You didn’t want to attract pity from your colleagues as they walked by.

Sadly for you, Sangyeon happened to pass by and saw through the glass that you were crying. He knocked and softly opened the wooden door, head peeking through.

“Are you okay Y/N?” he asked, his gentle tone making your tears double despite your desperate attempts at keeping them in.

“Yeah, I am,” you lied, wiping your tears with your wet tissue, and throwing it in the trash to take another one as it was already drenched and covered in mascara.

“Don’t lie to me,” Sangyeon rested his binder on your desk, noticing the new file in front of you.

“Is it because of the boss?” you nodded and breathed in, sniffing before entering your password to unlock your computer, again.

“It’s starting to become too much,” you muttered, voice wavering because of the sobs that threatened to escape your mouth, “I can’t stand him and his unfairness anymore.”

“I understand,” you shook your head.

“No, you don’t,” you retorted, making Sangyeon frown. “You don’t understand, he will never treat you like this because you’re a man,” your hand shook as you clicked on some icons on your computer, trying your best to ignore Sangyeon’s pitiful eyes looking at you, “I’m not an inflatable doll with fake implants and Botox lips that laughs at his not-funny jokes, so he hates me and treats me like this.”

Silence filled your office, Sangyeon awkwardly cleared his throat.

“I don’t think it’s because of this,” he argued, and you looked up at him, eyes sending daggers as you stood up.

“Oh yeah? What is it, then?” you questioned, crossing your arms on your chest.

Sangyeon had to force himself not to get distracted by your breasts – that he found perfect, by the way, not fake like Anastasia’s or Monica’s –, resting his hand on the tall chest of drawers behind you.

“If you are here to tell me that it is because of female sensitivity and my hormones, you can go-”

“Y/N, no,” Sangyeon interrupted you by shaking his head, amused by the silliness of your words, “I don’t think it has to do with your appearance or the fact that you are a woman,” he stopped for a second, “I think he sees you as a threat.”

“A threat?” you confusedly retorted, surprised by his words, “how?”

“I mean, yeah! You are an intelligent, clever, quick-thinking woman. You know so much about the firm, the clients, their habits and our strategies. He still doesn’t know all of this despite him being our boss for more than a year now.”

“Well, if he stopped swooning over Anastasia and Monica, maybe he would know all of this as well!” you exclaimed, frustrated, and Sangyeon smiled, a hand gently rubbing your shoulder as a sign of comfort.

“You know damn well that it’s absolutely not his priority,” he whispered and you heavily sighed, shaking your head from side to side, “maybe he’s trying to push your buttons to make you quit, so you no longer put him in the shade.”

“Well, it’s kind of working,” you mumbled, voice wavering, feeling the tears gather again in your eyes.

“Hey, hey, don’t think like that,” Sangyeon took a step closer, grabbing your face between his hands, the gesture startling you, yet you didn’t step away. His palms were gentle and soft, loving how – despite their warmth – they managed to cool down your burning cheeks.

“He’s not worthy of your tears, do you know that? He doesn’t care if you cry because of him, the only thing that matters to him is if Anastasia will suck his dick at lunch.”

You giggled and his face broke into a smile, proud of his joke, his thumb wiping a strand tear that managed to fall from your eye while laughing.

“I like it better when you smile,” he mumbled and you felt your cheeks heating up, looking down as he took a step back, already missing his hands on your face.

“Come on,” he grabbed his binder again, gesturing to you with the head to follow him, “let’s grab a coffee before tackling this case, okay?”

While you walked back to your desk after having said coffee with your colleague, Sangyeon sat at his, not believing that he managed to touch you without getting a boner. When he saw you cry out of exhaustion behind your computer, he was tempted to drop everything and go fist his boss’ collar to give him a piece of his mind about how he treated you, but he thought it was better – for the two of you – to check on you.

When Sangyeon’s head peeked again through the doorframe a few hours later, you were about halfway done, struggling with the little work Monica had done over the months for this client.

“How is it going?” he asked, and you huffed, taking your head between your hands. The clock was closed to reach 9pm and you were nowhere near to go home.

“Monica barely did anything. Even if I stayed the whole night, I would not be able to fully proofread it. Important documents are missing, I don’t know who she called, or to whom she sent emails, it’s just a lost cause,” you desperately mumbled, Sangyeon entered your office before closing the door behind him.

Your desk lamp was killing your eyes as you showed Sangyeon some data on your computer, hoping he would come up with a solution that you were too tired to think of. His hand was resting on your desk, the other on your chair, close to your shoulder.

“Sadly you’re right, it’s a lost cause,” he crossed his arms on his broad chest, negatively shaking his head. You sighed and saved your progress, standing up. Being exhausted and on heels was not a good combo, making you lose your balance.

Sangyeon was quick to catch your forearm, preventing you from falling.

“Thank you,” you cleared your throat and straightened your shirt, blinking a few times, “you’re quite reactive at 9pm after a whole working day,” you joked, and he smiled.

“That’s probably all the coffees I drink,” he joked back, his fingers still gently yet securely wrapped around your wrist.

Your eyes lingered on your shared physical touch, slowly looking up at your colleague. He remained silent, his eyes falling to your lips for a brief second before coming back to your eyes.

Hesitant, Sangyeon brought his free hand to your face, replacing a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture warmed up your body, feeling the goosebumps on the forearm he was still holding.

You were positively responding to his touch.

And he loved it.

Much to your dismay, he retracted his hand, and you looked to the side, his palms now on your shoulders. You had to stifle a moan and prevent your eyes from rolling at the back of your head when Sangyeon positioned himself behind you, his thumbs pressing on the tight knots between your shoulder blades. Inhaling deeply, enjoying the relief, your head lolled to the side and rested against his chest.

You were letting your guard down, an amazing opportunity for Sangyeon to step in.

You audibly gasped and grabbed his hand when you felt his warm lips on the side of your neck, gently kissing and nipping on the skin.

“Sangyeon,” you breathed, fingers flying to his hair, the tension on your shoulders slowly subsiding.

“Mh?” he hummed, too busy kissing your neck to answer you properly. The mere whisper of his name was enough to send electricity through his veins.

“What are you doing? What if someone passes by?” you worriedly asked, dropping your hand from his hair as realisation suddenly hit you.

A bit of self-control would be nice, Y/N. You were at work, damn it, not in a private setting.

“We’re alone in the office, don’t worry,” he mumbled against your warm skin, humming the remaining scent of your perfume, “the janitor already left, you don’t have to worry about anything.”

His voice was low, reassuring, making you give in. Sangyeon wrapped his arm around your waist, pushing your back flush against his chest as he continued to kiss your neck gently.

But his actions had riled you to the point that you could no longer content yourself with only neck kisses and a back hug. You needed more of him, his attentive and caring attitude did little to nothing to tame the growing crush that you had on him since he started at the firm.

Turning around in his hold, you grabbed his face and pressed your lips on his in a fierce kiss. Sangyeon hummed in surprise against your kiss but immediately gave in, his hands resting on your hips, drawing circles with his thumbs on your skirt. Your hands explored his broad, clad back, getting wetter at how well you could feel his muscles under the fabric.

“I need you,” you managed to mumble as you pulled away, Sangyeon’s hand travelling from your hips to your neck at your words, pulling you into another kiss that was way more intense and rushed than the previous one.

Tongues fought for dominance, teeth clashed and collided against one another, hands became adventurous, and the atmosphere suddenly changed in your office as you let desire and need replace the despair and exhaustion you both felt.

Sangyeon’s hands came back to your lower back, gently tucking away the shirt from your skirt, sneaking under the fabric to feel your warm skin. You could tell that he wanted more, so you took one of his hands in yours and made it land on your ass, feeling Sangyeon smile into the kiss and give it a harsh slap. The sting was delicious, making you whine and bite his lower lip when he did it again.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited to get this close to you,” Sangyeon pulled away, his warm breath hitting your lips, his fingers unzipping the back of your pencil skirt.

“Are you serious? I never thought a guy like you would be interested in me,” you admitted, unbuttoning his office shirt.

“I mean, how could I not be? You’re gorgeous, intelligent, so nice and always so damn helpful,” he effortlessly sat you on your desk, your heels falling from your feet in the process, punctuating each compliment with a kiss, slowly making his way to the valley of your breasts.

“Have you seen our female colleagues? I wouldn’t even be surprised if I got picked last,” you mumbled and Sangyeon scoffed, slapping the side of your hip, close to your ass.

“Enough with the negative self-talk,” he grunted, his arms on either side of you to look at you deep in the eyes. “Now, will the prettiest girl in this office let me remove her shirt to show her how enough and how beautiful she is to me?” you couldn’t help but giggle, face warming up at his silly request.

Sangyeon wasted no time and undid your shirt buttons, taking in the sight of your breasts covered in a beautiful, white lace bra.

“Gorgeous,” he mumbled, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your breast, shivers exploding in your chest. You were ready to unclasp it, but Sangyeon stopped you, wanting to admire them a few seconds more before allowing you to drop your bra on your keyboard.

The imprint of his hard cock was apparent in his office pants, your hand reaching to touch it as he was caressing your chest. Sangyeon moaned, mouth diving to suck on one of your nipples, his other hand playing with the other, teasing and squeezing the soft flesh.

“Sangyeon please, don’t stop,” you breathed, spreading your legs to invite him in, which he immediately did, your core pressed flush against his lower abdomen. You whined and fisted his hair, keeping him close as you felt his dick press against your stomach, Sangyeon grunting against your nipple at your tug.

“You have such pretty breasts,” he mumbled, his tongue giving your nipples one last flicker before his mouth went lower. You whined as you felt warmth pool in your panties, Sangyeon busy grabbing your legs and spreading them apart.

“That’s it, baby,” he muttered, taking your body in, “spread them nice and wide for me.”

Once he was kissing the lace of your underwear, he looked up, silently asking for your consent to go further. You took a deep breath and nodded, suddenly acknowledging what was happening.

You were going to fuck your colleague.

Were you scared? No. Impatient? Hell yes. Excited? More than anyone could imagine.

Your boss and his stupid to-proofread contract were long forgotten, Sangyeon’s hands and mouth doing wonders to get your head off of everything. It was even more effective than a workout session at the gym.

The tearing of your tights got you out of your thoughts, watching Sangyeon smirk as he toyed with your undergarments, pressing a digit on the wet patch as he kissed the inner part of your thighs.

“I can’t believe you are already this wet for me and I barely did anything,” you embarrassingly looked away, and he pulled the damp panties to the side, taking in how beautiful your pussy was.

“So pretty,” he mumbled and you clenched around nothing at his praise, Sangyeon’s hands wrapping around your thighs as he wasted no time and dove his tongue between your folds.

“Sangyeon!” you exclaimed, a hand flying to your mouth at how loudly you yelled his name. Sangyeon was chuckling between your legs, loving how sensitive you were for him.

Your hand flew to his hair as you moaned out his name, feeling his tongue reaching parts between your folds that you never knew existed. His nose teased your clit, making your heart hammer in your chest faster. He was so good at eating you out, that you started to wonder if he had lots of experience to be this good.

Sangyeon’s tongue prevented you from wandering too deep in your thoughts as it focused on your most sensitive parts, making you cry out his name when you felt two fingers tease your glistering slit.

“Please Sangyeon,” you begged and he hummed against your pussy, gently inserting two fingers inside you. The stretch felt so good, his digits searching for your sweet spot each time he rutted them inside you. After a few strokes, when he realised that he had found it – thanks to a strangled moan falling from your pretty lips –, he focused on it like he was on a mission.

“Do I make you feel good, my pretty girl?” he asked from between your legs, his warm breath hitting your folds, his fingers still going in and out of you as he teasingly licked your clit.

“Y-Yeah, fuck!” you cried in a high-pitched moan, Sangyeon maintaining eye contact as the squelching sound of your pussy filled the silence, your hips bucking up against his mouth as his cock hardened at your helplessness.

Removing his digits for a short moment, you whined from the emptiness. You heard a zip but paid no mind to it, too lost in your own pleasure to care.

Sangyeon, now on his knees in front of you, had reached for his cock in his pants, stroking his shaft with his hand coated in your juices, your moans only increasing the lust he felt for you.

“Fuck Sangyeon, I’m so close,” you mumbled, hands gripping the edge of the desk, a foot resting on your desk while your other leg was resting on his shoulder, granting him more access to your core.

“Cum for me, baby. I wanna see how beautiful you look coming on my tongue,” he whispered while kissing the top of your pussy, right above your clit, before diving back to make you cum. He abandoned his hard cock to trigger your g-spot again, your cries indicating to him that you were close to reaching your high.

And it didn’t disappoint. In a loud cry of his name, your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave. Your core squeezed his fingers, barely letting him move them inside you and your legs shook around him, your face contorting in pleasure as you fisted his hair, keeping him close to your pussy. He lapped at your juices like a starved man, his fingers teasing your clit to make you fully ride your orgasm.

“Sangyeon,” you moaned out of breath as he proudly looked at his glistening fingers. Your nipples hardened at the sight of a satisfied Sangyeon licking his digits with a smile as if he had just finished eating a tasteful dessert.

“You’re so pretty when you cum, you know that?” he asked while helping you sit up as you had laid down on your desk while orgasming, letting you finish unbuttoning his shirt and push it off his broad shoulders.

He kissed your lips, letting you taste yourself as your tongues waltzed together, your arms wrapping around his neck, caressing his shoulders as you were still weak from your orgasm.

“And you look so handsome when you’re eating me out, you know that?” you imitated him and he smiled, his mouth parting against yours in a breathy sigh as you reached for his cock in between your bodies.

It was even better than he had imagined the day before. It felt different than his hand, he even dared to say it felt way better. You used your two hands to stroke his shaft, one of them sometimes teasing his balls.

While looking at him, you gently spat into your palm before bringing it to his cock, Sangyeon throwing his head back at the sight.

“It feels so good, Y/N, keep going please,” you smiled, blushing at his praise, loving how handsome he looked and how hot he sounded while grunting and bucking his hips in your hand. The tip of his cock was angry, red, precum leaking from the tip as it mixed with your spit.

You quickened your pace just to tease him, only for Sangyeon to grab your wrist to slow you down.

“Stop, stop darling, I wanna last,” he chuckled before kissing you, pulling you to him. Your breasts were pressed flush against his chest, loving how warm his skin felt against your hard nipples.

“Do we have condoms?” he mumbled against your lips, and you thought about it for a second, quickly getting your sanitary pouch from your purse.

“We can still get one in Anastasias’ drawer if this one is expired,” you mumbled as Sangyeon studied it, ripping it open once he saw it was still up to date.

“No need,” Sangyeon smirked and rolled it down his shaft, throwing the wrapping next to your bra as your core clenched around the sight of his member.

Leaning on your elbows, you watched him and smiled, admiring the view his broad shoulders and abs were offering you. He did the same with you, checking your breasts and pretty face out while stroking his cock.

“I think we both like what we see, right?” you giggled, and he nodded, leaning forward to kiss you on the lips, to which you immediately responded. His cock rested against your stomach, your heart skipping a beat at how big he was.

Slightly pulling away, Sangyeon rested his forehead against yours, tapping and sliding his cock a few times against your wet core, a prominent vein deliciously grazing against your clit. You whimpered at the jolts of electricity it sent in your body, your fingers clutching his shoulders as he slowly pushed himself inside of you.

“Oh my god baby, you’re so tight,” he grunted, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth as you tried to keep looking deep in his brown orbits, but to no avail.

He was about halfway in, the stretch making you throw your head back, arms weakening under the weight of the pleasure Sangyeon was giving you. You moaned out his name, feeling full as his hips rested against your thighs.

Both out of breath at the new sensation, he gently grabbed you by the throat to press his lips against yours, your hands flying to his hair to prevent you from falling back on your desk.

“You’re so big,” you groaned and he smirked, two of his digits pushing your lips apart to let your tongue coat them in spit before bringing them down where your bodies met, teasing your clit in sharp circles.

“Shit, you feel so good, Y/N,” he muttered, getting lost in the warmth your pussy was engulfing his cock bit by bit till he was flushed against you.

“Move, please,” he obliged, sliding his cock in and out of you at a steady pace. Your breasts bounced at each thrust, Sangyeon’s mouth diving to litter them with love bites.

Your moans filled your closed office, your nails scratching the skin of his shoulders as Sangyeon’s mouth continued its assault on your breasts. He picked up the pace, hand still steady around your throat to prevent you from squirming too much, making sure you stared into his eyes. High-pitched moans of his name fell from your lips, brows furrowing in pleasure as his dick brushed nonstop against all the spots that made you see stars, the reduction of oxygen increasing your blissful state.

“Does that feel good, Y/N?” he breathlessly asked, his hands leaving your throat to travel up and down your body, mouth vividly kissing every inch of your skin. You whined, head clouded with the feeling of his dick throbbing into you, addictingly rubbing against your soft walls that wanted to trap him forever.

He wouldn’t mind, though.

“Fuck, yeah it does,” you managed to mutter, your words being cut by the noises of Sangyeon’s hips harshly colliding against your thighs.

Sangyeon looked down, his dick twitching at how it disappeared inside your core. He enjoyed the sight, rubbing circles on your clit. The little whimpers of pleasure you were trying to stifle only encouraged him to keep going, wanting to hear again how pretty you sounded when you cum.

He briefly stilled inside you, grabbing one of your legs and lifting it on his shoulder, kissing your tight-covered ankle. The new angle allowed him to reach deeper and further into you, his free hand grabbing you by the back of your head to prevent you from falling as your nails dug dents into the skin of his forearms you were clutching onto in utter pleasure.

“Sangyeon, please,” you begged in a cry, eyes imploring god knows what. He kissed your lips to silence you, hand gently stroking your cheek. “I’m so close,” you whispered when he pulled away, chest deeply heaving as Sangyeon picked up the pace.

Your body started feeling hot, indicating that you were closer to your release. Sangyeon felt you clench hard around his cock, giving him the signal as well, your moans increasing in volume as his hand came back in contact with your clit, rubbing it and gently slapping it to bring you closer to your peak.

“Come for me beautiful, let it all go around me,” he mumbled against your lips before capturing them in a quick kiss, his thrusts intensifying in sharpness, the new pace sending you over the edge in a loud scream of pleasure. His name and profanities fell off your lips as your legs shook, Sangyeon now gently sliding his cock in and out of you, enjoying with a smile the beautiful sight that it was to see you cum around him.

When you came back to your senses, still sensitive from your intense orgasm, you felt a mouth kissing the warm skin from one collarbone to another, warm hands on your hips.

“You’re so beautiful when you cum, Y/N,” he breathed against your chest, your hand pushing some strands of hair away from his eyes.

“You already said that,” you giggled, and he chuckled, gently biting your earlobe, and making you squeal.

“I know, I just can’t get enough of it,” he whispered, pressing his lips to yours in a delicate kiss.

You got lost in the kiss for a brief moment, before realising something.

“Did you cum?” you questioned, hand resting on his cheek.

“It’s okay, you needed it more than-“

You sat up and kissed him, seizing the opportunity of him being distracted with your kiss to push him into your office chair, dropping to your knees.

Your tights did little to no job of shielding your knees from the cold tile flooring, but you didn’t care. You had orgasmed twice in one night, the least you could do was lend him a hand – or your mouth – to help him reach his peak as well.

When Sangyeon looked down, he almost came just by seeing you on your knees in front of him. In a swift motion, you ripped away the condom from his hard length, your hand at the base of it while you kissed your way up to the tip.

“Y/N, please don’t tease me,” Sangyeon gripped the armrests, and you smiled, your mouth wrapping around his cock, your tongue curling slowly around it, taking him in as best as you could.

Spit rolled down his length, your hand stroking what couldn’t fit in your mouth. His hips bucked, making you gag, your colleague whispering a soft apology as you pulled away, a string of saliva linking your pretty lips to his cock, thumb pressing on the prominent vein wrapped around his length.

You looked up at him with lustful eyes, hollowing your cheeks, teasing the slit and sucking around the tip like you would do with a lollipop, making Sangyeon shudder in pleasure.

Without warning, your mouth swallowed his cock, feeling his tip hit the back of your throat and its weight on your tongue, his balls heavy in your palm. You stroked the wrinkly skin, earning a low grunt from Sangyeon as you kept on bobbing your head up and down.

“Oh yeah, Y/N, keep going. You're really good at this- fuck!” Sangyeon whispered, his fantasy slowly becoming a reality. His face distorted in pleasure looked down, your eyes meeting as you kept pleasuring him. He threw his head back, his hands landing in your hair as he gathered it in a messy ponytail, wanting to keep seeing your pretty face as you sucked him off.

Your jaw started hurting, like your knees, but you kept going, wanting to satisfy him as best as he satisfied you. He would never tell you, but just the fact that you let him kiss you and touch would have already been enough for him. But now, Sangyeon was not going to complain to have his dick deep in your mouth, just like he had imagined it the night before.

The moans you let out while he was fucking you came back to his mind, adding another source of pleasure to your mouth wrapped around his cock. He felt his high coming and you did too, his girthy length in your mouth slightly increasing, urging you to pick up the pace.

“Y/N, keep going, ohhh fuck, I’m gonna cum, fuck!” he warned, and you pulled away, wrapping your hand around it, keeping the same steady pace.

Sangyeon swiftly removed your hand to stroke himself, his other free hand grabbing your chin to prevent you from moving. You drew your tongue out and that was the last straw; thick, white ropes of cum landed on your face and dropped to your chest in the following second, your name escaping from Sangyeon’s lips in heavy sighs.

Getting back on your feet, you smiled at him, sitting on his lap. He slightly shuddered as your core grazed against his still-sensitive cock, his chest heaving at the force of his release.

“Thank you,” you timidly mumbled and he smiled, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss.

The lust had died down, the atmosphere now becoming soft and quiet, the stillness of the night engulfing you in a warm hug.

“You don’t have to thank me for nothing,” he mumbled, wrapping an arm around you as he slid the chair closer to your desk, grabbing a few tissues to clean your chest and chin.

“I could thank you for plenty-“

“You don’t have to. I did it because I like you, okay?” Sangyeon mumbled and it was your turn to smile, goosebumps rising on your skin as he kissed your collarbone.

“Let’s call in sick tomorrow,” he proposed, and you gasped, ready to protest, “I wanna take you out properly.”

“But the meeting-”

“Fuck the boss and his fucking meeting. He can deal with the work on his own,” Sangyeon grunted, looking at you with tender eyes as you tamed the strands of his hair that you tugged on.

“I’m scared that he will humiliate me again because I didn’t do the work he asked me for,” you confessed, taking a deep breath. Sangyeon’s hands cupped your face, forcing you to look at him.

“He'll hear from me if he makes another inappropriate comment to you in front of everyone. Let me drive you home now,” he answered, kissing your lips before letting you slide off his lap to get dressed.

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lvmimis · 1 year ago

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cw: minors dni. smut. first time sex. literal breeding. sci-fi themed. female body parts for reader. izuku is bigger than reader. size kink if you squint.

The dynamics of the world as you knew it thousands of years ago are now gone, and ever since you awoke from cryogenic slumber just 24 hours ago, the next phase of humanity’s plan to continue to exist and expand through the stars is now in progress.

Repopulation.

The new Earth substitute you inhabit is practically devoid of humans and will need bodies, at least until enough of you can build robots to replace your physical labor. There are fifty of you in total, of reproductive age and of peak physical, intellectual and emotional ability (aggregate, with some compartments allowed to be lower than others), and you are assigned to partners based on your compatibility.

They call you terraforming partners. It’s a euphemism for mate. Your only job is to breed.

There are of course other departments to work in the colonizing efforts. Some of the selected fifty have double appointments in the repopulation department and in research and development, others in art and communications, still others in nutrition. You failed to select a secondary appointment prior to your assignment to this planet, and thus have the appointment of Propagator-09A.

It is time to meet your mate. Taking in a deep breath, you leave your quarters, housed in one of two L-shaped buildings surrounding the Nexus or central headquarters, and walk straight down the hall of the dorm building into the designated repopulation centers. These are where you will perform your duties.

The two of you will enter a dome-shaped building from opposite ends of the room. You’re not sure who awaits you on the opposite end of the door, just that they are sexually compatible with you, and pass other measures of compatibility based on a predetermined algorithm. This algorithm is not meant for love, not meant for marriage, just sex and reproduction. Will you two produce at least two minimum viable human children that can be turned over to the administration to be raised? That’s all that is asked of you, and that is what you are contracted to do -

... regardless of who will show up in the next few minutes.

The watch on your wrist monitors your heart rate and everything other than it, and it is starting to beep in concern of your rising heart rate. You suck air into your lungs and let it blow out of your nose.

Mates are not allowed to hurt you. They are to watch for your comfort, as you are to watch for theirs, they are to stop if you’re not ready, and you are allowed to leave at any time. They are meant to fit you perfectly, and you were specific enough in your application to explain how you liked to be held and pleased.

This will be okay, you tell yourself. It will all be okay.

The door slides upwards into the apex of the dome, and you step into your new home away from home, at presumably the same time as your mate. Marching straight into the center of the room, your eyes lowered to the ground to steady yourself, you don’t notice that the man on the opposite end has not yet begun to move, and when you look up finally once you’ve reached the center, you see him for the very first time, and his cheeks are tinted with the deepest of blushes.

The young man’s lips are parted wide, his hands balled into loose fists at his side as if he didn’t know what to do with them. Immediately, you recognize him from the debriefing session just prior to the cryogenic freezing and the young man - tall, handsome, far too talkative with a voice gentler than expected for a man of his stature but in keeping with his softened but still masculine facial features - seems to hang in the frame of the door, transfixed. Not one word comes out of his mouth. You notice the top of his head, covered in mossy green curls, just barely grazes the top of the door, remembering that the domes have much lower ceilings than the buildings back home.

“Hi,” you eke out, then quickly add, “watch your head.”

Your voice is smaller than usual as you offer him a slightly nervous, strained smile, and he looks as though a shock runs through his body as you speak to him, bumping his head anyway as he walks in despite your warning. You raise your eyebrows, and he laughs just as nervously before meeting up to you.

Standing just inches apart, he scratches his neck, and the pink beneath his freckles still hasn’t abated, but at least now he can talk.

“Sorry about that haha, I’m… I just didn’t realize you’d be so pretty.”

Your own face deeply warms at those words. He’s easy on the eyes too, and you’re thankful for it, but he doesn’t need to charm you as easily as he does.

Shy yourself, you’re at a loss for words to reply, even thank you failing to be generated. He notices the silence, and quickly fills in the space.

“I’m Izuku. Izuku Midoriya… uh, your terraforming partner. Nice to meet you.”

His hand stretches out to shake yours, and you shake it. It’s larger, warm, and heavily calloused. You wonder what type of work he does, before the mission or now that he’s on this planet with you. With those broad shoulders and impressive biceps of his, you figure it could be something manual, but he’s always sounded quite intelligent so perhaps the muscles are more for show.

“Nice to meet you too. I’m ___.”

As if on cue, once you’ve introduced yourselves, the doors slide down behind the both of you, closing you in. There’s a loud click, and then the pod announces that it’s moving underground, and you steady yourself as gravity shifts. Your partner’s hands extend reflexively to hold you to prevent you from falling, but he’s careful not to touch you unless the motion is invited.

The pod settles onto solid ground again.

The space isn’t small, but it’s not large either, and while it’s mostly monotone, a smattering of whites and beiges and glass, many of the surfaces are soft and plush. A large, round bed with many pillows, a glass panel that doubles both as a window and a screen is across from it. When you try the window, you realize your pod hasn’t moved completely underground, and you can still see the suns’ rays in the afternoon. You’d heard that the pods are set up this way for insulation. For heat, and for… sound.

You look towards Izuku again. His back is turned from you and he’s looking around the pod as well, examining every corner and crevice, his fingers rubbing his chin as he thinks. He’s a caricature of a thoughtful person, you think, soon distracted by the way his shirt hangs over the muscles of his back. He stretches for a moment, and you see the muscles flex under the thin fabric. Something stirs in your chest, then you look away quickly, deciding to search through the closets.

These algorithms hit the nail on the head when it comes to your type, you hate to admit.

Poring through the closets and drawers reveals all manners of lingerie and loungewear, as well as a few very specific costumes that seem to be for roleplay. Your face warms as you see a set of angel wings, and a bunny leotard, then you glance at him, wondering if these are the types of things he’s into. When you see the gladiator suit hung neatly right next to it, you can feel your blood run cold.

Yes, it’s what you’re into.

There’s a fridge in the center of the room with protein drinks, meal replacement shakes, fresh fruit, wine, chocolate and other sweets, as well as a call button for meals. Cutlery and dishes find themselves in another drawer, along with a small table spread and two chairs that appear at the click of a button in the wall. A makeshift fireplace.

Anything to set the mood.

Pornography in abundance. Dirty comics. You and Izuku both stare in awe at the sheer collection of spank material, then look at each other, and can’t help but laugh.

They really prepared for everything.

By the time you’ve looked at everything, your stomachs are growling. You share a meal together in polite conversation, which turns into friendly banter, laughter, and then soon, back into pregnant silence as you realize the sun is setting, and you remember there not on a date, not to become friends but for a purpose.

The ability to delay the inevitable is now being lost, and eventually you’re both acutely aware of the body that occupies the same space. Izuku looks up at you, clears the plate before him, and broaches the subject first.

“Have you ever-”

“Yes,” you lie.

“Oh.”

He looks down for a second, then looks up at you. You wonder if he’s disappointed, but soon he adds, “I’m sorry if I can’t meet up to expectations but I’m willing to learn how to make you feel good.”

Your stomach twists for a moment, but you offer a smile. He looks sincere, no waver in those bright, green eyes, and it warms you. The two of you clear away the dishes soon, and Izuku tells you he’ll be careful with your body, once clothing has been stripped away, and the two of you are bare and facing each other.

You don’t know what that will entail before he touches you, but the inevitable attraction you have towards him, the magnetic draw that he has to your body, informs you soon. Your lips meet, you on your tip-toes, and his arms reaching carefully around his waist. The first kiss is reticent, soft and anxious, the second is hungry, the third is greedy. His tongue tastes everything your mouth has to offer, yours fights to get its share as well. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, as your chest presses against his. Your hearts beat in time with each other. Thump, thump.

Izuku’s skin smells like spring water and freshly cut grass, and is soft and warm to the touch; his weight against yours is a comfort you’ve needed your whole life. His breath against your skin, soft kisses along your collarbone, between your breasts, over your lower belly, and finally culminating with his mouth laying over your clit makes your body buzz. He whispers something about reading that you cumming first will make you accept him better, but the way he eats you out hungrily makes you think that it’s less tactical and more for the pleasure of it. He’s good with his fingers, too, thick and deep in your crevices, gentle but purposeful.

The act of copulation can be such a solemn, resolute affair, but for you two it’s a new dance, where your bodies open up to each other in concert. Your bodies press and join together, your mouths each swallowing the other’s gasps as he enters you, as you take all of him in. You feel like heaven, he feels like paradise; the ebb and flow between you is perfect, unending. The sun sets without your notice because all you can see is each other.

Unconquered territory is discovered inch by inch, from inside out. Izuku makes your toes curl, your heart skip several beats as you cry out his name, even if you’ve just learned it moments ago. It’s a job, but the pleasure seems almost sinfully indulgent.

And you’re both extremely hard workers by nature.

Breathless by the time he’s filled you to the brim, you have to remind each other that you don’t have to be pregnant at this very moment. He pulls out of you reluctantly, and your body tries to hold onto him, but all good things must come to an end, even if temporarily.

“Are you okay?” he whispers over your knees.

You’re better than okay, full of affection and hope, flooded in hormones. You nod, Izuku offers a kiss to both your kneecaps as he applies just enough pressure with a forearm to keep your folded position. Parts of his semen slips out of you and he asks you if he can, and when you nod, cheeks warm and breathing steady, pushes the slippery substance back into your body with two fingers.

A timer goes off and he sighs, laying down beside you.

“Testing is at the end of the week,” he muses. He’s staring at the ceiling. You want to reach over to him, but it feels too intimate for a first meeting, even if he’s been in your guts, even if he’s planting himself forever into you.

“Yeah.”

“I think we can do it,” he adds. Your worn out body warms, wanting more already.

It’s just a job, you remind yourself. It’s work, not play. Duty, not love.

“Me too.”

Izuku turns to look at you, and he’s so earnest and sweet, you can practically imagine you are lovers, instead of biologically matched mates, and that rather than this transient mission, you’ll be together for the rest of your lives.

#izuku midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #izuku smut #izuku midoriya smut #daydreams: bnha #deku smut #mimi's notes

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honeekyuu · 1 year ago

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love affair. [tsukishima kei x f!reader] chapter two.

>>The unsavory reputation that Tsukishima Kei has built for himself as the Sendai Frogs' rudest rookie puts his upcoming contract renewal at risk

Tsukki really needs a girlfriend, and you really need everyone to stop calling you his pathetic, pining best friend<<

series status: [complete]

previous. || masterlist. || next.

a/n: kyoutani/kiyoko was not the side pair i expected to fall in love with but here you go

[feel free to buy me a cup of coffee!]

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The two months that follow the start of the relationship between you and Tsukishima Kei can only be characterized as ‘ change ’.

You find your flow easily after that first week, the unspoken agreement made on the couch that night at the forefront of every interaction together. In order to make the relationship convincing, you both learn to play the part to the best of your abilities. You learn to lean into the expectations of the people watching you closely, playing into them and even surpassing them — because you can rely on your understanding of each other, the kind of familiarity that comes with 15 years of history.

You already know his regimented morning routine, because you were tortured into keeping the same hours as him in high school. You know that the muscle patches he prefers for his back are different than the ones he prefers for his shoulders, because it’s always been you who applies those patches to the places he can’t reach.

In the same way, Tsukki knows how you take your coffee — hot almond milk vanilla latte in the morning, always, followed by an iced oat milk mocha with two extra shots of espresso in the afternoon. He’d accidentally gotten you a hot mocha once and watched you wilt a little but drink it, anyway, and then he’d never done it again. He knows you prefer to study not in the library or at your department, but on the quad outside of some random administrative building, because you’d once called it the ‘perfect ratio of quiet, focus space and people-watching from afar’.

So, when people swoon and scream online about how someone had seen you tearing down the aisles of the nearest convenience store at 5am after Tsukki had pulled a muscle while out for a run — your hands picking out his patches without needing to think about it — you’re awarded the ‘ Great Girlfriend ’ points without really having earned them. And when Tsukki’s spotted ordering your complicated afternoon mocha without struggling — even asking them to remake it, because he’d tasted it and could tell it was regular milk — before wandering knowingly off to some random patch of grass by the Student Records Building, your Twitter DMs nearly break with the amount of people asking how you ‘ trained him so well ’.

What so few people realize, even though your long-time friendship is brought up so often in the media, is that you and Tsukki don’t do these things because you’re madly in love and have made the effort to learn the small, seemingly unimportant details about each other. You do them because they’re ingrained in your understanding of each other. You do them because there’s no alternative; Tsukki will only use Salonpas on his back, and you won’t drink anything with regular milk because it makes your stomach hurt. These are just the facts, but, for some reason, they seem to convince people that your relationship is real more than being seen on a date ever has.

In fact, the things you are learning about each other and teaching each other about are the larger, romantic details that people always assume come first. You learn that Tsukki’s default pet name for you is ‘ princess ’, but that, when he’s being intentionally antagonistic, he has a habit of bending down to your height and plastering a mocking smile on his face while calling you ‘ sweetheart ’. He learns that you show affection by feeding him, his arms always full of tupperware when he leaves your apartment and two – two, not one – lunches shoved haphazardly in his gym bag when you know he’s going to have a long training day.

And, of course, there is a lot to learn about each other physically. You have to learn how to walk with his hand in your back pocket or on your waist, because that’s how he likes to walk you to class. And he has to learn that, unless it’s a peck hello or goodbye, you tend to start with a kiss to his cheek — because you get too shy to flat-out kiss him without some kind of warm-up.

You learn that you like his hands very much, but that you like when he keeps eye contact with you more than anything. It’s in the way he beckons you to him after a game or in the way he watches you walk from the door of a cafe all the way to the seat he’s reserved for you. That, coupled with the contrast of him being rough with his blocks at practice but careful about moving your hair out of your face, guarantees that you need several long minutes to recover after a moment with him.

He learns that when you look up at him with those doe eyes he didn’t even know you had — he’s most familiar with your eyes when they’re mid-eye-roll — that it takes an absurd amount of self-control not to give you everything you want. And when you tie your hair up, especially on the hot afternoons sprinkled through the start of Fall, he has to tear his eyes away from the curve of your neck and physically sit on his hands to stop himself from touching the sliver of tummy that peeks out when your shirt lifts a little.

In private, of course, these things are never issues. In private, you are, for the most part, the same as you’ve always been: two friends who fight and laugh and keep an appropriate amount of distance between each other. Friends who get together on Friday nights to drink and watch bad TV. Friends who never need to think around each other, because that’s the best part about being friends.

It’s just that sometimes friends do need to keep things from each other – which is something you’re both still learning to deal with.

When you try on new outfits and ask for his opinion, his scan of your body is cursory because he knows not to let himself linger on how this dress sits on your hips or how that shirt makes your boobs look. He’s careful not to let you catch him staring at your thighs, on display when you wear those cursed little pajama shorts. And he’s quick to always take the corner of the couch instead of sitting beside you, even though he itches to snake an arm around your waist and pull your side flush to his.

When he sits at his dining table, telling you about practice while you cook dinner in his and Yamaguchi’s kitchen, your biggest challenge is keeping your eyes off of his bare chest and wet hair, his skin still dewy and warm after his shower. When you write papers while sitting on your tiny, Twin XL bed and he comes over from the couch to bother you, you’re tasked with keeping your breathing even and your eyes firmly on your laptop, because there’s never enough space between you and you worry what you might do if you look at him. And when he checks the time and mumbles that he can stay for one more episode of your show – even though it’s almost always past midnight when he does it – you know to hide your smile behind your hand, because it’s expected that you’ll sigh and say ‘ just one more ’ like a normal friend.

In private, friends don’t unknowingly seek out reasons to brush against each other, and they don’t subconsciously wear less clothes around each other, only to chalk it up to being comfortable around each other.

But you don’t need to know that. And he doesn’t need to know that. Because as long as you both know the rules for being in private – “hands to yourself” – then everything else can be kept hidden.

In public, however, things are quite a bit different.

In public, you find yourself in a no-holds-barred relationship where nothing – nothing – is off limits.

In public, the boy who used to bring his collection of dinosaur figurines over to your house on the weekends is the same boy who now picks you up from class with a kiss and the promise of free ‘ girlfriend-discount’ coffee. The boy who wouldn’t share his crayons with you unless you promised your snacks to him – that’s the boy who shamelessly buys you a small wardrobe’s worth of Frogs merch with his name on it, tying your hair back with a neon green TK scrunchie and unironically presenting a set of green pajama shorts to you, his face printed on the left ass cheek.

The boy who’d sling mud into the hair of mean little girls who would put their hands on you.

That’s the boy who puts his hands on you now.

On the small of your back – a self-assured touch that guides you through a sea of flashing lights and reporters waiting at the entrance to the Frogs’ home gym. Slung around your waist – fingers hooked loosely into the belt loop on your hip while he stands with you at your favorite cafe’s self-order kiosk, his card already out. Tickling the inside of your thigh – the pad of his thumb drawing circles in your skin while he drives, his other hand reaching to cup your face so he can press his lips gently to yours at red lights.

Hidden under your shirt – fingertips kneading at all the plushest parts of your skin while he kisses you stupid at the front of an empty lecture hall, the door cracked open just slightly. Because – while it’s an obvious conclusion that any form of physical intimacy at home should be strictly off limits – the corner classroom on the top floor of your department that you know is unused at 2pm every day just so happens to walk a very fine line between public and private.

Public enough that you might be caught – as long as he’s not getting into fights , as Management is fond of reminding the two of you – and public enough that you sincerely see no issue with letting your best friend shove his tongue down your throat. Private enough, however, that you’re able to speak candidly to each other, even with your legs wrapped around Tsukki’s waist and his fingertips brushing across the underwire of your lacy bra.

That’s where you find yourself now, on a chilly Tuesday afternoon in the last week of October, after weeks of meeting up here. Your weight is supported by the table at the front of the lecture hall, skirt hiked up a little too high and hands curled into his hair. He’s bent over you, lips burning a path of bruises along the column of your throat while his hips, slotted between yours, keep your legs open and your skirt pushed up.

“You look good today,” He murmurs against your skin, your quiet panting the only other sound in the room. One of his hands is pressed firmly against your back, keeping you close to him, and the other is gripping your thigh, much higher than he really should be. But you can’t seem to mind, even when you feel the blunt edge of his nails scratch briefly along the line of your panties.

That’s the change you still haven’t gotten totally used to – the shiver of anticipation that’s started to run down your spine when he gets too close, the flip of excitement just under your navel when your body presses against his.

After years of not caring even a little bit about who he would take home from a party – about the rumors that would float around campus, whispered by girls who’ve gotten into bed with him – you’re facing the reality that is being attracted to Tsukishima Kei.

“Which part?” You mumble back absentmindedly, tightening your hold in his hair when he bites down on the crook of your neck, his tongue soothing the pain right away.

“Dunno,” He says, gripping your thighs and dragging your hips minimally closer to his. “I just really like this.” He thumbs at your skirt in explanation. Your body responds when he chuckles low, goosebumps breaking out all over your skin. “Giving me something to think about tonight.”

“You’re doing it again, Tsukki,” You joke, laughily breathily. He’d started doing that in the last couple weeks – making little comments like that. You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to it. “I didn’t know celibacy would hit you this hard.”

He sighs against your skin, shaking his head. “There you go again, not believing me.”

There’s an embarrassingly large part of you that wants to. But you know well enough that you’re not his type, so you’re not sure what could possibly going on with him if not an extreme case of blue-balls after two months without sex. Somehow, even after everything you’ve done together the last few weeks, it seems silly to think he might genuinely want you. Surely not.

“Well, you’re a flirt, so I can never tell with you,” You say, entirely honest but playing it off like a joke. He stops kissing your throat and leaves his lips against your pulse, breathing hard.

“Name one time I’ve lied to you.”

You scratch your nails against his scalp. “It’s not that serious, Tsukki. I can take the joke.”

“Y/n-”

You laugh nervously into his shoulder, feeling him shift in annoyance. “What’s going on with you lately, huh?” Your insecurities peek through, and you’re stupid enough to act on them. “Should I let you off the leash for one night? To get it out of your system?”

It’s the wrong thing to say – even you know that.

His mouth leaves your skin before you realize what’s going on, one of his hands coming up to grip your face. You gasp, seeing that he’s glaring at you with those sharp, golden eyes.

“You really don’t know when to shut the fuck up, do you?”

You blink up at him, your chest heaving. You want to look away, because, while you’ve seen that scowl before, it’s never been like this. And you know he won’t let you look away. His fingertips only tighten on your cheeks when you try, and he uses his grip to force you to shake your head.

“No, you don’t,” He whispers mockingly. “You don’t know. You just love to say shit that’ll piss me off.”

You have no idea what’s going on right now. You don’t know that you’ve ever seen this side of him. His condescending tone is nothing new – mocking jokes and rude comments are not new. But the way he’s treating you now is not that, and the way you’re reacting to it is not that. There’s something else, and you want so badly to blame it on anything that isn’t this newfound physical attraction to Tsukishima Kei.

Because there is absolutely no reason that the way he’s speaking to you should turn you on. No reason at all.

“Apologize,” He whispers, eyes steady on yours.

You blink stupidly, too distracted by the wave of heat that crashes over you. He lifts your chin toward him, eyes narrowing.

“Apologize, Y/n. For insulting me.”

“Did I insult you?” You bite weakly, your voice shaky and your heart pounding in your ears. You’re still his best friend. You’re still the girl who’s never backed down from a challenge. “Then you apologize too, for joking about being attracted to me.”

His eyebrow twitches with irritation. “What?” He hisses, clearly holding back.

“‘s not nice to mess with me like that, Tsukishima,” You say, your confidence shrinking by the second. You can’t handle much more of this – the way he’s grabbing you, the way he’s glaring at you.

His eyes flicker with something you can’t place when you say his name. You’ve noticed that, too. That he reacts when you use his full name. You don’t know why, or if it’s even conscious.

He scowl twists into a sneer. “You know, you’ve been really fucking annoying recently.” His eyes light up when you gasp, and he leans down, releasing your face in favor of planting both hands on the desk behind you, caging you in. “Making all these little jokes. Downplaying the shit I say to you.”

“Well, you’ve been particularly horny recently,” You say, some of your sense coming back now that he doesn’t have a literal hold on you. “Gotta keep reminding you that it’s me you’re dealing with.” You brush some of his hair out of his face, your touch gentle. “Before you do something you’ll regret.”

“I thought I told you to get over that,” is all he says, his voice nothing more than a whisper. There’s still heat behind it, but he mostly just looks frustrated.

“It’s not that easy,” You whisper back, your nose brushing his. “Especially not with the whole world reminding me that I’m nothing like the girls before me.”

So maybe you’re still a little sensitive about the 16-tweet thread someone had made last week, comparing photos of you and photos of all of Tsukki’s exes and one-night stands. He’d gotten the account banned before you’d even looked through all of the tweets, but there are still 13 side-by-sides haunting you when you close your eyes.

“Of course you’re not like them,” He says, rolling his eyes. “I don’t remember half of their names.”

You give him a deadpan stare. “Charming.”

“What do you want me to say, Y/n? That I don’t have a type?” He still hovers over you, close enough that you see the honesty sitting in his eyes. “Yeah, I have a type. All those other girls look the same to me.”

And then he grabs at your thighs, fingers familiar on your skin. You squirm, but he holds tight. “But that doesn’t mean I’m forcing myself to put my hands on you.” He squeezes you, tugs at your skirt and threads his fingers through your hair. “Doesn’t mean I’m putting myself through hell to do this to you.” He tightens his grip and tilts your head to the side, and you realize he’s talking about the fresh hickies on your neck.

He lets you go, standing tall and towering over you. You crane your neck back to look up at him, and his eyes flick down to the hollow of your throat. Your heart jumps when he lifts a hand and rests it there, fingers flexing loosely around the front of your neck.

That’s new.

“You think I would drag you in here and lay you back on this desk every week if I thought you were ugly?” He whispers, eyes a little clouded as he looks you over. You, with your legs still spread and wrapped around his waist. With your chest heaving and your eyes blown wide, surprise written all over your face. With your throat in his hand and no indication that you wouldn’t want it there.

“God,” He laughs to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re so stupid, Y/n. Two months and you still think like this.” When you only sigh shakily, unsure what to do with this conversation, he tightens his hold on your throat. His eyes are lit up like sunlight, warm but quick to burn if you make the wrong move. “Looks like I’ll just have to prove you wrong.”

What?

“Tsukki-” “Y/n.”

You both jump, turning to the door. Nariko is rushing into the room, but, when she sees the precarious position the two of you are in, she respectfully averts her eyes.

“Nariko,” You gasp, sitting up. Tsukki’s quick to pull your skirt down over your thighs and help you down.

“Time for our daily dose of Sendai Sports ,” He sighs, clearly annoyed.

“Sorry-I-” Nariko’s got her hand over her eyes, her camera hanging uselessly at her side. She very well could have snapped a photo of you two in that moment, but she’d chosen not to.

You’re infinitely glad it’s her that had walked in.

“The other reporters figured out that you didn’t stay at the cafe after your class. They’re on their way back here now.”

You’d walked across the street after class to get your iced coffee and study at a corner table, but you’d snuck out the back when Tsukki had texted you to meet him here. Your coffee sits, untouched and lukewarm, on a nearby desk.

Nariko’s the only one who’d seen you re-enter the building, and that’s because she’d snuck out the back of the cafe with you, the woman a frequent companion over the months. She hadn’t asked any of the questions she’s probably paid to ask when you’d gone in the side door of your department, and she’d conveniently stopped to tie her shoes you’d said you needed to take care of something on the top floor and gotten on the elevator.

You collect your bag from the floor quickly, tossing the coffee away as you fix your appearance.

“Damn it.” You look to Tsukki, who seems less annoyed with Nariko now that she’s made it clear she’s here to help. “We have to go out the back.” And then you look at Nariko, having accepted long ago that this woman feels like an older sister. “Is my makeup okay?”

She looks you over, starting to nod, but then she spots the bruises on your neck. “Uhm…”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, I know. I’m not happy about it, either.”

“ You were at the time ,” Tsukki mutters under his breath. You elbow him hard, and Nariko sniffs in order to cover her laugh. She still knows better than to get comfortable with him.

“You’re fine,” She says, glancing out the door. “But you should go now. They were coming in through the front just as I was getting to the elevator, and it’ll be obvious what you were doing if they find you. It’s better to be caught running and have the reason be implied – photos of your smeared makeup and wrinkled shirt will always look bad.”

“You said I looked fine!” You laugh, grabbing Tsukki’s hand and dragging him out the door. You’re both halfway down the hall to the far door, jogging hand in hand, when you hear the shutter of her camera. You turn back, finding her smiling playfully.

“I still have a job to do, you know!”

Your laughter echoes through the hall, and even Tsukki’s smothering a grin as you take the stairs to the fire exit. You rush with him across the quad, a few people spotting you and taking blurry pictures. You make it to his car in record time, your shared laughter growing when he drives by a group of reporters looking around the quad in confusion.

He drives you back to your apartment, the tension between you eased significantly. But it’s still there, lingering in your mind.

What had he meant when he said he would prove you wrong?

“Tsukki,” You say when he’s stopped at the red light near your apartment. “Earlier, when you said you would prove me wrong… What did you…” You trail off, wondering if you’re really ready to hear his answer.

He doesn’t answer for a long moment, and you think that maybe he’s not going to speak at all.

“There’s a party on Saturday night – after the game,” He says abruptly, and you have no clue what this has to do with anything.

“Okay?”

“Wanna go?”

“Oh.” You blink. “Isn’t Saturday Halloween?”

“Conveniently enough.”

“Sure. Should-” You clear your throat, suddenly feeling a bit out of place. You’re not sure if things are the same with him after what had happened in the lecture hall, and you’re definitely not sure why he won’t answer your question. “Should we dress up?”

He breathes out a laugh. “Am I allowed to go as a player for the Sendai Frogs?”

“Oh, God,” You groan, rolling your eyes. “Way to be cliche.”

“Fine. You pick the costumes, and I’ll buy them.” He pulls into your lot, right up to the permanent group of reporters that just sit outside your apartment all day. The flashing lights start almost immediately, and he leans over the middle console, stopping you from getting out of the car.

He tucks your hair behind your ear, and you already know that the photos being taken are capturing the line of hickies on your throat. He smirks when you give him a knowing look, only leaning in and pushing his lips against yours.

When he leans away, his gaze falls to your throat. He takes in the skin there, his thumb brushing over the already-purple marks. And then he meets your eyes, that dominant look from earlier peeking through again. Your breath catches when you see it, but he only narrows his eyes when he sees you searching his face. His thumb taps twice against your throat.

“Don’t cover these up.”

You swallow, brows furrowed. “Why?”

He leans in, planting another quick kiss on your mouth. “How about you go look in a mirror? Might help.”

You suppose that’s as close to an answer as you’re going to get tonight.

–

You start to realize that maybe Tsukki hadn’t been fucking with you.

When you stare into your bathroom mirror every morning for the rest of the week, fixing your hair and clothes and makeup but leaving the skin on your throat untouched, you start to enjoy seeing the bruises there. These little reminders that it had been him that had put them there, that he had done this to you of his own free will. It makes you wonder if maybe he feels the same way when he sees them on you.

You get the feeling he does. His eyes flick to the purple bruises when he picks you up on Wednesday and every day after – the corner of his lips tug up, like he’s smug that the evidence is still there. Like he’s glad to show you off, those marks on your skin more of a claim on you than most forms of PDA.

The photos of you go a little viral for a few hours that first day, with the accompanying mix of supportive and hateful comments.

[2:33 PM] tsukkiyn4life : LOOK AT HER!!! I WANT WHAT THEY HAVE !!!!!!

[3:04 PM] keisolostan : god shes such an attention whore lmao, concealer exists girlie

[3:25 PM] sendaiynfan : no bc him marking his girl up like that is so tsukki-coded. bbygirls so lucky

[4:17 PM] tsukkisgirl : the way i would just pretend she doesnt exist if i saw that fine ass man in the wild

[4:29 PM] frogsfan101 : she cant even make hickies look good, jesus. so trashy

You’ve learned that you’re not strong enough yet to ignore how those tweets make you feel, so you keep your notifications off for the week. Unfortunately, Tsukki handles haters a little differently – he’s using his new media presence to retweet hateful comments with even worse responses, things along the lines of ‘ you seem like one of those girls who jumpscares guys when she takes her makeup off’ and ‘ is one of your parents absent, by chance? just wondering’ .

Management’s not in love with him using his platform like this – because he’s been doing it from the very beginning – but it turns out that Tsukishima Kei fans are eating this particular incident up, his popularity skyrocketing with every new instance of brutally defending his girlfriend online. Fan accounts create Twitter threads of every heinous thing he’s ever said, and you even see that one of his responses is trending by Thursday afternoon–

‘ maybe put down the thirst account dedicated to my hands and go touch grass – my hands are a little busy with yn anyway :))’

He’d attached a photo that he’d taken on Tuesday morning in his car. Your bare legs are in the frame, the hem of your skirt barely visible. His hand is wrapped around your thigh, fingers kneading at your skin. Your manicured hand – seen in other photos this week – rests on his wrist, making it clear that it is indeed you.

Tsukki had made it his wallpaper, the time stamped across your knee in that photo he’d attached to the tweet.

You sit at the edge of your bed your face in your hands. You can’t tell if you want to kiss him or kill him. Your phone buzzes with an incoming call, and you lift it to your ear without looking.

“If you’re not Shimizu Kiyoko, please hang up.”

“ You cheating on me? ”

Your eyes fly open. “You stupid fucker.”

Tsukki laughs on the other end. “ So, you’ve seen my tweet, then .”

“Are you kidding me? Why did you make that your wallpaper? Why did you post it?” You groan, throwing yourself back on your bed. “That’s so embarrassing.”

“ Which part? Because I’m personally a fan. ”

“Yeah, of course you are. It’s not your thighs all over the internet right now.”

“ Well… ”

You roll your eyes. You’d forgotten about all the thirst accounts – his hands, his thighs, his shoulders, his eyes. There’s even an account solely dedicated to every time his shirt rises a little bit during a game.

“Yeah, okay. Fine. You win. What do you want?”

His laugh sends a little shiver down your spine. “ Have you decided what we’re wearing on Saturday? ”

“Shit,” You breathe. “I forgot.”

“ Let’s decide now, then. I’ll order overnight shipping .”

You roll over, the embarrassment of Tsukki’s tweet still heating your cheeks but otherwise pushed aside. You pull up different costume websites, searching through their options and describing them to him.

“We could be ketchup and mustard bottles.”

“ Was that a serious suggestion? ”

“How about Beauty and the Beast ?”

“ I want you to turn on Facetime and say that again with a straight face. ”

It goes on for the better half of an hour, Tsukki shooting down every choice. In his defense, though, you are suggesting absurd couples’ costumes.

“ For fuck’s sake, Y/n, pick something normal! ” He finally snaps, amusement lacing in his voice.

You laugh loudly into your pillow. “I can’t find anything! The only normal couples’ costumes are all super sexy.”

“ Okay, good! Finally, fuck. That’s normal! ” He sighs loudly through the receiver. “ What do they have? ”

You scroll carefully through the images of sexy pairings, trying to find the least humiliating thing.

“Wow, this is terrible.”

“ Use your words, sweetheart, ” He taunts, and you’re glad he can’t see how your face warms.

“Sexy nurse and doctor,” You start, hearing him hum in contemplation. “Cat and dog-”

“ Christ ,” He mutters. “ That one’s bad. ”

“Butler and maid,” You continue. “Teacher and schoolgirl– Ew -”

“ Wait, wait, go back ,” He interrupts. “ Butler and maid’s not bad .”

“Tsukki,” You laugh. “This skirt is so short that I can see the model’s ass cheeks.”

“ Send it to me. It can’t be that bad. ”

You text him the link, scrolling through other options while he opens the website.

“ Whoops, ” He says after a few minutes. Your heart stops, because you know that tone.

“What did you do?” You ask, groaning when he just laughs.

“ I accidentally bought it- ”

“Accident, my ass!”

“ Yes, definitely, ” He agrees. “ Definitely your ass – that much is true. ”

“Tsukki!” You complain. “You don’t even know my size!”

“ Yes, I do. ” He sounds mildly affronted. “ I pay attention. ” When you just bury your face in your pillow and sigh, he mutters a comment to himself. “ And I will certainly be paying attention to you in this outfit. ”

“I’m going to kill you.”

–

“I’m going to kill him.” You stare at yourself in the mirror on Friday night, wondering how much of a chance you have of getting out of this party.

The maid costume is as short as you’d predicted. To his credit, Tsukki had, in fact, known your size. But the skirt is so short that you can feel the cold air against your ass, even in the tiny shorts that had come with the outfit. It’s also snug around your tummy, the corset tight and pushing your breasts up until they start to spill out of the top a little bit.

You snatch your phone off the couch, Facetiming Tsukki with annoyance rising in your chest.

He’s at the Frogs’ gym when he answers, the screech of tennis shoes on the gym floor loud and the sound of Kyoutani and Koganegawa bickering even louder.

“ Hey-Woah- ” Tsukki’s eyes go wide when he sees the little maid’s bonnet on your head. “ Outfits came in, huh? ”

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” You say resolutely. You haven’t shown him the full dress, keeping the camera on your face. But you see his eyes drop to the lacy choker that peeks into the frame, interest lighting up his eyes.

“ Am I gonna need to be alone to see this? ” He asks, his gaze still on your throat.

“No fucking point in that, Tsukishima,” You snap, catching the flick of his eyes to yours before he drops them again. “The whole school’s gonna see my tits and ass tomorrow night, anyway.”

“ I’m sure you’re exaggerating, ” He says, but you can see him moving off to the side anyway, his back against the wall so no one can see what he’s looking at. “ Lemme see, princess .”

“Don’t you dare sweet-talk me, Kei. I’m upset with you.”

“ Yeah, I know. It’s kind of hot .”

“Tsukki!” You stomp your foot, knowing he’s heard it when he laughs.

“ Show me, damn it! I only have two more minutes of break! ”

You sigh in irritation, swallowing the nerves that have been building up and flipping the camera to show the mirror.

“See? It’s too short, Tsukki.” You turn side to side slowly for a minute, wondering why he’s not responding. He just stares, eyes wide and flitting all around the screen. “Please say something,” You whisper, frowning at the mirror.

“ Don’t- ” He finally says, swallowing. “- pout at me like that .”

You frown harder. “Can we get something else?”

“ No, absolutely not, ” He laughs weakly. “ And I will pay you any amount of money to wear that on a regular basis. ”

“God, I want to kill you so much right now,” You sigh, turning to look at yourself in the mirror. “Look!” You point at where the skirt ends in the back, the little shorts peeking out. “Look at that! My whole ass is out!”

“ Oh, I’m looking ,” He says, nodding. “ Face forward again for me, princess. There’s something I wanna see there, too .”

You roll your eyes, knowing he’s talking about how your breasts sit in the dress. “Celibacy is not a good look on you, Tsukki-”

“ Don’t make me come over there, Y/n ,” He says, his voice distracted but clearly annoyed. You just laugh, hoping he can’t see the flush in your cheeks.

“What’re you gonna do, Tsukki? Come over and just look ?”

“ Why? Will you let me? ”

Your stomach flips, and you accidentally let out a high-pitched laugh, laced with nerves. “You’re stupid.”

He’s already smirking, seeing right through you. “ I wouldn’t mind taking a few pictures… ”

You shake your head furiously. “No way. Uh-uh. I don’t need this ending up on Twitter, too.”

“ You’re funny, thinking I’d ever let anyone see you like this. ”

“Hello?” You wave your arm in the mirror. “Party tomorrow? Whole school? Remember?”

“ It’ll be dark, and everyone will be drunk ,” He says, still staring at your chest. “ And you’ll be with me. No problem. ”

“I hate you.”

“ Yo, Tsukki- ” Kyoutani’s voice appears way too close to the phone, and you gasp, turning the camera away from the mirror. “ We gotta get back. ”

“ What? ” Tsukki presses the phone quickly to his chest, the screen only showing his white t-shirt. “ Okay. ”

There’s a silence, followed by Kyoutani’s suspicion. “... What’re you looking at? ”

“ Nothing. ”

“ Is that Y/n? ”

“No. Yes. Go away.”

“Holy shit, were those her nudes?”

You curl up on the couch, waiting for death to take you away.

“ No, you fucking idiot-”

“Tsukki’s looking at nudes! ” Kyoutani calls, his voice echoing throughout the gym. You groan, hearing their teammates start to clap and cheer, varied versions of ‘ let’s go, Tsukki! ’ audible through the phone.

“I’m gonna burn this dress,” You mutter, Tsukki’s face finally coming back into view.

“ Don’t even think about it. I’ll be there in an hour. ” He’s moving across the room, and the last thing you see before he hangs up is his hand coming down on the back of Kyoutani’s head.

–

By the time he gets to your apartment, you’ve already changed back into normal clothes, the dress laid out on your bed. He eyes it when you let him in, clearly interested.

“No chance of seeing it again tonight?”

“Not even a little one,” You say, unpacking the Chinese food he’d picked up. “And you better put that thought away, because I invited Kiyoko and Yamaguchi over.”

He groans dramatically, despite knowing fully well that this is always the plan on Friday nights. “How am I supposed to seduce you with them here?”

You shove a few cans of beer into his hands, waving him back to the living room. “You don’t. That’s why I invited them.”

Just on time, there’s a knock at your door. Tsukki lets them in with a loud sigh.

“You guys are interrupting my maid time.”

Kiyoko stands in the doorway, eyes on yours and disgust curling her lip. “Should we come back later?”

You laugh, beckoning them to the couch. “He’s mad about my costume for tomorrow.”

“God damn , Y/n!” Yamaguchi exclaims, seeing the outfit on your bed. “That might as well be lingerie.”

“Hey,” Tsukki says, snapping his fingers. “Only I get to look at the lingerie, you sick fuck.” He stands, shoving the dress away in your closet. Yamaguchi meets your eye with a grin as he takes the armchair.

“You two are nice and flirty tonight.”

Kiyoko takes the end of the couch, leaving you in the middle. “He’s in rare form,” She agrees, smirking knowingly. You just roll your eyes.

“I think he’s in heat or something. He needs to see a doctor.”

Tsukki throws himself down beside you, sighing. “Let’s talk about something else before I throw you two out so I can see it on her.”

Yamaguchi’s quick to choose a movie, and you spend the first ten minutes elbowing Kiyoko because she won’t stop snickering under her breath.

The night passes normally, the movie bad and the food good. The normal amount of laughter is shared, and the normal amount of drinking happens. There are no deviations from every other Friday night.

No deviations, that is, except for the hand that Tsukki slides between your blanket-hidden thighs sometime after his second beer. Your breath catches, and you have to feign a cough when Kiyoko glances at you in confusion.

You look up at Tsukki in alarm – his eyes are lidded and he’s staring at the TV like nothing’s out of place. But you know he knows exactly what he’s doing, because his fingers knead at the plush skin of your inner thigh, and his thumb traces delicate circles into your leg.

You wait until there’s a loud explosion on the screen to whisper up to him. “ What are you doing? ”

“ Nothing ,” He breathes. “ Just watch the movie. ”

You are unable to do anything of the sort, alcohol thrumming in your veins and your attention wholly captured by the drag of his fingertips against your skin. You shiver when his nails scratch gently at the underside of your thigh, and you hear him breathe out a quiet laugh. Your hand curls around his wrist when you feel his fingertips accidentally brush a little too high, a little too close to the hem of your shorts.

“ I think you need to drink water ,” You mutter to him. He doesn’t respond, only finding the hem again. Your stomach fills with butterflies, because there’s no way to call that an accident, especially when he shifts his hand up and slips his fingers past the edge of your shorts. Your skin bursts out in goosebumps, and your other hand flies to his knee, his sweatpants curled up in your fist.

“ Tsukki, ” You hiss, spotting the smirk that pulls at the edge of his lips.

He squeezes your thigh one last time before drawing his hand away, and then he stands from the couch, mumbling to the group. “Gonna get water.”

Your heart races in your chest the entire time he’s gone, but you just scoot close to Kiyoko and lean your head on her shoulder. She glances down at you briefly, attention still on the terrible acting on the screen.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” You breathe, swallowing hard. “All good.”

Your phone buzzes on the couch, and you glance at it subtly.

[10:52 PM]

Tsukki: come here.

Those butterflies in your navel explode, and your legs shake when you stand from the couch. “ Water ,” You mumble pathetically, all but stumbling around the corner.

He’s leaning against the counter, a cup of water in his hand and another sitting beside him on the granite. He says nothing while you reach for it, only keeping his eyes on yours. You swallow, the eye contact clouding your thoughts a little.

“Tsukki,” You whisper, pleading silently for him to explain what’s just happened. He just puts the cup down and turns, leaning in and trapping you against the corner of the counter. You stare up at him with wide eyes, clutching the cup to your chest.

“What, Y/n?” He sighs, refusing to look away. “What are you confused about?”

“Why you touched me-”

“No, sweetheart,” He laughs quietly. You can smell the alcohol on his breath. “I haven’t touched you yet. Not at all.”

Your face flushes, in full view for him to see, and you watch a smile form on his lips. You swallow hard, fighting to keep your wits about you. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

He levels you with a look of disbelief. “Two beers is hardly too much.”

“I-” Your eyes flick between his, trying to find something – anything – that will tell you what’s going on.

But Tsukki just lets his gaze drop to your lips. You genuinely consider letting him kiss you.

Yamaguchi’s voice rings out from around the corner, full of amusement.

“ You two better not be fucking in there! ”

You jump, sloshing water on your shirt. Tsukki just takes a step back, watching you as you fumble to dry it, your face an unflattering crimson red. You leave the room when you’re done, not strong enough to meet his eyes.

You stumble back to the couch, nearly landing in Kiyoko’s lap when you throw yourself down. You can feel her looking at you, but you just hug her arm to your chest and hide your face in her shoulder, your water left unattended on the table. She says nothing, and Tsukki returns a moment later.

He sits a safe distance away for the rest of the night.

–

You sit in bed for hours the next morning, staring at the ceiling until it’s getting a little too close to the time that Yamaguchi said he’d pick you and Kiyoko up.

What are you supposed to do about Tsukki? Is he going to do that again? Is all the work you’ve put in to hide your attraction to him just going to crumble away? What’s going to happen if he figures out that he affects you the way he does? Is he going to laugh in your face, or will he reject you nicely?

A quiet ding rings out next to your head. You jump, worried that it’s Yamaguchi saying he’s here already, and reach for your phone.

[11:09 AM]

Tsukki : stop thinking so hard about this

Your heart clenches, and you’re overwhelmed with a need to hear his voice. To figure this out now, before you go insane.

You press call before you can think about it. He answers on the second ring.

“ Y/n? ”

“I don’t know how to stop thinking so hard,” You say, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed and sitting there. “I’m not good at that.”

“ I know. You never have been. ”

“I just…” You chew on your bottom lip. “We had rules that I could follow. And now I don’t know what the rules are.”

“ No rules, Y/n. We don’t need rules. ”

“We do!” You cry, pulling your knees up to your chest. “We do, or else I’m going to get confused.”

“ What’s so confusing? ” He sounds frustrated. “ That I think you’re hot and want to put my hands on you? Or that you like when I do? Which part is confusing? ”

Your breath hitches. He…

There’s no way he means what you think he means.

“Tsukki-”

“ Don’t fucking brush off what I just said ,” He snaps. “ Don’t do it. ”

You swallow. “I just… It’s just hard to believe.”

“ Look. ” He sighs roughly. “ You trust me, right? ”

“Yes. Obviously,” You rub at your brow, your head starting to hurt a little. “But I’m not your-”

“ Fuck who my type is, Y/n! It doesn’t matter! ”

“It does matter!” You say, growing overwhelmed. “It matters , Tsukki! What if I…” You sigh, giving up.

“ What if you what? Say it.” When you don’t, he finishes your sentence for you. “ What if you what , Y/n? What if you fall for me? ”

“Yes.” You curl your fingers into your sheets, nerves flooding your system. “What if I fall for you, Tsukki? That’s a real possibility, and it’s stressing me out, because I don’t want to lose you.”

He’s silent for a moment, a moment where your whole world crashes down on you. You’ve said too much, then. You’ve said too much, and he’s trying to figure out how to let you down.

You whisper into the phone, trying to find some way to fix this. “Tsukki-”

“ Don’t, ” He snaps. “ Give me a second. I’m trying very hard not to pick a fight with you right now. ”

Your jaw drops. “What?”

“ Y/n, you’re so fucking- ” He sighs angrily. “ What is with you and thinking that it is just completely impossible that this could be reciprocated? ”

You stare down at nothing, speechless. His voice is sharp when he speaks.

“ I know you have body image issues, and that there are assholes everywhere making it worse. But you fucking suck at listening to me. I’m sitting here telling you I’m attracted to you, and you can’t be fucking bothered to hear me. ” He lets out a breath, and you wonder why it sounds kind of nervous. “ It is a real fucking possibility that I fall for you, too. I’m telling you to just trust me , Y/n. We will deal with whatever happens – whenever it happens – but I can’t keep doing this with you. You ignore the shit I say and act like I’m doing you a fucking service every time I breathe in your direction. Cut it the fuck out. ”

Your lip trembles, your eyes prickling with tears. “You’re kind of mean, you know that?”

“ Yes, I know that. And you’re kind of annoying. ”

“I know.”

He sighs on the other end. “ We don’t need rules, Y/n. If we keep going back and forth like this, we’re not gonna convince anyone we’re together. Stop fucking thinking so hard and just do what you want. ”

He’s right. You know he’s right. But it’s terrifying.

You don’t respond, just wiping your eyes pitifully.

“ Listen, ” He pauses, letting out a breath. There’s less heat in his voice now. “ I have to go. ”

“Oh,” You say, sitting up and peering into the kitchen for the time. “Shit, I didn’t mean to keep you.”

“ It’s fine. It was important. ” There’s a creak of a door on the other end, and then noise fills the receiver as he enters the next room, likely filled with his teammates. “ But… You’ll still be here, right? ”

“Of course,” You say weakly, standing. “But I gotta get ready in the next two minutes, or Yamaguchi will leave my ass behind.”

His laugh is quiet, and it eases your heart more than it should. “ Alright. Just… think about it.”

You stare down at your phone for a moment after he hangs up, still processing what’s just been done. What he’s just admitted to you.

And then Yamaguchi does text, and you forget all about these complicated feelings in your rush to get dressed. But, once you’re safely in the back seat and idly listening to Yamaguchi and Kiyoko ramble about nothing in particular, you get lost in your thoughts, coming to terms with everything he’d said.

You text him. Because he deserves an answer.

[11:42 AM]

You : meet me outside in ten?

He doesn’t respond, but he is standing outside when you and your friends arrive. He’s past the barricade, still being photographed but out of earshot and safe from the reporters’ questions. You rush up to him, seeing that Kiyoko is tugging Yamaguchi in the other direction, the freckled boy clearly confused about why he can’t say hi to his roommate. He seems to understand after a moment, his quiet ‘ Oh! ’ fading in the distance as Kiyoko pulls him inside.

You shake your head, turning back to Tsukki. He’s already looking at you expectantly, so you sigh and plant your hand on his chest, ignoring the camera flashes behind you.

“I thought about it,” You say, your voice quiet. He visibly perks up, shifting his weight and watching you carefully. “And… it’s going to take a lot of convincing, Tsukki.” When he furrows a brow, you swallow. “I just- There’s a lot that I won’t be able to believe right away. I’ve got my own shit, and all the negative attention doesn’t help. But I’m going to try, because I do trust you.”

He seems to realize where this is going – his eyes search your face, but you cut him off as he’s opening his mouth to speak.

“I’m going to try,” You repeat. “I’m going to try this without rules.” You watch as his face changes, not quite a smile but definitely pleased.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Because I know you’re right. And it’s not okay for me to keep doing this to you.” Your fingers curl into his shirt, and you sigh. “But, Tsukki, for fuck’s sake, if I fall for you and you don’t let me down nicely, I will fucking kill you.”

“God, I can’t wait to prove you wrong,” He laughs. “You’re fucking insane.”

You roll your eyes, using your grip to pull him down to you. His gaze drops to your lips, and you lean forward, closing the distance.

“ Good luck today ,” You whisper against his mouth. Both his hands cup your face, and you’re forced up onto your tiptoes as he rises to full height. The air is filled with the sound of camera shutters, but you just cling to the front of his uniform. He breaks the kiss for only a moment, and you whisper one last comment.

“And you better not be expecting me to put out tonight just because my costume’s skimpy.”

He lets out a surprised laugh, shaking his head as he kisses you again.

“Damn. Now I’m too distracted to play.”

–

“Does this look okay?” You ask, stepping out of the bathroom. Kiyoko’s touching up her hair in the mirror by the door, her nurse’s outfit and your maid’s outfit equally short. She eyes you in the reflection, and then her pigtails swing as she spins in place to face you.

“Wow. You look so slutty.”

You give her an exasperated look. “Do I? Are my tits out?”

“Incredibly out,” She says, staring at how they spill out of the corset. She gestures for you to turn in place, whistling low when she spots how short the skirt is. “Oh, yeah. Tsukki’s gonna love you in this.”

Your face heats. “ Yeah, I know, ” You mumble to yourself, but you know she’s heard it when you meet her eyes.

“Pardon?”

“I, uh-” You scratch at your nose. “-showed it to him already.” When she only lifts her brows in disbelief, you look away. “Yesterday. I tried it on and called him.”

“Jesus, Y/n,” She says, laughing. “You might as well just fuck him already.”

“No!” You cry, hiding your face in your hands. “Things are still the same! They’re just-” You smile lamely. “-a little blurry now.”

“Holy shit,” She says, stepping up to you. Her face is lit up with surprise. “You actually want to fuck him.”

“Hey! You can’t just put it like that!”

“Does he want to fuck you?”

“Kiyoko!”

“Oh, my God, he does!”

There’s a knock at the door, and you have to cover Kiyoko’s mouth with your hand so that Tsukki and Yamaguchi don’t hear her yell ‘ You guys are totally gonna fuck tonight! ’.

When you yank the door open, Yamaguchi’s jaw drops.

“Holy-” He glances over your shoulder, seeing Kiyoko, too. “ Holy- ” He sputters. “You two look so fucking good!” He gestures down at himself, his zombie outfit not slutty in the least. “I look so bland now!”

Kiyoko reaches for the side table in the living room, withdrawing a pair of scissors. She snaps them twice, staring down at Tadashi’s ripped, fake-blood-covered pants. “We can change that, if you want.”

The freckled boy eyes her with suspicion, but it grows quickly into excitement. “Is it bad that I wanna say yes?”

You laugh, pulling him into your apartment. “Go, Yamaguchi. Release your inner slut.”

He giggles, following Kiyoko to the bathroom, and you’re left with Tsukki. The door clicks shut behind you, the sound sending a shock of electricity down your spine. You turn in the foyer, finding him hovering over you. The tux for the butler’s outfit fits him perfectly, down to the tie and white silk gloves. His blond hair is gelled in a side-part, a single piece of hair falling between his eyes.

“Hi. You look nice,” You croak, still recovering from the conversation this morning.

All throughout the game, you’d been struck, in waves, by the reality of what he’d said to you. That he’s attracted to you, that it’s okay for you to be attracted to him, too. You’d watched him move on the court – his brow furrowed, his eyes sharp, his blocks strong – and you’d been overwhelmed by just how attractive he is. Like there’d been some kind of wall there before, keeping you from experiencing the full extent of him, because you weren’t allowed to want him.

There, at the game, and even now, your body had been overrun by butterflies, their wings all beating in time and lingering deep in your skin. And there was an electric hum in your veins when he’d found your eyes at the game – the same hum that makes your skin feel alive right now, with him standing so close to you.

“Hi,” He says, stepping toward you and letting his eyes trail freely down the length of your body. From your little bonnet all the way down to the black, open-toe pumps on your feet, his gaze eats you up, those golden eyes hot on your skin.

“Do I look okay?” You whisper, hearing Yamaguchi and Kiyoko’s laughter in the bathroom as she yells at him to stay still. The sound echoes in your apartment, but the air between you and Tsukki is so quiet.

He meets your eyes, his brows tenting in amusement. “What?”

“Do you…” Your eyes flick between his, open and vulnerable. “...think I look okay?”

He takes another step, forcing you back. Another, and then another, until your back’s pressed against the wall in your foyer. And then he leans down, flattening his hand against the wall by your head. You watch, barely breathing, as his eyes drop to your choker.

“I think,” He says, barely above a whisper. “You should ask me again at the party.”

You swallow, frowning slightly. “Why?”

When his eyes meet yours, that humming grows in your veins.

“Because,” He says, his smile teasing. “Our friends are in the next room.” His other hand reaches out, brushing your hair off of your bare shoulder. “And I don’t think they’d like what I have to say about you in this dress.”

Your breath is shallow and your eyes flutter shut, the heat of his body melting away your resolve. You nod, keeping your eyes closed for your own good.

The bathroom door opens, and you draw in a breath of relief, prying your eyes open. Tsukki’s leaning against the opposite wall calmly, tilting his head to watch Yamaguchi come out of the bathroom behind you.

“Look!” Tadashi giggles, strutting out to the living room. You turn, meeting Tsukki’s eyes shakily for a moment before redirecting your attention to the boy posing behind your couch. Kiyoko’s cut his pants into extremely short shorts, and his shirt’s been turned into a crop-top, some of the makeup from his pants smeared on his newly exposed skin.

You whistle appreciatively, applauding a proud Kiyoko. “Appropriately slutty. Ten out of ten.”

“Careful,” Tsukki mumbles while your friends collect their things to leave. “I’m feeling a little left out over here.”

You turn, taking his face in one of your hands and smiling mischievously. “You’re not allowed to join the Slut Party – I don’t want to have to rip anyone’s hair out tonight.”

He just smirks down at you, following the three of you out.

The frat house where the party’s happening is only a few blocks from your apartment, so you decide to walk. The guys at the door claim to let you all in for free because of Tsukki, but you can feel their eyes on your ass as you pass by. When Tsukki looks decently annoyed by it, you just shrug up at him.

“No one told you to buy this for me-”

“ Tsukki! ”

You turn to the sound, finding Kyoutani and Koganegawa leaving the pop-up bar in the corner of the main room. Kyoutani’s dressed as a doctor, and Koganegawa – predictably – is wearing his Frogs uniform. You shoot Tsukki a meaningful look, grinning when he mutters ‘ Yeah, alright. It’s cliche’ in your ear.

The four of you meet Tsukki’s teammates at the edge of the dance floor, Tsukki disappearing to get you both drinks. Kyoutani looks you over with appreciation.

“Damn, Y/n!” He yells over the music. “You really know what you’re doing with all that!” He gestures vaguely to your body, shrugging when Yamaguchi blatantly glares at him. “It’s a compliment!”

You laugh, always a bit fond of Kyoutani’s blunt personality. “It’s good to see you, too, Ken,” You say, pointing at Kiyoko. “And you two match!”

It seems this is the first time he’s seeing the girl standing at your shoulder. You watch his eyes go wide as they trail down her body.

“Oh-” He says, coughing slightly. “Hi. Wow.”

Kiyoko gives him a side-glance, always one for a little Cat-and-Mouse. “Hi.”

He recovers quickly, sidling up to her. “I’m Kentarou,” He says, smiling handsomely. But Kiyoko just lifts an unimpressed eyebrow.

“I know. We’ve met, like, eight times.”

He blinks, looking her over. And then his jaw drops. “Holy shit – Kiyoko?! ” He sputters, flushing when Yamaguchi laughs at him. “It’s just- You’re always- Holy shit.”

Kiyoko rolls her eyes and turns her back to him with a flick of her ponytail. But you can see the blush starting to dust over her cheeks, and her disinterested half-smile is starting to look a little too satisfied. You meet her eyes knowingly, and she nudges you.

“ Shut up ,” She mumbles. “ You’re the one that wants to sleep with your best friend .”

You bark out a laugh of disbelief, nudging her back. Yamaguchi throws his arms around both of you.

“Can one of you please dance with me?” He yells over the music, already bouncing in place. “I want to be trashed and making out with a stranger by the end of the night!”

Kiyoko takes his hand and leads him to the middle of the dance floor, leaving you with a dumbstruck Kyoutani, and Koganegawa, who’s suspiciously quiet.

Probably because he’s staring right at your chest, his lips parted in awe.

“Kanji,” You say, a little reprimanding.

He swallows, meeting your eyes. “Hi. Sorry. Uh-” His eyes drop to the tops of your breasts again, watching how they swell over the top of your corset. “You-Hi.” He lifts his eyes to yours, realizing he’d been caught again. “Sorry-” And then he looks over your shoulder, his eyes going wide. “Uh-”

An arm slips around your waist, pulling you back against a chest. You look down, seeing the gloved hand that holds a red Solo cup full of liquid.

“Oh-” You look up at Tsukki, finding him staring at Koganegawa with thinly veiled irritation. “You got us drinks!”

He doesn’t respond, only handing you the drink in his other hand. His eyes narrow on his teammate’s, and Koganegawa blinks rapidly.

“I-Oh-Are you two…” He lowers his voice. “I thought you weren’t-”

You put two fingers on his mouth, shutting him up. “Kanji!” You say, frowning at him.

He blushes, looking around to see who’s around. “Sorry… I’ll just-” He gestures vaguely behind him and wanders off. Kyoutani stares down at the arm Tsukki has around you and then flicks his gaze up over your head. His lips stretch in a knowing smirk.

“Interesting…” He says, looking between the two of you. And then he shoots you a downward smile, shrugging as he turns away. “Very interesting.”

You turn, Tsukki’s arm still tight around your waist. “You scared your friend off!”

He shrugs. “He was looking a little too hard.”

You pull him out to where your friends are, trying not to let him see you blush. But the butterflies in your stomach are already fluttering nervously, because you have no way to know how this night’s going to go.

–

“You should probably know,” You hiccup, giggling into Tsukki’s shoulder. “That it definitely looks like you’re keeping me in this corner whispering horny shit in my ear.”

Tsukki laughs, low and against your skin, his hand only pulling you closer to him.

You stand in a dark hallway on the edge of the main room, your hands curled into the front of his tux and his hands anchored on your waist. You can see the dance floor, but the lights are off and you’re more than a little bit drunk, so the room is a haze of bodies and loud, thumping bass. You can see some people glancing with interest at the two of you, but it’s easy to ignore.

Your attention is more drawn to Yamaguchi whispering suggestively in the ear of Lev Haiba , of all people. You spy on your friend, ignoring the gentle brush of Tsukki’s lips against your throat.

“Well, I could start saying horny shit, if you’d like,” He mumbles, but you just pat him on the shoulder and point over to Yamaguchi.

“Is Tadashi about to bag a model? Look, look-”

Tsukki glances over his shoulder, quickly returning to the task of nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “Is it possible to check in about that in the morning, maybe? I’m a little distrac-”

You gasp loudly, smacking Tsukki’s shoulder hard. “ Look , Tsukki!”

He turns with a sigh, following your finger to where Kiyoko is being pressed up against the far wall by Kyoutani, his tongue halfway down her throat.

“Oh-” Tsukki mumbles, blinking to clear his drunken vision. “Damn, that’s kind of crazy.”

You giggle to yourself. “Oh, that bitch is gonna be hearing from me tomo- mm- ”

Tsukki squeezes your cheeks between his fingers. “Hey. You’re not paying enough attention to me.”

You look up at him, eyes wide, and start to laugh. It’s difficult with the way he’s holding you. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you getting jealous?” You smile as wide as you can when he glares down at you. “What would make you feel better?”

He releases your face, wrapping his arms back around your waist and drawing you close to him again. “Ask me what I think of your outfit. I never answered you.”

You breathe in the alcohol on his tongue, your head swimming. “I think I know what you think of it.” You gesture down to where he’s playing with the edge of the skirt, his knuckles skimming against your thigh.

His lips brush against yours when he mumbles, “ Ask me .”

You card your fingers through his hair, tilting your head up to kiss him. “ Okay ,” You whisper. “ What do you think of the dress, Tsukki? ”

He dips his head, pushing his lips against yours and nipping softly at your bottom lip. “I think…” He glances down the hall, and you spot an open door a few feet away, hidden in the dark. “I think I wanna take you in there and show you.”

Your skin hums with that electricity he’s so damn good at spilling into your veins.

“ So do it .”

His eyes sharpen at your words, and you’re hoisted up in an instant. You laugh loudly, wrapping your legs around his waist and burying your face in his neck while he carries you down the hall. The door shuts behind him when he brings you into the room, and the loud, pounding music is muffled significantly.

“Finally, some peace and quiet,” Tsukki sighs. You glance up, finding a bed against the wall and a small couch in the corner. He walks you over to the couch, and you’re not sure if you’re more glad or disappointed that he isn’t taking this too fast.

He takes a seat, forcing you to straddle his thighs as you look down at him. His grin is smug. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Thought I was gonna take you to bed?”

You smack him hard on the chest. “You look stupid when you’re arrogant.”

“Yeah, well, you’re here, aren’t you?” He cups the back of your neck, dragging you in. You kiss him eagerly, the alcohol giving you the courage to drop all your pretenses. He seems to be in a similar situation, because his hands are latching onto your hips and pulling you down onto his lap. You sigh at the feeling of his thighs under yours, the difference between his sculpted ones and your soft ones almost heavenly.

“‘m not too heavy, right?” You mumble, unable to help yourself. He just shakes his head, his fingers tangling in your hair.

“Not heavy enough, in my opinion,” He breathes. His mouth drops to your throat as he mutters distractedly. “Sit down properly, princess.”

You let your thighs slide open, Tsukki’s mouth curling in a grin against your skin when he feels you get comfortable in your new seat.

“See?” He sucks hard on the junction of your neck. “Maybe if you’d just listen to me sometimes, we could be doing this more often.”

“Shut up, Tsukishima,” You murmur, distracted by the drag of his tongue over that burning spot on your throat.

“Fuck-” Tsukki nibbles another bruise into your skin. “Love when you do that.” His free hand digs into your hip, fingers fanning out.

“Love when I do what?” You sigh, letting your head falling to the side a little to give him more access. When his hand slides down over your ass, his hips rocking up gently as he kneads at your skin, you breathe out a quiet moan.

He shifts his hips again. “When you say my name like that. Like you’re scolding me.” He uses the hand he has on your ass to roll your hips in, his own meeting you halfway. A groan falls past his lips when you moan, your name murmured into the column of your throat.

“You like when I scold you?” You laugh weakly, your whole body humming and the electricity flowing straight to the place where your core bumps against the growing bulge in his slacks. “Didn’t know you were into that kind of thing, Tsukki.”

He laughs, and it sends a jolt of desire to the spot below your navel. You roll your hips on your own, heart stopping when he whispers ‘ fuck’ against your ear.

“Just think it’s cute,” He says, breathless. “Always sounds like you think you’re in charge.”

So that’s what that’s about.

“I usually am,” You argue, carding your fingers through his hair and messing it up. You smile when your nails scratch against his scalp, because he shivers and tightens his grip on your hips. “I usually am in charge,” You say again when he meets your eyes, his own half-lidded.

He just grins, his other hand coming down to your waist. “Yeah?”

You feel his fingers dig into your skin, and then he’s dragging your hips against his, once and then twice. You drop your hands to his shoulders, gasping when he rocks his own hips up. He’s hard now, the slide of his hips against your core pure torture.

“How ‘bout now, sweetheart?” He teases, even though his breath catches in his throat when he rocks up against you a third time. “Still think you’re in charge?”

You press your forehead against his, your muscles weak. “This isn’t fair. This doesn’t count-”

“God, look at your pretty little doe eyes,” He says, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “Makes me wanna give you anything you ask for.”

Trembling, you struggle to keep eye contact. “Like it when you look at me,” You whisper, watching his eyes light up. “Makes it hard to focus.”

“Yeah?” His smile is smug, satisfied. “‘s unfortunate, baby – I really like looking at you.”

Your breath is sharp in your chest, your head drowning in vodka and the feeling of Tsukishima Kei.

“ Tsukki ,” You whine, begging – for what, you have no clue. But he groans, hearing exactly what you’re asking for.

“Don’t say my name like that, Y/n,” He warns. “Or I’ll take you to that bed and make you say it again.”

You whimper, your arms shaking when he slides against you in a way that sets your core on fire. “ Fuck- ” You whine when he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls you in. His mouth is searing hot on yours, his tongue pushing past your lips. You moan into his mouth, your heart beating in places you’ve never felt with him before.

Before you can tell him that you’re thinking of letting him take you to bed, the door slams open and a giggling couple stumbles into the room.

You gasp, jumping off of Tsukki and landing in the spot next to him on the couch.

The girl that had been pulled into the room is the first to realize there are other people here.

“Oh, fuck-” She pulls away from the guy, squinting. “Oh, holy shit. Tsukishima Kei?”

Tsukki sighs, unheard as the guy spins on his heel and exclaims loudly.

“Woah! Holy shit, it’s you!”

“Unfortunately,” Tsukki mumbles, but the guy just narrows his eyes at you, taking you in properly. And then he laughs, chortling as he gestures to you.

“Wow, nice outfit.” It’s clearly not a compliment. “You look just like you do in the photos.”

“That’s usually the point,” You say weakly. You can feel Tsukki tense next to you.

The guy approaches you, squinting in the dark. His eyes scan your bare legs and the length of your skirt. Tsukki flattens his hand over where your thighs meet, because your shorts have ridden up significantly and there’s too much showing now.

“Do you mind backing the fuck away from my girlfriend?” He says, his tone clearer than it’s been all night.

“Tsukki,” You reprimand quietly, trying to fix your dress. The girl tries pulling the guy away, but he’s got his eyes on your chest.

“Damn, you got quite the rack on you.” He laughs when your face morphs into a scowl. “Too bad it’s attached to the rest of you.”

He’s just far enough that when Tsukki stands, he’s able to scamper back toward the door.

“Say it again,” Tsukki says, his presence towering over everyone in the room. “Say it again, and see what I do to you.”

“Tsukki!” You stand, reaching for him. “Cut it out. It’s fine.”

“Yeah, Tsukki ,” The guy mocks, laughing as he steps out into the hall. “Learn to take a joke. Other than your girlfriend, that is-” He cackles, dodging Tsukki’s advances and hurrying out to the crowded main room.

Tsukki follows, likely with every intent to cause harm, but you’re quick to latch onto his arm.

“ Stop it, ” You hiss, pulling him back to you. You barely manage to get him to look at you, and you just gesture around the room when he does. “Look where he brought you. Pay attention, you idiot.”

Tsukki flicks his eyes around, seeing that the guy is causing a ruckus and drawing attention to the two of you.

“What’s wrong, Tsukki ?” He asks, giggling drunkenly. “Gonna let your bitch decide what you do?”

Tsukki tenses, turning toward him, but you pull him back.

“Look at me,” You say sharply. He meets your eyes, and you shake your head. “Don’t fucking do it.”

“Aw, come on, Tsukki,” The guy says, dancing around the edge of the dance floor and pulling more eyes to the scene. “Give us a show, since you and your girl love the attention so much!” He sneers at you. “Show us how you got those hickies, darling.”

“Please let me punch him,” Tsukki mumbles to you, but you just shake your head. “Just one little punch. It would be so quick, no one would be able to film it.”

“Let’s go home,” You say. When he makes no move to leave, only shifting his eyes to the guy that’s clearly trying to get him to pick a fight, you tug on his sleeve. “Please?”

“Look at the happy couple, everyone! Our star rookie and his whale of a girlfriend, dressed like a whore-”

Tsukki sighs heatedly, and you wonder for a moment if he’s going to go through with it, but he just snatches up your hand, dragging you in the opposite direction.

“Thank you,” You whisper, nearly jogging behind him as he takes full strides to the door. There’s a yank on the skirt of your dress, and you yelp, stumbling back. When you turn, the guy’s grinning down at you, his fingers tugging on the fabric.

“Since you wanna wear something so small, let’s show everyone what’s underneath-”

He’s shoved to the side, his body slamming into the wall on your right and slumping to the floor. You gasp, thinking for a moment that the blond head flying past your face is Tsukki, but you realize that it’s Kyoutani when you see the streaks of dyed hair on his temple.

“Since you wanna put your hands on women, you won’t mind me putting mine on you, right?” He says, grinning cruelly. He’s about to reach out for him again, but Kiyoko’s pushing past him, her nurse’s cap falling off her head when she kicks the guy on the floor with all her might.

“Touch her again and see if I don’t kick your fucking teeth in-” She hisses, drawing her foot back. You gape at her, much like Kyoutani is, but his expression’s a little more lovestruck. It’s Yamaguchi that breaks through the group next, his arms belting around Kiyoko’s middle.

“Alright, you fucking menace, let’s not go to jail tonight!” He giggles, dragging her thrashing body back a few feet. He looks at Kyoutani in the struggle. “You gotta go, too. Doesn’t look good,” He says brightly, and the blond nods dumbly, still watching Kiyoko with hearts in his eyes.

You start to move to them, hating that your friends have gotten caught up in this, but Tsukki slides his arm around your waist and lifts you clean off your feet, hauling you through the door and out to the street.

“Wh-Tsukki!” You protest. “We have to go get them!”

“No, we don’t. Kiyoko’s got it covered,” He says with finality, setting you down and pulling you through the sea of reporters. They start to follow, but he turns sharply, side-stepping to put you behind him.

“Look,” He says to them. “I know you want to follow us, but could you maybe not tonight? I kinda just want to walk my girlfriend home, okay?”

The group of paparazzi just stand there, unused to Tsukishima Kei handling his annoyances with such diplomacy. He lets out a sigh and spins on his heel, taking your hand and pulling you quickly down to the street.

You stumble after him, glancing back periodically. “You think they’re actually gonna leave us alone?”

“Probably for, like, three more minutes. Walk faster.”

You don’t need to be told twice.

The walk home is silent, and you can feel his anger in the way he hunches his shoulders close to his ears and sighs at every crosswalk.

“Tsukki,” You say after a few blocks, knowing he’s holding it in. “Talk to me-”

He whirls around, forcing you to skid to a stop. “Why didn’t you let me hit him, Y/n?”

Your jaw drops, and you let out a breath of disbelief. “Tsukki, he was baiting you-”

“I don’t care. ” He steps close to you. “Do you realize how much it killed me to listen to the shit he said to you? He never would have touched you if I’d had my way.”

“Yeah, he was clearly looking for that reaction,” You reason. “With the reputation you have, he was obviously trying to rile you up so that he could get a look at the real Tsukishima Kei-” You scoff, gesturing to him. “People want to see you lose it, Tsukki.”

“Well, I almost did!” He snaps, and you set your hands on his chest to calm him down. It doesn’t work very well. “He put his fucking hands on you-”

“Tsukki, I’m fine . Look at me.” You gesture down at yourself, even grabbing his hands and setting them on your waist. “See? Look. I’m okay. Nothing’s wrong.”

He stares down at you. This seems to get his attention more, having his hands on you. You smile up at him.

“I’m okay. I promise.”

He just blinks, and you know he’s not ready to accept it. Sighing, you point down the street, only two blocks away from your apartment.

“Can we go home, please? I think those reporters are probably catching up to us.”

He holds your hand tight the whole way there.

–

“You can’t let people get to you like that, Tsukki,” You say, sighing.

You’ve just finished taking off all your makeup and changing into clothes that actually cover your body. Tsukki’s on the couch in sweats and a t-shirt, his tux crumpled on the floor and his hair mussed up and falling into his eyes. The air between you had been silent the rest of the way home and while you were getting changed. You can tell he’s calmed down a little, but he still sighs when you speak.

“I feel like it would have been warranted,” He says, shooting you a joking smirk over the back of the couch. You stand in the doorway of the bathroom, a hand on your hip.

“The whole reason we’re doing this is so that I can fix you,” You say, moving into the kitchen to get you both water. “You gonna let me fix you or not?”

“The shit he said to you was not okay, Y/n.” He shakes his head, scrolling through Twitter. You take a seat next to him, seeing that he’s looking through footage from the party.

“I know. It wasn’t fun. But you still can’t pick fights like that,” You say, running your fingers through his hair and leaning into his side. “You have too much on the line right now.”

He doesn’t say anything, just scrolling through the tweets. There’s a video of him taking a few steps toward the guy that’s laughing, but the camera catches the way you pull on his arm and bring him back to you. Tsukki’s eyes meet yours, and you can see his shoulders slump with defeat, his eyes searching your face. What you say to him is inaudible in the video, but it’s clear that his body language shifts when he looks at you.

The next video is the one of him carrying you out of the frat house. The camera catches the way you gape at Kiyoko’s anger, the way your brow furrows with concern as you start to move to her. It also catches the moment that Tsukki reaches for you, his frown deep and his arms sliding tight around your middle. You’re lifted off your feet, and you look up at him with surprise, your eyes wide and vulnerable.

The video after is the one of him facing the reporters, essentially asking in his nicest voice that they fuck off for once. His eyes are hard, swimming with anger, and his jaw is clenched, but his words are polite and his body shields you purposely.

It’s weird, seeing the moments that you’ve experienced from someone else’s point of view. But, for once, you’re glad people are seeing your life with him play out – even those who were so against you from the beginning.

[10:57 PM] tsukkiyn4life : dude was WAY out of line. yn looks smoking hot and tsukkis fighting literal demons not to put bro in the hospital but HE LISTENS TO HIS GIRL!!! GREEN FLAG!!!

[10:59 PM] numberonekei : okay even ill admit yn was on it with this one. he woulda been fucked if he’d gotten into another fight

[11:05 PM] TsukkiYnShipper : the CHOKEHOLD she must have on that man to get him to back down…. tsukishima kei is down horrendously bad

[11:07 PM] keisolostan : bro the way he talked to those reporters? who are you and what have you done with tsukishima kei

You give Tsukki a meaningful look. “Got anything to say?”

He feigns innocence. “Hospital bills are expensive, anyway?”

“Tsukki-”

“Okay, fine-” He laughs, throwing his phone down. “You were right – there. You were right. You are singlehandedly fixing the Sendai Frogs’ problem child.”

You shrug, your smile satisfied. “All in a day’s work, really. Next thing you know, you’ll be smiling at babies and petting dogs and shit.”

“You’re so stupid,” He snorts, shaking his head. And then he sighs, exhausted. “That was an extreme exercise is self-control.”

“But you did so well,” You say, cupping his face and planting a messy kiss on his cheek. “‘m proud of you.”

“Sorry, princess – I’m not much a praise kink guy,” He jokes, but you can see the flush spread across his cheeks and ears. “I’m more into punishment.”

You give a nervous laugh. “Oh, so that’s what you meant when you said cute girls can’t handle you.”

“Oh?” He says, meeting your eyes with interest. “You remember that, huh? Been thinking about it?” His lips pull into a wide, satisfied smile when you purse your lips in embarrassment. But he doesn’t push it, only sighing quietly and looking away. “I suppose I should go.”

You chew on the inside of your lip. There’s a part of you that doesn’t want him to leave, and it’s not the part you’re expecting. Even after what the two of you had done tonight, and even after the things you’d said to each other on that couch in that room, that’s not what comes to mind when you think about him staying.

You just don’t want him to go. You want him to stay. You want to keep looking at him and touching his face and listening to his stupid laugh. And, although that’s terrifying to realize, it’s what you what.

And he’d told you to do what you want.

“You don’t… have to…” You whisper finally, just as he’s starting to sit up.

His eyes find yours, and there’s a painful silence that follows. He blinks, and you blink back.

“I don’t have to… what?” He asks, although it’s clear by the way his eyes search your face with surprise that he knows exactly what you’re saying.

“Go.” You let out a shaky breath. “You don’t have to go.”

Tsukishima Kei has never stayed the night before – not alone and certainly not in the way you’re implying.

He glances over the back of the couch in the general direction of your tiny bed before looking back to you, a blush dusting over his cheeks. He goes for the safest assumption, swallowing hard. “Uh… Your couch isn’t exactly the most comfortable… thing…”

“Yeah,” You say, laughing as you stare down at your lap. “My bed’s probably not that comfortable either… for… more than just me…” You don’t dare to meet his eyes again, just tugging at a stray piece of string sticking out of your pajama shorts. When he doesn’t respond, you start to sweat. “You don’t have to stay. You can just-”

He stands abruptly, and your head flies up to watch him. He crosses the distance to your bed and throws himself under the covers, his feet sticking out at the bottom.

“Turn the lights off on your way,” He mumbles, tossing his glasses and phone on the nightstand. And then he rolls over, facing the wall.

You stare for a moment, only managing a shocked laugh as you stand and kill the lights in the living room and kitchen. You make your way to him in the dark, your heartbeat thrumming in your throat and your legs a little shaky. When you slide under the blanket, Tsukki scoots further, pressing himself against the wall to give you room. You struggle to fit on the bed with your back turned to him, half of your body hanging off the edge, but you refuse to move, just praying that you’ll fall asleep soon.

Tsukki’s head shifts a little after a moment. “Are you comfortable?” He whispers in the dark.

“Mhm,” You say. “I’m good.”

He only snickers, turning in place. “Liar.” There’s an arm sliding around your waist, and then you’re dragged across the mattress until your back presses to his chest. Your eyes go wide, staring at nothing as you feel him mold his body against yours, his face burying into the back of your neck.

“Better?” He murmurs, breath fanning out over your skin. He sounds nervous.

“I think this is worse,” You joke weakly, but you do your best to relax back into him.

You feel his smile against your neck. “‘s not so bad…” And then he presses his forehead to your shoulder, and you feel heat radiating off of his face. “Not bad,” He repeats with a sigh.

“No,” You whisper. “Not bad.”

His hand finds yours in the dark, just before you drift off to sleep.

–

You wake the next morning to a mouth full of blond hair.

Sputtering quietly, you brush it away from you, realizing in the process that the weight on your chest is Tsukki’s head. He’s splayed out on his stomach, one of his knees tucked between yours and an arm draped over your hips, his hand dangling over the edge of the bed.

You stare down at him, running your fingers through his hair very carefully. You scratch your nails against his scalp, smiling when he sighs and shifts closer. His face looks so peaceful like this, you realize – his brows aren’t furrowed and his shoulders aren’t tense.

You haven’t seen him like this in years.

Before you can read into it too much, your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You reach for it, careful not to jostle him.

[9:04 AM]

Kiyoko : i feel like i just got hit by a truck

Kiyoko : that dragged me 7 blocks before realizing i was there

You snort, typing a response with one hand.

You : are you home/alone

Kiyoko : doors unlocked

You do your best to slide out from under Tsukki, going so far as pressing your lips to the crest of his eyebrows when he starts to frown. He relaxes, rolling over and going back to sleep instantly. Quietly, you tiptoe to the kitchen and retrieve two cans of iced coffee from the fridge before slipping out the door.

Kiyoko’s in bed when you sneak into her apartment. She sits up when you take your shoes off, grinning guiltily as you stop short.

“You slutty little nurse,” You say, staring at her. Her hair’s tangled and her pajamas are only half-on, but the real clue that she’d had an overnight guest is the mass of hickies decorating her throat and chest.

She rolls her eyes, beckoning you to bed. You eye it suspiciously.

“Are the sheets clean…?”

She laughs. “Yes, you ass. I changed them before I texted you.”

You shrug, hopping into bed with her and handing her a coffee. “So? What happened after I left?”

“Kentarou walked me to my door like a respectable gentleman,” She says, sipping loudly and looking away. You just stare, waiting her out. She finally meets your eyes again, giggling.

“And then ?” You ask impatiently.

“And then…” She shrugs one marked-up shoulder. “He fucked me like an animal.”

You squeal, smacking her arm over and over again while she laughs.

“Oh, my God, Kiyoko,” You wheeze, beaming at her. “I’ve never been more proud to be your friend. Wait-” You point at the door. “Did you just make that man do the walk of shame?”

“No, of course not!” She says, leaning her back against the headboard. “Obviously, I… thanked him for his services.” She endures another round of your smacking before saying, “He’s taking me out for dinner tomorrow. Said he’d pick me up from campus and everything.”

You nudge her, grinning wide. “Look at you! Dating a pro volleyball player.”

“Maybe you can give me some tips,” She jokes, finishing off her coffee.

“He’s not pro yet,” You say, rolling your eyes. “Hopefully, he’ll make it to the end of the year without starting shit.”

Her hand pauses halfway from her mouth, the empty can hanging in her hold while she examines you. You furrow a brow.

“What?”

“I was…” She squints now. “...kidding.” You blanche, staring at her while her eyes narrow further. “You know… because you’re not actually dating?”

“Right,” You say, smiling. “I know. I was just…”

“Y/n,” She says, lowering her finished drink and gaping at you. “Are you two actually dating ?”

“No!” You say, putting your coffee down on her nightstand so you can face her. “No, we’re not. It’s like I said – we’re just not really labeling anything.”

“Not labeling-” She shakes her head. “That’s a terrible idea. That’s such a slippery slope-”

“I know! We just… We know. We’re just taking it one day at a time.” You shrug. “That’s all I’ve got, honestly. Nothing else has happened.”

As if summoned by some demonic force, your phone buzzes on the bed between you.

[9:28 AM]

Tsukki : you know

Tsukki : usually it’s ME that sneaks out the morning after

Tsukki : im the sneaker

Tsukki : not the sneak-ee

Kiyoko snatches your phone up before you can, blinking hard to make sure she’s reading that right.

“You fucked him !” She yells, smacking your arm when you take your phone back.

“No! I didn’t! We just slept!”

“Do you think I was born yesterday, young lady-”

“I swear!” You laugh, bracing for her second smack. “All we did was sleep, I swear!”

She stares, clearly disturbed. “You’ve never done that before. Sleepovers.”

You shake your head with a tight smile. “Nope. First time.”

“And all you did was sleep.”

“All we did was sleep.”

She scans you a moment longer before leaning in, as though you’re not the only people in the room. “Did you catch feelings?”

“No!” You reel back, pushing her away lightly.

“Y/n, that’s not good-”

“I didn’t !” You swallow hard, trying to push down the memory of wanting him to stay the night. Of waking up this morning with him in your arms. “I didn’t catch feelings. It was just late, and we were just tired.”

She looks like she certainly has more to say, but she thankfully drops it, only pointing at your phone. “Answer him, before he starts calling.”

His name pops up on your screen with an incoming call the second she says it.

You only hesitate a moment, meeting her eyes with an uneasy smile before pressing it to your ear. “Hello?”

You don’t fight when Kiyoko drags your arm away from your face and aggressively jabs at the button to activate the speakerphone.

“ You left, ” Tsukki says groggily, his voice echoing in Kiyoko’s apartment. “ That’s fucked up. ”

“I didn’t leave. I’m at Kiyoko’s.”

“ Oh. I guess that’s fine. Can you steal some coffee? ”

Kiyoko just rolls her eyes but keeps quiet.

“I’ll see what I can do,” You say. And then you clear your throat. “What’s the plan today?”

“ Dunno. Wanna get breakfast? ”

You push Kiyoko away when she stares at you meaningfully. “Don’t you have practice today?”

“ Mm, ” He groans, stretching and yawning loudly. “ ‘s later. I feel pretty good today. ”

“Oh-” You stare down at your phone, your brows furrowing. “Really? My bed’s not really built for two.”

“ I know, I’m surprised, too. But that’s the best I’ve slept in ages. ”

Your heart jumps, and you don’t have it in you to push Kiyoko away again when she stares right into your soul.

“Oh. I-That’s good. You should get a shitty Twin XL bed, too, then.”

He laughs low, the sound deep and satisfied. You blush when Kiyoko curls her lip in disgust – she’s never heard that laugh before, then.

“ I could do that, yeah, ” He says, shifting in bed. “ Or I could just keep sleeping in yours.”

You’re really not getting out of this one. Kiyoko’s deadpan stare burns a hole through your face. Your cheeks warm to the point of discomfort, and you pick at a piece of lint on her blanket.

“Yeah… I suppose you could.”

He’s quiet on the other end for a moment. “ Okay, ” He says, his voice a little uncertain. “ That’s that, then. ”

“That’s that.”

“ Bring coffee? ”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“ See ya. ”

The apartment is dead silent after he hangs up. You nervously search Kiyoko’s blanket for more lint, feeling her eyes on your face.

“Do you like him, Y/n?” She says after a moment.

You just stare at your hands. “Dunno.”

“Do you realize that it sounds like he likes you?”

“I don’t know about that.”

She sighs, pulling you into her arms and planting a kiss on your temple. “So beautiful, yet so stupid. And blind. Stupid, blind, beautiful-”

“Okay, you made your point.”

–

By the time you return to your apartment, Tsukki’s washed up and sitting expectantly in bed, his back against the headboard as he taps away on his phone. He scans you when you come in.

“No coffee?”

You snort, joining him in bed. He shifts, eyeing you nervously for a moment before leaving one hand flat on the mattress and angling his body toward you. It’s clearly an invitation.

You just meet his eyes, your heartbeat suddenly strong in your chest.

And then you scoot toward him, curling up beside him and letting your knees fall over his thigh. His hand slides around your waist, pulling you comfortably against him.

“Are you sure you slept okay?” You ask, your voice cracking when you feel his thumb drawing circles in your skin.

He nods, eyes dropping to your mouth. “Wasn’t too uncomfortable for you?”

“No,” You laugh. “It was, uhm…” You trail off, feeling when he leans in. His lips are warm against yours, and you feel abnormally at ease, wrapped up in his arms like this. You card your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp and shivering when his other hand slides along the outside of your thigh, kneading gently.

“ You fucking liar ,” He whispers against your mouth. “ You taste like coffee. ”

You throw your head back, laughing. “I’m sorry! I grabbed some from the fridge before I went up.” And then you kiss him again before you lose your courage. “I’ll buy you coffee while we’re out.”

“My girl’s such a provider,” He says, grinning when you smack him on the shoulder. You try not to let the words ‘ my girl ’ affect you too much.

“Do you want coffee or not?”

He nods, pulling you in for one more kiss before murmuring ‘ Sounds good ’ against your mouth.

You have to peel yourself out of his arms, the danger of staying in bed all day with him too high.

The two of you walk to breakfast, hand in hand, and then you see him off when it’s time for practice. He comes back after, dinner in hand, and you both work on assignments with trashy TV playing in the background.

He stays the night again. And again. And again.

He stays until Christmas.

#haikyuu #haikyuu smut #tsukishima kei #tsukishima smut #tsukishima x reader

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