#if you’re going to keep asking things like that

[yogirl-willow]

The Crimson Pact | Part 3

Characterizations | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

SoulBond!AU

Pairings: Yandere!Saja Boys x F!Reader

Synopsis: You were never supposed to remember them.

Four hundred years ago, a pact was made—a blood-soaked bond tying five demons to one human soul: yours.

They’ve waited lifetimes for your reincarnation, cursed with obsession, tethered by fate.

And now that you’ve returned?

They’ll burn the world before they let you go again.

Warnings: Soul bond with the Saja Boys, Yandere themes!, obsessive behavior / possessiveness, romantic psychological tension, mentions of implied past death / reincarnation, intense emotional fixation, yearning, dark romance, comfort and control, hurt/comfort (if you squint)

A/N: Reading all your comments and reblogs always makes me smile! This part is a bit longer than the rest. I wanted to focus on building her trust and relationship with the boys, so there will be much more interactions and intimacy than the previous parts. I hope you all enjoy!

───────── ༺🜃༻ ─────────

The Saja boys are all demons.

They are wrath and ruin. Jealousy and death.

And yet, before her, they kneel.

Because she is the Heart. Because her soul is what keeps them from unraveling into true monsters. Because they were bound by her love and her curse.

They don’t just crave her—they depend on her. Without her presence, their minds deteriorate. Their bodies decay. Their hunger becomes unbearable.

Only Y/N’s touch tames the demon inside.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Part 3:

If You Stay

You don’t remember falling asleep. But you remember waking up.

The guest room is dim, wrapped in soft shadows, the silk sheets pulled up to your chin. The faint scent of rain and cedar lingers in the air—Jinu, you think distantly. It clings to your skin like a memory. One you shouldn’t have.

You must’ve fallen asleep after your talk with the boys in the afternoon. You’d admit, that did take a toll on you, and you were still feeling quite unwell from yesterday’s events. Hangovers don't just go away in a few hours. One of the boys must’ve carried you in here.

You sit up slowly. Your headache from earlier is gone. But something inside still hums. A weight behind your ribs. A tugging sensation that pulses faintly… toward them.

You still had too many questions you needed answers to. They said they were demons, so why are they here? They didn’t look like demons. They were sinfully beautiful, so you assume that definitely plays a part in it. Why did they sell their souls to Gwi Ma? Who was this Gwi Ma? Who were you to each of them in your past life? Just how many past lives have you had exactly? 

And most importantly, if they were demons hundreds of years old, why in the flying fuck are they in a K-pop idol group?

There’s a knock at the door, ceasing your thoughts. You freeze. But it doesn’t open.

“Y/N?” It’s Romance’s voice, low and careful. “Dinner’s ready. If you’re hungry.”

You don’t answer right away.

Not because you don’t want to. But because you’re afraid of what it means that you do. Still—you follow the sound.

The dining room is too elegant for six people. The table could seat twelve, But only one side is set—six seats arranged close together. The lighting is warm, soft. As if they’d planned for comfort. For your nerves.

The boys are already seated. But they all rise the moment they see you. Romance is the first to move, pulling out your chair with a slow, exaggerated flourish. “Right here, angel.”

You meet his eyes and you feel the pull again. He’s looking at you with the most tender expression. Like you’re the most precious thing in the world to him. 

And you were.

Plates are filled before you can ask. Abby gently sets a bowl of soup in front of you—your favorite kind. You don’t remember telling them that. You’re not even sure you remember liking it until the smell hits you. Baby places a glass of water before you and you suck in a nervous breath as you feel a light kiss on the crown of your head. 

You’d never been treated like this before. Cherished. Not even by your own family. It was so foreign, you doubted it could be real. 

But as you gazed at each and every one of them, you could see it in their faces. The quiet relief. The tenderness. Their want to do these things for you. It was a feeling you had to get used to.

You didn’t touch the food right away. You just stared down at the dark wooden table, the linen napkin folded too neatly on your lap, and the spoon resting next to a bowl that smelled like home. If home had five soul-bound demons who watched you breathe.

Jinu watches carefully from across the table. He hasn’t touched his food.

“Eat,” he says quietly. “You’ll need your strength.”

You hesitate.

Romance spoke next. “If you’re waiting for poison, don’t worry. We only do that to each other.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. It was too much. All of it. You took a small sip. And then another. And the warmth spread to places in you that hadn’t been warm in months. You sighed, strangely feeling so much more at ease.

Romance leans closer. His voice is honey and hooks. “You’re still not feeling well during the day, right?”

You nod. Slowly. 

“That’s the bond,” Jinu says. “It’s active. But unstable.”

“The further you are from us,” Abby adds, “the worse it’ll get.”

“I’ve been alone for years,” you mutter, fingers tightening around your spoon. “I’ll be fine.”

“No,” Baby says from the end of the table. Quiet. Sharp. “You won’t.” You flinch at his tone. But it doesn’t feel cruel—just true.

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Romance sets his fork down and places his chin in his palm, eyes glittering in the candlelight. “You’re not a prisoner, you know.”

Your brow furrows.

He smiles. “We’re not keeping you here. But…we did have this place built for you.”

Your eyes snapped to him. "What do you mean you had it built for me?"

Romance’s smile was soft. Too soft. "Darling, this whole place was bought and designed for you. For when we found you. We just live in it."

You blink.

Had they been waiting for you that long? You hadn’t really thought about it before. The logistics of their story hadn’t fully registered. 

“You’d have your own space,” Jinu says softly, ever the diplomat. “A guest room. With a lock, if that makes you feel safer.”

Abby immediately frowns. “Why can’t she just stay in her room-room?” he grumbles, arms crossed. “It’s closer to mine.”

Your brows knit together. “Wait. My room?”

Romance’s smile is slow and feline, like he’s been waiting for that moment. “Of course. We had it ready since… well. A while.”

You blink. That didn’t answer your question.

Jinu doesn’t flinch. “Because that room doesn’t have a lock.”

Abby scowls, muttering something under his breath. Romance hums beside you. “Wouldn’t want one anyway.”

You whirl on him. “What was that?”

He holds up both hands in mock surrender, grinning like the devil. “Just saying. But okay, okay—guest room with a lock. For now.”

There’s a silence. Then Mystery murmurs almost too quietly: “…We’d break it if we had to.”

Your stomach twists. They’re joking. You hope they’re joking.

“You wouldn’t be alone,” Mystery pipes again. He’s seated closest to you, his plate untouched. His eyes never leave your hands. He wanted to grasp them. Feel your warmth. Feel your hands massage his hair just as you used to in your past life. He swallowed.

You press your lips together. It’s not that you don’t believe them. It’s that you do. And that terrifies you.

Romance watches the doubt dance across your face. He leans forward, just enough that you’re forced to look at him.

“You don’t have to say yes forever,” he says, voice low and intimate. “Just… stay. For now. Let your body heal. Let the bond stabilize. You don’t even have to talk to us. We’ll keep our distance if that’s what you want.”

At least that’s what she’ll think. Romance thinks to himself. With these guys? Yeah right.

You don’t speak. His voice softens. “You’ve been carrying this alone for so long, haven’t you? You’re getting sick. Dizzy. Faint.”

Your throat tightens.

“You’re tired. You’re having headaches. And we’re the only ones who can ease it. You feel that. So why are you still punishing yourself?”

You try to deny it. To push the tears back. But his words hit something raw. And real.

“I’m not trying to punish myself,” you whisper. “I just… I didn’t ask for this.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “But that doesn’t mean we’ll let you suffer for it.”

"You’ll be safe," Abby added gruffly. "No one touches you here. No one even gets close."

The silence that follows is thick. Your breathing is shallow. Their words registering. Was it really so bad? Letting them care for you? Being here with them. Having them treat you like you’ve never been treated before? 

Why were you still fighting it? There was so much you didn’t know, but as of this moment, you did know one thing. That they loved you in your past life. And love you still. Did that count? They yearn for you, and have been for lifetimes. And you knew deep in your heart you were starting to feel the same. Was that really so bad? 

To let them in? 

They were strangers, but they weren’t. They claim to be yours, so why do you keep questioning it? 

Then, slowly—almost in spite of yourself—you nod. “Just… a little while,” you say. “Until I feel better.”

You don’t see the look they share. The way Jinu’s shoulders finally lower. The flicker of possessive triumph behind Romance’s lashes. Or the way Mystery exhales like he’s been holding his breath since the moment you left him last.

You don’t see any of it. But you feel it. The shift. The settling. Something ancient and invisible clicks into place behind your ribs. And you don’t fight it anymore.

The bond sighs.

They insist on collecting your things that night. “We’ll go,” Abby says immediately. “You stay. Rest.”

“No, I—” You start, but Jinu raises a hand. “You’re still weak. If the bond flares while you’re alone, it could be dangerous. Let us.”

You glance between them—five men who could tear the world apart for you—and for once, it feels less like a threat and more like a promise.

“…Okay,” you say quietly. “Just—don’t touch my underwear drawer.”

Romance smirks. “No promises.”

“Romance,” Jinu snaps.

Mystery growls.

You sigh. I guess you did need underwear. “Fine. Just… don’t be creepy.”

Abby winks. “We’ll be fast. Promise.”

As they move, as doors open and shoes slip on, you stay behind with Baby, the silent protector watching your every move. But for some reason, it doesn’t scare you now. 

He approaches you, eyes intense and never as wary as the others. Like he’d never be sorry for having you and taking what’s rightfully his. He was silent, but intentional. 

He walks you to your room and you shiver as you feel his large hand on your lower back. He holds the door open for you before briefly muttering a faint “Goodnight, sweetheart” and closing the door shut. And for the first time in weeks… You don’t feel sick.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

You sit on the same dining table for breakfast. Jinu had made you some toast sandwiches. The boys looked chirpy. Looks like someone’s in a good mood…

It was still so surreal to them how you were here- having breakfast with them. The very thought of this domestic life with you, caring for you, providing for you like partners almost made them purr in ecstasy. 

You were still in Jinu’s hoodie despite all your clothes laying in messy duffle bags, sleeves swallowing your hands, hair slightly damp from a quick shower. It took much restraint from Jinu to not pull you in his arms the moment you walked out of your room.

His hoodie looked right on you. Like it had always belonged there—like you had always belonged there. You didn’t realize it, but every thread of that oversized fabric clung to you like a memory, like a claim. It smelled like him, and that alone made something feral claw beneath his skin.

His jaw tightened as you crossed the room, bare legs brushing against soft fabric. You moved so carelessly, so trusting, not realizing you were walking a tightrope over a thousand years of obsession. Of agony. Of aching need.

You didn’t know he used to dream about this. That centuries ago, he’d wake from nightmares of you slipping through his fingers only to whisper your name into the night. He had waited lifetimes to see you like this again.

And now? Now, you were right there—wrapped in his scent, in his clothes, in his world—but still unsure if you belonged.

He smiled softly as you reached for a mug, but his hands twitched at his sides. He wanted to cage you to his chest, press his lips to your neck, and whisper, “This time, I’ll never let you die.”

He would never let you go again.

They were all quiet around you, letting you eat in peace. It should’ve been normal. It wasn’t.

"Are you going to work today?" Mystery asked, tilting his head.

"...Yes?"

"We don’t think you should go," Jinu said plainly.

You nearly choked on your toast. Say what now? "I have bills."

"You could quit," Romance offered. "Stay here. Rest. Sketch. Paint. Sleep."

You looked at him like he’d grown a second head. Sure, the offer sounded nice—dreamy, even. But it was the kind of nice that belonged in fairytales. People didn’t just quit their jobs and live off vibes and good intentions. In this economy?

You waited for the punchline… but it never came. They were all staring at you—completely serious. Like quitting your job was the obvious solution. Like it was the answer to every problem you’d ever had.

"What would I even do? Just exist as your little house pet?"

Mystery looked hopeful. Abby smiled. You sighed. "No way. I’m not freeloading."

"You could be our assistant," Abby grinned. "Take notes. Carry snacks. Pet Mystery when he gets upset."

"Not happening."

They let it go.

But Romance’s eyes gleamed. Like he was already planning a way to make it so. 

After breakfast, you went to your room to change into your work clothes. Stepping out and closing the door firmly, you make your way to the kitchen where Jinu hands you another toast claiming you needed another ‘energy boost’ for the day. You take it in thanks and drown out his last ditch effort to convince you to quit, waving him off with a cute smile that shut him up. You make your way to the entrance and stop in your tracks. Abby, leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself for 8:30 in the morning. His sweatshirt hung loose over his frame, hood drawn up, but there was no hiding that build. Or that face. Or the smirk that crept up the moment he saw you in your work clothes.

"Hello there, sweetheart," he drawled.

You froze, mid-bite, a piece of toast tragically dangling from your mouth. "...If this is another attempt to get me to quit my job, you can turn right back around."

Abby grinned like the smug menace he was. “Sadly, no. I’ve accepted your tragic refusal of our generous sugar-demon lifestyle.”

He leaned against the doorframe, hands in his hoodie pocket like this was totally normal. “So instead, I’ll be escorting my darling little starshine to work today.”

You blinked. “I’m sorry—your what now?”

“My darling. Little. Starshine,” he repeated, grinning wider with each word.

You deadpan, a blush of pink rising to your cheeks. “Try that again and I’ll call HR.”

He laughed. “Okay, okay. I’m walking you to work. Orders from the Bond Gods. Or Jinu. Same thing, really.”

“You all really expect me to be escorted to work?”

“Yes,” he says simply. “You’re still weak. The bond’s healing you, but slowly. We won’t let you go alone again. Not when you’re like this.”

You hesitate. He steps closer, but not too close. “Let us keep you safe. Just for today.”

“…Fine,” you mutter.

“And tomorrow…”

“Really?”

“And the day after that…”

“Okay, I get it. Fine. But you have to hide.”

He blinks. “Hide?”

“I’m not walking next to Abby from the Saja boys. I’ll be the talk of the entire district. They’ll probably think I’m kidnapped.”

He snorts. “Technically…”

“Abby.”

“Fine, fine.” He pulls his hood lower. “But I draw the line at hiding my abs.”

You roll your eyes. “Just… be normal. Please.”

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Even in a hoodie and mask, he doesn’t look normal. He looks like a movie star trying not to be recognized—and failing. Your coworkers notice him immediately.

“Y/N…” one of the baristas whispers as you clock in. “Who. Is. That.” 

You pretend not to hear.

Another coworker giggles. “Is he your boyfriend? Oh my god, did you meet him at the club?”

“No!” you say too quickly.

“But he didn’t come inside with us… where did you meet him then?”

You force a laugh. “He’s just a friend. He’s helping me out since I’ve been sick.” 

They seem to buy it—until someone brings up the guy from the other night.

“Hey, what happened to Jae? He said he’d walk you home, but we never heard from him. Did he ghost or something?”

You freeze.

“I, um… ran into someone else before he could. Didn’t see him after that.”

You stare hard at the pastry tray, pretending to adjust the layout. But inside, your stomach twists. What did happen to him?

You’d ask the boys later. …If you wanted the truth. Though, you’re not quite sure if you really do. 

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Your shift drags on longer than usual. Not because of work.

Because of him.

Baby sits at the back corner, hoodie pulled low, sipping a black coffee he hasn’t touched in twenty minutes. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just watches. Your coworkers whisper, asking if he was an idol or something because he looked too handsome to be just a normal customer. You cringed at that.

It hasn’t really registered until now just how insane it was, really. You were now co-living with one of the rising pop-groups in the country. You almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. 

You try to focus. But you can feel his eyes. Not just looking—possessing. Guarding. Burning. Everytime you talked to a customer (particularly male) you could feel his eyes harden, glaring holes into whoever it was that talked to you. 

One of them tapped you on the shoulder to get your attention, asking with an “excuse me” if he could get some hot sauce with his order. Baby nearly jumped out of his seat if it weren’t for your warning glare. 

You approach the brooding demon, flipping open your notepad. “You’re not subtle, you know.”

He doesn’t smile. “They shouldn’t look at you.”

Your heart thumps. “It’s a customer’s job to look…and order…and ask...”

“They shouldn’t talk, either. Nor should they ever touch.”

You try not to smile. “You’re terrifying.”

His eyes flick up. Dark. Hungry. “Good.”

You bring him a refill anyway. “Behave.”

He doesn’t.

He waits outside when your shift ends, hands in pockets. Doesn’t say a word as you fall into step beside him. The air between you buzzes. You glance over. “Why do you look like someone kicked your favorite pet?”

He doesn’t answer. You poke him in the side. “Baby.”

His jaw flexes. Fighting his control to pull you in closer as people walked by. “I don’t like them talking to you.”

You sigh. “We’ve been over this. It’s my job.”

“You don’t need it.”

“I do.”

“You have us.”

“That’s not a job.”

“You could quit. Let us take care of you.”

“No.”

He frowns, lips twitching down.

“You’re pouting.”

He looks at you, expression unreadable. You reach out, amused, and gently press his cheek. Something shifts. He grabs your hand—fast but gentle—and kisses your knuckles. 

The world slows.

“You’re mine,” he whispers. “Even if you don’t remember. Even if you never say it.” His eyes hold you in place. Burning. Certain. There’s no hesitation in his voice. No tremble. Just absolute conviction—like he wasn’t stating a hope, but a law of the universe. 

Baby steps closer, the streetlights casting silver on his sharp features. His gaze drops to your lips like he’s already imagining how they’d feel crushed beneath his.

“You don’t have to love me back yet,” he says, voice low and velvet-dark. “But don’t ever think I’ll stop. Even if you don’t want us to take care of you. I’ll keep pushing.”

Your stomach flips. You hate how warm your skin feels. How part of you leans toward him without meaning to. How his scent—like storm-wet pine and danger—makes your fingers twitch with a need you can’t name. His hand lifts to your face, gentle despite the fire in his eyes, knuckles brushing your cheek like you might vanish if he touched too hard.

“If anyone else touches you again,” he adds softly, “I don’t care if they’re your customer. They won’t have hands left to touch with.”

You don’t answer.

But your heart races all the way home.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

After dinner, the boys were gathered on the second floor of the apartment. They had turned it into a studio to practice their choreo for performances. You could hear their music and their footsteps as they danced to the beat. 

You padded around the apartment to explore in the meantime. The apartment was massive. You didn’t realize how massive until you started walking. Every hallway turned into a gallery. Every room had windows tall enough to drown in. You passed a music room, a library, a room full of costumes and stage lights. You had no idea such penthouses existed in the city. But then again, they were demons who’d been in existence for hundreds of years. Who knows how much money they got.

On the kitchen counter, you found a sketchbook. Yours. But filled with things you didn’t remember drawing. Five faces. A moonlit shrine. A shattered sword. You still hadn’t gotten used to drawing what you figured were memories from your past lives. This was evidence in itself that they were telling the truth. You decide not to fight it anymore.

On the dresser, you find an earring. No pair. You picked it up and your chest twisted, it felt a bit familiar.

In the lounge, a scarf folded neatly on a velvet chair. You held it to your face and inhaled. A scent you couldn’t name, but the fabric felt soft. Again, familiar. 

You didn’t know whether to scream or cry. It was like finding single pieces of a gigantic puzzle. You were sure these things meant something to one of them. You’d ask, in time. 

After their practice was over, the boys found you sat in the livingroom. You were reading the book Romance had given you which made him smile. They greeted you one by one, some went off to shower, some to the kitchen for a snack. 

It was Jinu who sat next to you. 

“How’s the choreo going?” you ask, eyes never leaving the page. 

“Good. How’s the book?” He nodded. He knew how badly Romance had wanted to give that to you. 

“Good.” You looked up to softly smile at him. You were halfway through the story. The characters blurred together—tragic lovers separated by fate, drawn to one another through time. A story too close to your own.

Jinu looked at the book title with a gaze you couldn’t recognize. Like he was debating on something he wanted to say. 

“Did you want to hear another story?” 

That piqued your interest. You slowly shut the book, placing it down on the couch as a sign for him to continue. Jinu didn’t look at you. His gaze remained downcast. There was a moment of silence before he spoke. 

“I wasn’t always someone people bowed to.”

You looked up at him. The air around him seemed to change—heavier, stiller. Like his shadow was longer than it had been a second ago.

“I was born in a fishing village by the bay,” he said. “Back when the tides still carried salt and prayers.” 

“My mother was a seamstress. My sister was eight years younger. We were poor. Poor enough to boil weeds and pretend it was soup.”

Your breath caught. His eyes seemed distant. Far away as he recalled his life four hundred years ago. 

“The only thing we owned of value was a bipa. My mother’s. She taught me how to play it before her hands got too swollen to hold the strings.” His eyes went distant, haunted. “I played in the markets for coins. It was never enough.”

He paused, jaw tight. “Then one night, I heard a voice.”

“Gwi Ma offered me everything. Fame. Gold. Silk sheets and stages carved from jade. And I said yes.”

You stared at him. He finally met your eyes—and this time, the pain there was real.

“I left,” he whispered. “Without a word. My mother. My sister. I never even turned around. I don’t know if they lived another week.”

You released a breath as you felt your heart fracture at his words.

“I just… ran. Into the palace. Into adoration. And never looked back.”

He exhaled, eyes heavy with guilt. “The crowds worshipped me. I performed for kings and their consorts. They called me divine. The courtiers fought for my smile. And it still wasn’t enough.”

“I didn’t deserve peace,” he said, voice brittle. “But then I saw you.” His voice softened—fragile like old silk.

“You were a maid. You had ink on your fingers and a habit of humming while sweeping the floors. You didn’t bow. You didn’t flatter. You rolled your eyes at me.”

Your chest tightened. So that’s who you were in your past life when you first met him.

“And when I asked you why… you said I looked lonely.”

A pause.

“I fell in love with you the moment you looked at me like I was a boy. Not a god.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “But I made you weak. I brought you too close. It was impossible for someone like you, so pure of heart, to exist in that palace. I should’ve known there would be vipers waiting to strike.”

You didn’t interrupt. You couldn’t.

“There was a concubine who used to love watching me play. She’d call upon me to her chambers for performances. Pay a hefty sum for an appearance in her parties. She saw you and I in one of the pavilions and she didn’t like it.” A look of anguish flashed on Jinu’s face. “I knew it was only a matter of time before someone found out. I wasn’t a fool. I knew the women of the palace liked me for more than just my voice.” His fists tightened on his lap. 

“She poisoned your tea. I found you in the gardens…you…you were still smiling.”

He blinked once. Just once. “You died in my arms. And I didn’t even know how to mourn.”

You stared at him, tears pricking your eyes. You wished so hard to remember. To recall who he was back then. Something, anything, so you could share a memory with him.

“I went back to Gwi Ma. I begged. I offered everything again.” He swallowed. “That’s when the pact began. He told me… if I could bind other demons to your soul, tether you tightly enough, you’d return.” His eyes flicked to yours. He was trembling.

“So I did. I found them. One by one. I gave up pieces of myself to forge the bond. Even if I had to share you, I- I was willing to do anything to have you back. I waited lifetimes. We all did.”

He reached out now, slowly, like you might disappear. “And now you’re here.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But your body leaned toward his—drawn like a string was being pulled behind your ribs. He exhaled shakily. “I still don’t know what happened to them. My mother. My sister. I never went back.”

You reached for his hand. Fingers brushing his wrist. It was the gentlest thing you’d ever done. Jinu held onto your touch like a lifeline as the pain of his memories came rushing back.

“I think… they’d forgive you,” you whispered. He laughed softly. Bitter. Grateful. “I don’t.”

And somehow that made you want to forgive him more. You let him pull you closer. Let your head fall beneath his chin, chest pressed lightly to his side. He held you like you might break. Like he didn’t deserve to hold you at all. This was the closest he’s ever been to you since first seeing you in that square. His heart constricted. 

“I won’t make the same mistake again,” he murmured. You felt the words against your scalp. “I will never leave you. Even if it kills me.”

You tilted your head up—slow, searching. His lips hovered a breath away. The look in his eyes was agonizing: pure want, reverence, restraint. He was begging without words.

And maybe you wanted to say yes. Maybe you wanted to close that distance.

But something in you hesitated. The memory of danger still ghosting your ribs. The smell of blood. The crackle of old fire. You shouldn’t want this. He was a demon.

But then again—

He was yours.

Jinu didn’t move. Not really. But his eyes…God, his eyes were starving.

Like a man who hadn’t eaten in centuries and now sat trembling before the one thing he was never allowed to touch. His fingers flexed once on his thigh, like he was holding himself back from grabbing you. From yanking you into his arms and claiming what had always been his.

His lips parted—his breath shallow. “I shouldn’t,” he whispered, voice ragged. “Not yet.”

That almost did it.

Not yet.

Not no.

He wasn’t denying that he wanted to. Only that he was trying—failing—not to. You felt something pulse low in your spine. The bond again. Soft and hot, like a wire coiling tighter. Tighter.

You leaned closer. Not much. Just enough for your shoulder to brush his chest. His breath hitched.

“Y/N…” he warned. Or maybe it was a plea. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

But you did. You knew exactly.

Your hand grazed his chest—over fabric, over his heart. It beat like a war drum under your palm. And he—this ancient thing with a voice like honey and a soul soaked in sin—shook under your touch.

“You waited for me,” you said softly. “Across lifetimes.”

He gave a shaky laugh. “Every night. Every fucking century.”

“And now I’m here,” you whispered.

“And now you’re here.”

He reached up—finally—like a man about to touch something sacred. Fingers grazing your cheek so gently it made you ache. You didn’t flinch this time. You leaned into it. And when he cradled your face in his hands, it wasn’t just touch.

It was claim.

The bond lit up like a match to kerosene—searing, seeping through every crack in your soul like molten gold. You gasped. So did he. His forehead pressed against yours, and for a moment, the whole world narrowed to this.

Him. You. Breath tangled. Thread pulled tight. Two hearts beating like one. 

His voice broke against your mouth.

“I loved you. Before I even knew what love meant. I loved you in that garden. In that palace. In every life you bled through. I loved you while you died in my arms. And I love you now.”

Tears slowly gathered in the corner of your eyes at his confession. Your chest tightening with every word he uttered. Let all reason be damned. Nothing in the world could be more true right now, more real, than this.

Your lips brushed his when you exhaled. You didn’t mean to. You were just breathing—but it was enough.

It shattered him.

He kissed you like he was starving. Like this was his first meal in centuries. Like his immortality had meant nothing without this.

The kiss wasn’t soft. It was ruinous. Possessive. His mouth moved against yours like he’d memorized it across time—hungry, reverent, desperate. Like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

And you…

You kissed him back.

Because some part of you remembered. The garden. The incense. The ache of his name in your mouth before it was ever spoken.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer. His hand slid to your waist. He groaned low in his throat when you pressed into him, fire threading under your skin, a live wire finally connected.

The kiss slowed. Deepened.

When he finally pulled back, barely an inch, his eyes were wild.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “You always were.”

And in that moment, you didn’t deny it.

Not this time.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The kiss hadn’t been loud.

Barely a sigh. A whisper of fabric. The faint rustle of limbs and emotion finally giving in.

But they felt it.

From different corners of the apartment, the bond trembled like a shared heartbeat. A hush fell over the rooms like snowfall. Every boy froze.

Abby paused in the hallway with his forehead pressed to the doorframe, eyes shut.

Romance stood motionless in the kitchen, hands tight around the edge of the marble counter, breath held like a confession.

Mystery curled beneath his bedsheets, face half-buried in the sleeve of your old hoodie, his claws twitching against the mattress.

Baby sat in the far window seat of the lounge, unmoving, eyes half-lidded, expression unreadable—except for the slight twitch of his jaw.

They knew. They didn’t need to see it. They felt it through the bond—the hum, the spark, the slow unfurling of something sacred.

You kissed Jinu.

And something ancient and knotted in all of them unclenched. Not jealousy. Not really. It wasn’t rage or bitterness that stirred in their chests.

It was relief.

Because Jinu deserved this.

He had waited the longest. He had suffered the most. He had built the very foundation of the Crimson Pact with trembling hands and bloodied knees, driven by the memory of your lifeless body in his arms. He had found them. Bound them. Led them.

And now…He had finally been given a sliver of what he lost.

Abby exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. His hand closed into a fist against the doorframe. “Good for you, hyung,” he whispered.

Romance closed his eyes and tilted his head to the ceiling, the corner of his mouth lifting into a quiet, almost reverent smile. “Took him fucking long enough.”

Mystery blinked slowly, purring low in his throat. “She’s starting to remember,” he murmured into the blankets. “She’s letting herself feel it.”

And Baby… Baby didn’t move. But in his eyes, a hunger lit up. Not the kind that devoured. The kind that waited. That watched from the shadows with claws pressed to his ribs.

It would be his turn soon. He could wait. He’d waited before. But not much longer.

Across the apartment, the bond shimmered—warmer now. Alive in a way it hadn’t been in lifetimes. Each of them felt it. Not just the connection, but the hope.

She’s letting us in. She’s starting to fall again. Their hands twitched. Hearts pounded. Mouths parted with breathless need. And beneath it all, one singular thought pulsed through the Crimson Pact:

Soon, it’ll be me.

Not out of competition. Not to steal the moment. But because you belonged to all of them. And in every life, one by one… you had.

Jinu had always kissed you first.

But he would not be the last. TO BE CONTINUED

───────── ༺🜃༻ ───────── A/N: Huaaah I died inside writing this chapter! I hope you guys enjoyed this one. The next chapter follows the same theme of relationship building and we'll get to see more intimate moments and backstories of the other boys! Let me know your thoughts in the comments and feel free to Reblog and Like this chapter if you enjoyed it! Till next time! Willa x.

───────── ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆ ─────────

Taglist: @faerie-soirxx @strayharmony943 @ibby-miyoshi-nerd @anonymousewrites @cottonheadedninnymugggins @apelepikozume @moonlight-rosevine @yepitsmesendhelp @lovely-maryj @nonetheartist @ateezswonderland @sarah22447 @zuhaeri @enerofairy @littlemissfix-itfic @meeeegaaan @luxylucylou @hornehlittleweeblet2 @natllo @levifiance @lavnderluv @the-sweet-psycho @shinebright2000 @weponxwrites @raineandcl0uds @loomindoors @bearb33 @iv-vee @realifezompire @jamaicanqueen007 @g-l-1-t-c-h-3-r @unsolicitedopal @candylandrules @sleepyamaya @miffysoo @scaranao @bloobewy

[silentcaps]

The most intimate thing in bed

tags: soft nsfw, emotional intimacy, demons in love, tenderness after sex

cast: huntrix, saja boys (abby, mystery, romance) × reader

Mira

Mira stretches lazily in bed. Her legs are tangled with yours. She doesn’t bother covering her bare body — no point hiding from you. After all these nights, you know every inch of her skin — from freckles to faded scars.

She’s so easy with you like this. No makeup, hair a mess, that hoarse morning voice. A sharp contrast to the version on stage — bold, fierce, fire in her eyes. And you lose it over her, either way.

You move, trying to get up. She’s got training early tomorrow. But Mira, like always, catches your wrist.

“Don’t be stupid. Stay.”

She wraps her legs around you, keeps you down. That smirk, like a dare: “Go ahead. Try.” She doesn’t say it out loud, but her eyes make it clear — you’re no longer just a secret fling. You’re closer than family.

And if that bond weren’t real — if for even a second she felt out of place — Mira wouldn’t ask you to stay.

Rumi

Rumi is sitting in your lap. Her fingers tremble slightly as she ties fabric over your eyes. You don’t ask why. You don’t press her for an explanation.

And when you can’t see anymore, she lets out a quiet breath — and starts taking off her clothes. For the first time, she reveals her tattoos in front of someone else.

You feel warm thighs tighten around yours. Hear her uneven breathing. You stay still.

And Rumi, raised in the flash of paparazzi from childhood, suddenly believes — without doubt — that you won’t try to peek. That the thought hasn’t even crossed your mind.

She’s not hiding anymore, because she knows: you don’t want to take anything from her by force. Not like the demons who stole beloved fans. Not like her foster mother, who simply told her she was now a hunter.

You let her choose. And she chooses to stay.

Zoey

Zoey is lying on top of you. Sweaty, sticky. Her hair’s a mess. Lips swollen from kissing.

Silence fills the room. Usually, this is when she asks, “Well? Am I still good?” Cracks a joke even if she’s tired, makes a cute face, laughs. Then grabs her phone to check socials, sees missed calls from her manager.

But right now — she just lies there, settling into your breath. Not performing, not dazzling. Not watching your face for approval.

You take her hand — she doesn’t pull away. Run your fingers through her hair, nuzzle into the top of her head, shift her to rest more comfortably on you. She melts completely.

Little by little, Zoey starts to believe that maybe there’s no need for questions. Because the answer’s always the same: you love her not for the performance, but simply for her.

Abs Saja

Abby is all muscle. Big, solid, with the kind of abs that drive his fans wild.

And you press into him softly, trustingly, like he’s not a dangerous demon who could break you with a single move. You breathe against his cold neck and hold onto his shoulders, trying to match his rhythm.

Abby freezes. He wants to be gentle with you. Not fuck — but protect. Even if it’s from himself, or the world he was born into. That feeling is completely foreign to him.

But now that he’s realized it, you can feel the shift. He holds, not squeezes. Pulls you close, but carefully. And when he whispers your name in your ear, it’s not to turn you on — it’s to calm you down.

To remind himself that with you, it has to be different. That you’re something precious.

Mystery Saja

Mystery told you right away he was a demon. First date, over cocktails, no buildup. You either accept it, or there’s no romance here.

You still can’t tell if he was trying to push you away like some obsessive fangirl — or genuinely chose to open up. Maybe he just needed to know you loved him, not some sugar-coated fantasy.

But really, it wasn’t a test. For him, trust is the only way to end up in bed with someone. Not just physical, but emotional nakedness too.

Mystery notices how at first you flinch when claws trace your spine — then start to enjoy it. You used to turn away from kisses, scared he’d suck out your soul through them. Now, after a few times, you chase his dry lips, demand tongue.

Mystery would never hurt you. And that slow-growing trust — in tiny, wordless ways — that realization that it’s truly safe with him? That means more to him than sex ever could.

Romance Saja

Romance flirts and teases. He reaches for attention like a gentle cat for a pair of hands. He poses with fans, waves into cameras, winks with a smile.

But in his demon form, he’s exhausted. Truly. So worn out he can’t even lift his hands to form a heart for the crowd.

And maybe that’s why he values — though he’ll never say it aloud — that with you, things can be slow and relaxed. Arching his back with a sigh, lazily brushing his hair aside.

And you know Romance isn’t human. He just said “I’m a demon” when he leaned over you. Wanted to see how you’d react. If you’d be scared he’d steal your soul, or maybe laugh it off. But your simple “I know” made him flinch — and then quietly smile.

Because people think if it’s a demon, it must be wild sex. Clothes torn off, thrown on the floor, shoved up against a wall before even making it to the bed.

But Romance never fit into those expectations. He likes it slow and deliberate, after a long, tired day, ideally with you on top. And the fact that you don’t expect anything else — that’s a gift to him.

[cameronsbabydoll]

can u do smth where ditzy reader tries to break up with drew bc she thinks that’s what he wants. and she’s like crying and stuff during jt and drew is like confused and then she explains and he’s just like sooo sweet and babying to her? (i have daddy issues so yes i wanna be comforted by a man)

SUGARGLASS ❀

drew starkey x younger!ditzy!reader

warnings: emotional vulnerability, insecurity/self-esteem issues, crying, implied age gap (older!drew x younger!reader), hints of public judgment/paparazzi drama, comfort after a self-initiated breakup attempt, daddy issues undertone, possessive/comforting male partner, affectionate pet names

you don’t even look him in the eye when you say it.

you’re standing in the kitchen—his kitchen, technically—wearing one of his hoodies and socks with little bows on the back, and your lip gloss is smeared from crying and wiping your nose on your sleeve. and you’ve got your stupid pink suitcase by the door like some kind of dramatic goodbye scene.

“i think we should break up,” you whisper.

it comes out so tiny. so shaky.

and drew just… blinks.

he’s still leaning against the counter with a half-empty glass of water, staring at you like you just told him the sky was purple. “what?”

you sniff. “i just think—i mean, i know you’re really busy, and you’re, like… older. and smart. and serious. and i’m just—” your voice cracks, and you shake your head hard. “—i’m just a distraction. and you don’t want someone like me forever.”

he sets the glass down. slowly. like he’s trying not to spook you.

“sweetheart,” he says gently. “come here.”

you shake your head again. “no, because i get it. i do. i know people laugh at us. i know your friends think i’m dumb. and i can’t even answer interview questions right and i forget things and i’m always asking stupid stuff and—and sometimes i don’t even know why you like me.”

his jaw clenches at that, but he keeps his voice soft. “baby.”

you finally look at him. tears spilling out of your big, glassy eyes, lashes clumped. you look like a heartbroken doll.

“you don’t have to explain,” you say, breath hitching. “i’ll just go. i’ll—i’ll pack up the rest of my stuff later. i left the pink toothbrush but it’s okay i can get another one—”

“baby.”

his voice is firmer this time, cutting through the panic spiral in your chest.

before you can start rambling again, he walks over and cups your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks like he’s trying to soothe the crying right out of you.

“i don’t want you to leave.”

you sniff again. “you don’t?”

“no. god, no.” his eyes are so gentle. “you think i care what anyone else thinks? you think i want someone who’s cold and serious and boring?” he tilts your chin up. “i like your sparkles. i like that you ask silly questions. i like when you call your lip liner your ‘little brown crayon.’”

you hiccup a laugh, even though your mascara’s a mess and your heart’s still aching. “you… do?”

he kisses the tip of your nose. “yes, angel. and i love that you’re soft and sweet and real. so stop trying to talk yourself out of being loved, okay? because i’m not going anywhere.”

your bottom lip wobbles. “but i thought maybe i was annoying—”

“you are.” he grins. “you’re the most adorable, clingy, loud little thing i’ve ever met. and you’re mine.”

then he picks you up—literally just lifts you off the floor and cradles you like a baby while you cling to him and sniffle against his neck.

“we’re not breaking up,” he murmurs into your hair. “you hear me?”

you nod, soft and melty in his arms. “m’kay.”

“good girl.”

[fromrory]

𐔌 ⋮ “She loves what makes her suffer.”

— or, Damian's habibti who's is allergic to flowers, and Damian Wayne commits an act of devotion anyway

She loves flowers.

She says it like a confession, every time.

“I know they make me sneeze,” she’ll murmur, eyes watering, “but look at this one. Isn’t she so pretty?”

She’ll cradle a daisy like a holy relic. Brush her fingers reverently across petals in the florist shop window, sighing like she’s greeting old friends. Her voice goes soft around the names of them — freesia, peony, jasmine. Like each one is a poem she’s memorized in another life.

And then she’ll sneeze.

Violently.

Five times in a row.

Damian once watched her nearly pass out because she insisted on keeping a bouquet of lilacs in her room for “vibe purposes.” Alfred had to intervene.

It makes no logical sense.

Why would someone adore something that actively harms them?

He tells her so.

“You know you’re allergic,” he says one day, watching her hold a wildflower with tears in her eyes and blotchy cheeks.

She beams. “But they’re so hopeful, Damian. Like tiny living declarations of beauty for no reason.”

He squints. “That’s irrational.”

“That’s romantic.”

“They make your throat close.”

“They make my heart open.”

He almost chokes on the sheer emotional recklessness of it.

That night, Damian goes to the greenhouse behind the Manor.

The one Cass tends to like it’s her sanctuary.

He enters with surgical gloves and no expectations.

He leaves three hours later, covered in dirt, vaguely pissed off, and carrying a seed catalogue.

Two weeks pass.

She doesn’t hear much from him — patrols, League interference, Bat drama. She doesn’t push. He’s not much of a texter, anyway. But when she rounds the corner into the Wayne Manor west wing one afternoon, Alfred gently guides her to a door she’s never seen before.

“Master Damian asked me to escort you,” the old man says with a subtle smile.

“…To a horror movie set?”

Alfred simply opens the door.

Inside — is a room.

Not large. Not ornate.

But it glows.

The walls are covered in soft white drapes. Fairy lights snake across the ceiling in warm lines. A low wooden bench sits in the center, surrounded by pots of—

“Wait,” she breathes.

There are flowers.

Everywhere.

Lilies. Marigolds. Poppies. Violets. Not a single one real — but perfect. Crafted from fabric, glass, paper, even delicate origami. Each one clearly made by hand. Folded and cut and painted with so much care her knees go weak.

She touches one. Petals like satin. No pollen. No sneezing.

There’s a small tag attached to the nearest pot.

“They won't hurt you. But they’re still yours.” — D.W.

She spins around— And he’s there. In the doorway. Arms folded. Face impassive.

“I had to study seven different origami guides,” he mutters, clearly embarrassed. “And burn the tips of my fingers with glue four times.”

“You made these?”

He shrugs.

Her heart squeezes like a vice.

“You made these.”

“I logically deduced that the artificial replicas were the safest way to approximate the aesthetic effect without the accompanying allergic reaction.”

“Damian.”

His jaw twitches.

She crosses the room slowly, stopping just in front of him.

“I love them.”

“I know.”

“No, like—this is insane. You folded an entire bouquet of calla lilies.”

“I had blueprints. Cass helped with the iris. Hers looked better.”

She cups his face before he can duck away. Holds it in her hands like something sacred.

“Say it again.”

“…Cass helped with the—?”

“No. The other thing.”

His throat bobs. He looks away.

“I know,” he says again. Quieter this time. “I know you love them. I wanted you to have something beautiful that doesn’t punish you for wanting it.”

Her eyes sting. (Not from allergies this time.)

“Damian.”

He finally looks at her.

And then—

She kisses him.

Soft. Certain. Like pressing her lips to the quietest part of his soul.

Later, the Batfam finds out.

Because of course they do.

Jason walks in and sees the room. Stops dead. Blinks. “Yo, who built an allergy-safe fairy cottage in here?”

Stephanie gasps so hard she chokes. “Did Damian Wayne do a Pinterest project?!”

Tim silently walks in, takes one look, and walks right back out. “I can’t. I’m gonna cry. I have midterms. I can’t process this.”

Dick just grins. Grins.

“Little D made a flower garden for his girl. Guys. He’s in love.” He turns to Damian, who looks like he’d rather spontaneously combust. “Tell me you at least kissed her in here.”

Damian doesn’t answer.

But She walks in wearing a flower clip in her curls made from folded gold paper, smiling like she carries the sun in her chest.

So yeah.

They know.

The room stays.

Sometimes Cass sits in there and folds more blooms. Sometimes she brings music and sings while paints new petals.

Sometimes Damian just… sits in silence. Watching the light shift across the room he built for a girl who loves the very thing that makes her suffer.

He doesn’t believe in many things.

But he believes in her.

And now— She has flowers that never make her cry. Only smile.

And that’s all he ever wanted.

writing this while listening Sombr on repeat is crazy LOL Taglist🏷️: @simpingmyassoff , @shootingstargirl2001 (if you want to be added,comment down below!) reblogs,comments and likes are appreciated! ©𝒙𝒐𝒙𝒐,𝑹𝒐𝒓𝒚🐚 —-do not copy, repost, plagiarize,translate or feed any of my work into ai. I work hard to give quality content.

[kuncitizen]

Molecular romance

One awkward smile, two 'study mates', and a love story that’s chemically inevitable.

Synopsis: You only stopped at his science fair booth out of pity—but the tall, nervous guy with crooked glasses and a galaxy model has other plans.

Satoru Gojo is brilliant, awkward, and talking a mile a minute about black holes like it’s the most romantic thing in the world. You weren’t looking for a tutor. Or a crush. But he’s got stars in his eyes—and maybe, now, so do you.

Pairing: Nerd!Gojo Satoru x reader

Genre: MDNI, College AU, Fluff, Slow-burn-ish, friends to lovers, attempt at humour

Warnings: Alcohol use, sexual innuendo, suggestive physical contact, eventual smut, nothing too heavy in this chapter but definitely not PG

Masterlist

Gojo Satoru isn’t the kind of boy people notice right away. He’s tall, sure. Stupidly tall. And he’s got that ridiculous snowy hair, that posture, those eyes like sapphire.

But he’s always just a little too apologetic in his own skin. Half-wincing at his own existence, quick to deflect praise with a joke or duck his head when someone gets too close.

With you, though, it’s different.

Has been ever since that science fair, where he sat behind his glowing solar system like the last puppy at a shelter, and you, despite yourself, stopped to say hi.

From that day on, things slipped into place with surprising ease.

Now he's the boy who always saves you a seat in lecture, even if you’re late. Who lets you steal fries off his plate.

What starts as a one-time study session becomes a rhythm. A quiet understanding. You find yourself at his desk more often than not, legs curled into the chair or sprawled out haphazardly, papers everywhere, caffeine staining the inside of your throat.

Gojo always sits across from you. Always.

He’s there through the good days and the ones where the formulas blur into white noise. When your pen stalls mid-sentence and your head falls into your hands in frustration, he’s already nudging a fresh sheet of paper your way patiently, a quiet anchor.

Sometimes, when you’re too deep in concentration to notice, his gaze lingers. He watches the way your foot bounces under the table, how your brow furrows just before you get the answer right. He notices the ink smudge on your wrist, the way your knees brush against his under the table and stay there just a little too long yet he doesn't dare move away.

And sometimes, when you look up too suddenly, you catch him watching.

Gojo's eyes go as wide as saucers. He turns back to his notebook swiftly, chin sinking into his palm as if that can hide the flush crawling up his neck.

On the nights it gets too late, when the page turns start slowing and your head begins to droop, you fall asleep right there—arms folded over your notes, cheek pressed to the desk.

You never wake up there.

Instead, it’s always the same: the warmth of a mattress under your back, the softness of his blanket tucked up to your chin. The scent of his laundry detergent clinging to the fabric. Dim light bleeding through closed curtains.

And just across the room is Gojo. Curled into himself on the small couch, half-covered by a jacket he clearly pulled over in a rush, snoring softly.

You never mention it. He doesn't either.

But the space between you keeps closing, inch by inch.

He’s the smartest person you know, and somehow still the one who burns popcorn in the microwave and forgets to charge his phone for days. He’s awkward, anxious, and talks too fast when he’s excited, like his brain’s ten steps ahead of his mouth.

But he’s always there.

Which is why, tonight, when you show up at his door with a crate of cheap beer and the exhausted gleam of midterms in your eyes, he doesn’t ask questions.

He just lets you in.

You drop down onto the mattress with a dramatic groan, like gravity itself has declared war on your soul. Limbs sprawled, phone already in hand, your head sinking into the pillow with the kind of defeated energy only student debt can conjure.

“Midterms nearly had me on life support. I feel so liberated right now.”

Gojo stands a few feet away, arms crossed, frowning down at the crate like it might bite him.

He nudges it with his foot. “I don’t really drink.”

You blink up at him, already half-melted into the sheets, and your lips twist into a pout—equal parts bratty and pleading. “Why not?”

His answer comes too fast. Like he’s been preparing for this exact moment since freshman orientation.

“It slows down neural processing, reduces inhibitory control and impacts memory consolidation. I’d like to remember tonight, thank you very much.”

You stare at him.

“Satoru.”

He glances up, swallowing hard like he knows what’s coming but still can’t brace for impact. “Yeah?”

Your pout intensifies. Eyes wide, lower lip pushed out just so in theatrical glory. “Pleeease?”

He stares. You bat your lashes innocently.

He squints. You bat your lashes harder.

There's a beat of silence before Gojo caves with a sigh so profound it sounds like it’s been aging in an oak barrel. He grabs a can, muttering under his breath abouy how unfair this is.

“Your Jedi mind tricks are unethical.”

The can hisses as it cracks open. You grin, satisfied by the outcome of your emotional manipulation.

You take a long sip from your own beer, the fizz tickling your throat, then flop fully onto your back.

The bed creaks beneath you—his bed, technically, though it’s felt like shared territory for a while now. It still smells like his laundry detergent, something citrusy and expensive, undercut with the faint scent of old textbooks.

Gojo hovers on the edge of the mattress, like sitting too close to you might electrocute him. He takes small, cautious sips, barely tasting it.

His eyes, however, are not so disciplined.

They keep flicking over—quick glances at your legs, the bare skin of your thighs, the way your shorts have ridden up as you stretch across the sheets like you own the place. The glow of your phone reflects off your cheekbones, painting you in soft blue light, and something in his chest does a little somersault.

His teeth sink into his bottom lip, like he’s trying to physically bite down on the thoughts rushing through his head. Thoughts that have absolutely nothing to do with astrophysics or memory consolidation.

Then you giggle.

His gaze snaps up in pure panic. Shit. Did you notice him gawking? Was he being obvious?

You laugh again, thumb tapping the screen, totally engrossed in whatever has you so amused. Followed by another smile. Another quiet snort.

It’s like background music he doesn’t recognize but suddenly hates.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, tone casual and a little too stiff.

You don’t even look up from your screen, “Tinder.”

Gojo's entire spine straightens.

“Tinder?”

“Mmhmm.” You keep swiping, flipping between profiles with a lazy flick of your thumb. “Why is everyone’s idea of sexy just... standing shirtless in a badly lit bathroom?”

“Oh,” he says flatly, staring at the condensation sliding down his can. "I see."

Just that.

Silence follows, heavy and stretched.

Gojo doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe. The can’s cold against his palm, but it’s the only thing tethering him to this moment as your finger pauses on a profile for too long. Too thoughtfully.

You peek up, noticing the weird stillness.

“Hey,” you say, tilting your head. “You okay?”

"What? Uh—" he jolts upright, straightening like someone just called on him in class. “No, I’m good. Very good, actually.”

He laughs, but it’s hollow. His knuckles are white where they grip the can, and his eyes haven’t quite made it back to yours.

You hum non-committally, not buying it for a second.

Gojo takes another swig rapidly, wincing at the taste. He wipes the rim with his thumb like he needs something to focus on. Something that’s not you and the casual way you’re flipping through potential hookups like it’s just another Tuesday on his bed. While he's right there.

Just then, an idea sparks in your head.

You roll onto your side, elbow digging into the mattress as you grin. “Do you have Tinder?”

His eyes nearly bug out of his skull.

“I—uh—Tinder?” he repeats, voice cracking slightly. “No. Why would I—No. Definitely not.”

You narrow your eyes at him, unconvinced. “That was a lot of hesitation for a no.”

“I just—” he flounders, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t expecting the question. I don’t really do dating apps. Or dating. Or… people.”

You shrug. “You do me.”

The words hang in the air for half a second too long.

Gojo's mouth opens. Shuts. Opens again, like maybe he can reboot himself if he blinks hard enough.

Your own brain finally catches up with your mouth.

“I mean, not do me—like—not like that—I meant friends. You’re friends with me.” You groan, dragging a pillow over your face like you can smother the sentence out of existence. “God. Forget I said anything.”

You sigh as you peek up slightly from behind his pillow.

He’s not wheezing or doubled over. He’s just sitting there, glasses slightly askew, trying very hard not to laugh. His hand’s covering his mouth, but his ears are going pink.

The way he’s looking at you now—quiet, a little dazzled, still fighting back a full smile—makes something in your chest kick up just slightly.

But even as you hide your embarrassment, he’s sitting there, cheeks flushed, mind spiraling, because—

Yeah. He does you.

In his head. Way too often, and in too many ways.

When you're lying here like this. When your voice dips low and teasing. When you glance at him with something that feels almost too soft to be platonic.

You shove the embarrassment aside and raise your can in front of your face like a shield.

He finally calms down, barely, chuckles trailing off as he shifts his position on the mattress.

“Well,” you say, pushing up on your elbows with new purpose, “guess what?”

Gojo eyes you wearily. “That tone never means any good.”

“You’re about to get one.”

“One what?”

You reach for his phone on the nightstand with zero hesitation. “A Tinder account.”

His entire soul exits the premises. “Wait—what? No. No, no, I don’t need that—”

“You heard me,” your fingers are already flying on the screen. “It’s time.”

He scrambles forward like you just picked up nuclear launch codes. “Hey—hold on, I’m not—You’re not actually serious—”

The screen unlocks instantly.

Of course it does. Your fingerprint’s saved. Has been for months. The kind of trust that feels so loud and yet, here you are, setting up some Tinder date for him.

“Okay, what’s your type?” you ask, downloading the app.

“I—what—how would I know?”

“Well, who do you swipe on in your head? Goths? Muscle mommies? Librarians with a secret dirty side?”

He sputters, face slowly turning the same shade as the beer can in his hand. “Can we not do this?”

“Too late,” you say, half-distracted as you scroll. “First name, Satoru. Age… I’ll let you lie. Height?”

“Six-three.”

You arch a brow, impressed. “Really?”

He scowls. “You want me to open my medical records?”

You chuckle and keep typing. “Alright, big guy. Next: 'What are you looking for on Tinder?' ”

He doesn’t even hesitate. “Salvation.”

“Not an option.”

“World peace?”

You glance up. “Seriously?”

He drags a hand down his face, voice muffled. “I dunno… companionship?”

“That's enough. I’m writing 'open to something meaningful, but down for freaky time.’”

“You're very weird.”

“Now, pictures.” Your knees bump under the sheets as you shift closer, elbows brushing while you adjust the brightness on his phone.

“God.”

“Relax. I’m not using that cursed one of you french-kissing a fish.”

“There’s a photo of me french-kissing a fish?”

“You sent it to me, you maniac.”

He groans and falls back against the mattress, arm slung dramatically over his eyes.

“This is a nightmare.”

But he doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t take his phone back.

Because maybe, deep down—beneath the jokes and the beer and the painfully exposed truth—a small part of him hopes it’ll work. Maybe it’ll help. Maybe some stranger with a nice smile will finally make the incessant thoughts of you in his mind go away.

You’re scrolling through his photo gallery with ruthless determination, knees brushing his thigh as you flip past thumbnail after thumbnail like you’re judging entries for a very geeky photography contest.

“Okay,” you mutter, eyes narrowing. “Let’s find you something non-humiliating—oh, this one’s just… clouds? Wait, is that lichen? Are you seriously out here photographing moss?”

Gojo doesn’t answer.

He’s stiff behind you, frozen like he’s watching someone disarm a nuclear bomb. Because he knows what’s coming. Knows exactly what the next folder might hold.

“Oh. Is this me?”

You tilt your head, thumb hovering over a grid of candid shots.

Your face in full detail, frozen mid-laugh in one, asleep at his desk in another. One photo captures you ranting at a textbook, hands in the air like you’re about to square up with it. Some are zoomed in. Some are taken from across the room.

His ears go red. Bright, angry cherry red.

Before the full meaning settles in, he lunges towards you.

“Okay—alright—that’s enough, give me that—!” His hand flails toward the phone in your grip, panic rising.

You jerk it back with a gasp, half-laughing, half-screeching. “Satoru!”

“We are not doing this,” he says in a rush, voice cracking like an over-wound violin. “Hand it over. Please, I beg you—”

You clutch the phone to your chest dramatically, feigning scandal. “So, you just casually have an entire album of me on your phone?”

His hands fly to his face,as he practically crumples in on himself like a collapsing star.

“I didn’t—it’s not an album, it’s just—okay, it’s a folder, but it’s not weird!” he sputters from behind his fingers. “It’s just—memories and.... nostalgia.”

You let out a soft laugh and toss the phone toward the bed, letting it bounce harmlessly onto the sheets. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s just take a picture for your profile.”

He peeks through his fingers, squinting at you like a kitten after getting caught in the trash. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad? Satoru, I should charge you royalties.”

That gets a choked laugh out of him.

And still, you’re smiling. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world for your best friend to have a secret camera roll of your face. Like this is fine.

Like you’re still choosing to sit next to him, shoulder brushing his arm like none of this has made anything weird.

“Come on,” you say, shifting closer. “Let’s make you look irresistible.”

He exhales. Yeah, sure.

Like that was ever the problem.

Gojo's already given up on dignity. His hair sticks out at odd angles, his hoodie is bunched up slightly to reveal a sliver of pale skin above his waistband, and his face wears the expression of a man preparing for social execution.

You sit back and squint at him critically, arms crossed, head tilted. “You look too much like a dork.”

He lifts his head an inch. “Wow. That’s incredibly helpful and uplifting.”

“Aw, it’s fine. You’re cute.”

You continue breezily, already plotting. “But we need right-swipe cute. You wanna look like you might mansplain physics and then make someone cum in under ten minutes.”

He just stares. “…What the heck does that even mean?”

“It means you need range, Satoru!” You leap off the bed, hands flailing like an overzealous theater director. “You need to look like someone’s weird little crush.”

You yank his closet open. The door creaks, hangers scraping against each other as you rifle through it.

“Do you even own anything that doesn’t scream extra credit ?”

He calls weakly from the bed, “I have a black turtleneck somewhere. I wore it once, for my thesis presentation.”

You sigh. “Tragic. We’ll work with what we’ve got.”

Moments later, you emerge triumphant with a handful of options—an unreasonably crisp button-down, a soft black tee that looks criminally flattering, and something silky you definitely don’t remember him owning.

“Try these,” you announce, dumping them onto the bed like a fashion connoisseur.

He eyes the pile like it’s radioactive. “You want me to change… into thirst trap attire?”

“Correct.”

“I’m not doing it.”

“Fine," You huff, hands on your hips. "I guess I’ll just have to make you.”

His eyes widen. “Wait, what does that—”

You pounce with tipsy audacity before he can finish. He yelps as you tackle him backwards onto the mattress, the bed groaning under the sudden weight. His beer can tips off the edge with a dull thunk, but neither of you notice.

You land on top of him with a soft thud, hands braced against his chest, your knees digging into the bed on either side of his hips. His hands fly instinctively to your waist, fingers splaying like he’s trying to steady both of you, or maybe just himself.

And suddenly, everything goes quiet.

You can hear the faint hum of the light overhead. The slow, shaky inhale he takes. The way his thumbs press in ever so slightly.

Gojo's gaze flickers from your mouth to your eyes and back again.

You exhale, the sound catching slightly.

He swallows, hard. “I didn’t mean to—I mean, I wasn’t—just—are you okay?”

Your lips twitch. “You’re the one under attack, and you’re asking if I’m okay?”

“I—well, yeah,” he breathes, voice thinner now. “You’re on top of me. Kinda hard not to worry.”

You tilt your head. “Am I hurting you?”

“No,” His throat bobs, fingers flexing against your hips. “Not even a little.”

You lean in, only slightly, enough to make his breath stutter. “You’re really bad at this, you know.”

He gives a short, stunned laugh. “Not exactly my field of expertise.”

You smile softly. “Guess you're lucky you’ve got me, then.”

Click.

Gojo flinches as the shutter goes off. Light bounces off his glasses, eyes blown wide.

“That angle was godly. You’re welcome.”

His jaw drops. “You cannot—there is no way—you’re not posting that, are you?”

“Absolutely,” you say, holding up the phone proudly. “The world deserves to see this.”

He slaps both hands over his face, muffling a noise that might be despair, might be laughter, might be a scream into the void. “I trusted you.”

You smirk and climb off him, far too pleased with yourself. “You’ll thank me when you’re drowning in matches.”

Tags: @tonuhye @vynn30 @bakugouswaif @silkgardenias @gielwinchester9 @coffeeluvr96 @applepi405 @victorianxox-blog @minasuniverse @r9muka @n4me @goonforgeto @allysainz @jcissors

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@reveriennn @sbicybb @torusbbg @mooskie @satotorulove @shoruio @muscovitechick @d34ly @arabellasolstice @forever-paramore28 @enouche

[diabolikwriter]

Sarang/Love

Part I - Meeting

Tags: Creeps being Creeps, protectiveness, mates, poly! Relationship, crying, first meeting,

This is a short first part, I’m still kinda rusty (It’s been a couple of years since the last time I wrote something non-academic). I hope you guys find this satisfying, I might do some changes here and there, but hope you enjoy!

Running through the streets, you were wondering how your day had ended up like this:

The day had started as it normally did, you awoke to the sound of your alarm going off at 7 AM. You got out of bed, brushed your teeth and got dressed before going out to the nearest cafe and getting your morning coffee and some breakfast.

After you had enjoyed your breakfast, you went to the library and studied for your university class for a couple of hours before you decided to get some fresh air and lunch.

Though that was when it had gone down hill. Upon leaving the library you had bumped into a normal looking business man, except there was something off about him.

“Oh sorry I didn’t see you” you apologised,

“It’s fine darling, but if you want you can apologise for it by coming home with me and entertaining me and my friends.”. Slowly a couple of other guys had started creeping up, their grins making chills runs down your spine, thoughts were racing in your head as they closed in on her, until instincts as old as time kicked in and you ran.

Now as you were running through the streets, you couldn’t help but feel thankful for the years you had spent playing handball. Your stamina was good enough that you could just about keep the men away, but if you didn’t find somewhere to hide and rest soon, then you didn’t dare to think about what those men would do to you.

Turning around the corner you ran into something warm and solid, and hands cradled you close. The scent surrounding you was warm and comforting, embracing you and making you feel safe. When you looked up at the source of the scent, you were met with a pair of brown eyes, which shockingly seemed to shine gold for a split second.

“Are you alright?”, the voice asking you made warmth coil in your stomach and making you clench your thighs together.

“Y-yeah, sorry I’m kinda in a hurry”, growls and groans broke out from both sides of you, which alerted you to the four other guys near you. Guys she had seen before… oh. The Saja Boys.

You looked back at the person you had bumped into, and yep it was Jinu, the two guys right next to him were Abby and Baby, and beside each of them stood Mystery and Romance.

“Hey! There she is!”, the voice of the man you had bumped into earlier, and desperately were trying to get away from, cut through your realisation.

“Oi! We found her first, go find another girl, this one is coming home with us.” The group of men which had chased you was closing in on you and the Saja Boys, all of which growled at the approaching men.

Abby and Baby stepped towards the men, while Mystery, Romance and Jinu prevented you from seeing them, and shielding you from their view at the same time. “We don’t care about some shitty idols, just give us the girl, man!” One of the men said, even though he could feel the charged energy from the Saja Boys. The very fragile calm was ruined the moment a sob forced itself out of your throat, the air became charged with something dangerous, and it felt as if time stood still and the arms around you tightened. You could see looks being passed between the members of the boy-band, and it seemed as if they came to an agreement because shortly after pained shrieks could be heard before it went silent.

“Shh, don’t cry sweet girl, everything is okay now.”, Abby gently said, which made you cry even harder from the realisation that if you hadn’t bumped into these guys, you would probably have been taken by the men chasing you and had to be put through unspeakable things. “It’s okay, you’re safe now”, assured Romance, but before more could be said, a whine came from your lips and your legs gave out from underneath her.

“It’s starting now, we need to get her somewhere safe.”, noted Baby.

“Yeah, you’re right, we need to get her to safety, keep her hidden, healthy, we must protect her, make her ours in all ways.” Growled Abby, his eyes glowing golden and his lilac marks became visible, the other guys weren’t faring any better, but then Jinu interrupted their various fantasies playing in their heads, “stop. Calm down, all of you. This isn’t just some random woman, she is OURS and we will treat her with the utmost respect and care.” His voice was stern and left no room for discussion, “we will take her with us, put her in my room and get her through the first wave, without anything untowards being done, before we ask for her consent.” With that final statement Abby gathered you in his arms and carried you back to their apartment.

Taglist: @gremlinartstudio @permanenceimp @faerie-soirxx @cottonheadedninnymugggins @amery-benson-cvii

[asiatic-apple]

Omg hii! Congrats on 200! I was wondering if the ask for the event is still open? I was hoping to ask for smut prompt 11 (quickie where you don’t take any clothes off, just tug and pull and expose the essentials) with zayne. Thank you! I hope you're having a wonderful day! Congrats on 200!

Thank youuu 💕 Tbh I’m not sure if I captured zayne properly here since this is my first time writing smut for him 🙈 so please feel free to leave any constructive criticism. I hope this is to your liking though!

Mid-shift fix

Zayne x female reader

Prompt: quickie where you don’t take any clothes off, just tug and pull and expose the essentials

Content: sex in a public place (no one sees it), slightly mean dom zayne, brat tamer zayne, “sweetheart” used as a pet name for reader, also he calls you a “brat” and a “naughty girl” (i’m sorry if this is an ick), creampie and pulling the panties over afterwards

Zayne should be diligently reviewing patient files. Instead, he’s got you pinned to the wall of his office, your panties hastily shoved to the side and your cunt squeezing around his cock with every ragged breath you take.

His crisp dress pants are barely pulled down. Your blouse is half unbuttoned from how frantically he’d fumbled to feel your skin. The only thing keeping you upright is his solid frame pressing you against the wall—and his harsh grip, fingers digging into one plush thigh as he keeps you wrapped tight around him. His other hand is braced against the wall beside your head, nearly clawing at it as he tries not to lose his mind completely.

“You have approximately five minutes,” he says sternly, even though his voice is rough with desire. “Make it count.”

You whimper, clinging to his shoulders and creasing his pristine white shirt. “You’re the one who interrupted our lunch together,” you tease breathlessly.

Zayne hums a low, humorless sound. “Because you were mouthing off all through lunch. Testing my patience.”

You try to retort, but the way he slams back inside you turns your words to a soft, garbled cry. The air is thick with the scent of antiseptic and sex, thanks to the sheen of sweat coating both of your bodies—and the coupling of your slick arousal that forms a creamy ring around his cock. He glides in and out of you too easily, the wet sound of it loud enough to make your skin prickle with the fear that someone passing by outside might hear the suspicious sounds.

“I can’t focus when there’s a brat in my office,” he says through gritted teeth, punctuating the statement with a sharp thrust that makes you moan. “But it seems you like to misbehave when you’re with me.”

His voice stays soft even in this moment, still measured and clinical as he reprimands you. It makes your spine go stiff and your cunt clench harder around him. He smirks when he feels it. “Such a naughty girl.”

Even though he teases you for being needy, you can feel him twitch inside you, getting closer with each delicious thrust. He groans against your neck, breath hot and uneven. When he’s this close to your skin, he can’t help but nip at it, leaving small love bites all over you.

“Your time is almost up, sweetheart,” he whispers near your ear, breath tickling your skin when he chuckles at your increasing whines.

Zayne slides a hand between your bodies to rub your clit in tight, punishing circles. It’s not slow or indulgent—just efficient, deliberate. It’s the way he does everything when he’s at work. Like he knows exactly how to get you to crumble in the least amount of time. And he’s succeeding.

“Be good for me now,” he mutters, pace increasing as your legs tremble around him. “Come on my cock so I can get back to work.”

You can’t help but listen when he gets like this—scarily authoritative in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. It’s clear he’s solely focused on punishing you with an orgasm that is too fast, too fleeting to fully satisfy you. And then he’ll send you home with a wet, sticky reminder of your misbehavior seeping through your panties and trailing down your thighs.

Still, you can’t stop the pleasure that rolls through you. Your body tenses, mouth open in a silent cry as your orgasm turns your body to jelly.

Zayne curses, biting his bottom lip to stay quiet, but his controlled thrusts falter with the way your walls flutter around him. He fucks you through it, chasing his own high now with quick, shallow thrusts. And then he buries himself deep and chants your name like a prayer as he pulses inside you.

For a long moment, he doesn’t move. He just leans into you, forehead resting against yours and breath fanning across your lips. His cum drips out of you in slow, warm rivulets the moment he pulls out with a soft groan. Then he carefully sets you down on shaky legs and pulls your panties back up over the mess to keep it all smeared against your puffy folds.

There’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he fixes your skirt and blouse with those precise fingers of his. No matter how much you try, everyone will see how thoroughly fucked you are when you walk out of the hospital. But no one will dare say a word to the girlfriend of the esteemed Doctor Li.

“You should go,” he says quietly, already adjusting his own clothes and reaching for the files on his desk.

At first, you think he’s back to his usual cold, strictly professional self. But before you can turn, he cups your jaw and kisses you slowly. His lips mold against yours with more reverence than the clash of teeth from a few minutes ago. He has to use all his willpower to eventually pull away and leave you panting softly.

“I’ll text you when I’m done with work,” he says, brushing his thumb under your lip in a poor attempt to quell the desire to kiss you again. “I’ll be more thorough with your punishment when I come home.”

Want to be added to my tag list?

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❄️ tag list: @sweatybonkhumanoidranch @honeybees1991 @cloudedangels

dividers by me (please do not repost)

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly | 21

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ G E N R E ✿ she fell first, he fell harder | slice of life | drama

✿ P A I R I N G ✿ s1!rafe cameron x overthinking!reader (f)

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive language & themes, mildly jealous!reader, possessive!rafe, silly!rafe, reader having a heart attack at the end (not literal, tho... maybe), cliffhanger bc i wanna keep things open for how i'm gonna handle the situation

✿ S U M M A R Y O F L A S T P A R T ✿ molly got added to the girls' group chat, and while you and rafe stayed curled up watching transformers, she kept the others updated about the two of you. the girls also ended up talking about rafe leaving earlier, and pretty quickly decided it probably had something to do with ruthie. you and rafe stayed cuddled the whole movie. you suggested filling topper and kelce in on everything but you weren’t gonna tell anyone anything he didn’t want shared. he also apologized for grabbing your wrist earlier, clearly feeling bad about how he handled it. you both added each other on TrackerBuddies, the little friendship tracker app. after the movie, you rejoined the others (minus the pogues). rafe openly admitted he regretted punching topper. when cara brought up ruthie, rafe shut her down fast. not long after, sarah called cara, asking to come join you guys. you asked rafe to dip with you. as you took an uber to your place, he grabbed your dad’s corvette, and the two of you headed out for another one of those sweet late-night drives. (18+ extra summarized) rafe missed you a lot back at home and tried feeling close to you by having a little solo session. afterward, he regretted it and also came to the realization this pull toward you was more than just a sexual need.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 10k+

✿ A / N ✿ probably one of my weakest chapters yet in comparison to the previous bangers. i also feel like it's 80% dialogue but i just have way too much fun w it and yeah. PLUS not sure if i’m jumping around too much but i really wanted to squeeze all the important scenes in. hope you guys enjoy anyway and pls lmk your thoughts <3 xx ᓚᘏᗢ

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for those who skipped the extra including the aftermath of the open-air event, please go back and read it as i've decided to promote it to a main chapter as it contains way too essential info and changes in dynamics. -> Chapter 20 (former extra)

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also just to be safe: avoid the comment section until you’re finished

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W E E K T W O // M O N D A Y 6 : 4 2 A M

One week ago, your whole life had been turned upside down.

Because exactly one week ago, on a seemingly uneventful Monday, your art teacher had decided to put you and Rafe Cameron together into a group for a two-week-long project.

And exactly one week ago, you'd thought this would be the end of you.

You remembered how he’d approached you after class, that unbothered expression on his face, not even properly looking at you, as he asked you to "just get this project over with" during lunch.

God, you remembered how you'd panicked afterward, how clammy your hands had gotten at the mere thought of working—no, TALKING—to Rafe. How Molly had found you pale as hell in the girls' restroom, how you'd freaked out while waiting for him in front of the gym.

You two had been classmates, project partners, no, actually, total strangers thrown together by some twisted coincidence named Arthur Smith, who wore washed-out art smocks and hair like a bomb had exploded in his face.

And now, exactly one week later, on yet another seemingly uneventful Monday, you could call yourself Rafe’s friend.

You couldn't even begin to describe how crazy, insane, downright batshit surreal that felt. Especially considering he’d been your crush for the past few years and now, within just one week, you’d gotten so close that you EVEN FUCKING CUDDLED LAST NIGHT LIKE WHAT.

HOW.

WHAT. HOW WAS THAT EVEN—like, you didn’t know what parallel universe you’d entered last Monday but LET’S FUCKING GOOOOO.

GOOOOSH, JUST THINKING ABOUT LAST NIGHT MADE YOUR HEART THUNDER LIKE CRAZY IN YOUR CHEST.

Starting from him being such a sweet gentleman, paying for your stuff, to you first sitting on the lounge bed and then scooting closer to warm each other up (after he’d had a boner but let’s never think about that again), and how sweet and relaxed he’d seemed, just for Ruthie to ruin your little cozy bonding moment with her fucked up bullshit game.

Oh, how badly you’d wanted to find that bitch after your argument with Rafe in the parking lot and slap that stupid grin right off her face. Sure, violence was never the answer, but this bitch? She could catch hands for playing him like that.

Really quite a weird coincidence though, that she’d been nowhere to be found at the event site after she’d talked to Rafe.

You’d found out through the girlies' group chat that she’d left in the middle of Barbie and had never come back. Gracie and Samantha had followed her shortly after.

As soon as Rafe had dropped you off at home, you’d gone straight to bed and scrolled through the dozens of messages in the girlies' group chat, aka them commenting on you and Rafe while trying to solve the mystery of why he’d left you behind.

And funny enough, they’d actually kinda solved it. But you hadn’t commented on anything because Rafe had made it very clear he didn’t want anyone getting involved.

Also, not them playing fucking Sherlock Holmes and talking about you and Rafe as if you weren’t in the group chat. Like, girls, come on, at least make a secret chat for that, geez.

You’d giggled nonetheless. Happy that Molly was now in the group too and also touched by how much they were cheering you and Rafe on.

Anyway, Ruthie being the reason two poor souls had to spend half the night alone? Fucking bitch.

And that just made you feel even worse about being annoyed with Topper last night. He’d probably felt just as awful as you had ughhhh.

Though, you had absolutely zero energy to spiral over how he might’ve felt because—BECAUSE—

Because Rafe.

YEAH RAFE.

Rafe who’d placed his fucking hand just inches away from your butt when he'd nudged you forward, both when leading you back inside the venue AND when you'd left. Like, okay, it was still just your lower back but from a different angle, that was just inches from your butt.

HAHAHAHAH the butterflies in your stomach had been already screaming like crazy and ripping each other’s wings off from panic and excitement, but no, this guy had taken it one step further.

Him. Always by your side. Like. The whole night.

Always close to you in some kind of way.

Not pushy, not clingy, or in any way uncomfortable. No, it felt more like he wanted to be near you, to feel the comfort of your presence, to reassure himself that you really weren’t leaving. Maybe grounding himself after being so shaken earlier.

So, when you two had settled back in on the lounge bed (ignoring Kelce’s and Molly’s surprised, smiley glances), he’d pulled you right back under the blanket. Held it open for you to scoot closer, and when you’d hesitated to cozy back up to him, he gave you this look with his big blue eyes—equal parts amusement and confusion—and said, “Don’t you dare be shy with me now.”

Yeah.

You kinda died in that moment. He'd looked genuinely afraid you might be scared of cuddling with him again, when in reality you just didn’t want to overstimulate him or crowd him after his crashout, especially considering he’d still been a bit jittery from the coke in his system.

Somehow, that restlessness faded fast once you cozied back up to him, his arm instantly wrapping around your waist as you settled back on his chest, your hand resting on his stomach. He even picked up where he’d left off, playing with the charms dangling from your bracelet—a gesture that somehow grounded both of you.

And in that very moment, you let yourself accept the fact that Rafe liked you.

He liked being around you, liked hanging out with you, and he also seemed to like the way you handled him and his little crashout moments. Because if he didn’t, he would’ve dipped after your argument. He wouldn’t have begged you to stay and apologized. And he definitely wouldn’t have spent the rest of the night by your side AND LEFT TOGETHER WITH YOU.

Of course, deep down, in some very dark and twisted corner of your brain, there was still that fear that he only liked the feeling you gave him. That he just liked that you stuck around. That he enjoyed the idea of having some girl around. Or worse—that he was doing all this for the project. That he was only keeping you around so you’d carry him through it, boost his GPA, and then drop you the second he got what he wanted.

But those thoughts felt so absurd, so ridiculous, you were ashamed to even think them, ashamed they even surfaced for a second. Especially after Rafe had opened up to you like that, gotten emotional and vulnerable, showing a side of himself you didn’t even think Topper or Kelce had ever seen.

Nah, fuck those thoughts.

Fuck that little asshole minion in your head that even dared to speak them out loud. Yeah, mentally, you kicked that little guy’s ass.

Better.

AHDHEKJEKW you couldn’t stop grinning to yourself as you packed your bag for school, thinking about how sweet he’d been after the movie.

Sliding right next to you on the bench at the bar, KNEES TOUCHING AND HIM FUCKING PLAYING WITH THE FABRIC OF YOUR DRESS AT YOUR SHOULDER LIKE JESUS YOU HAD LITERAL GOOSEBUMPS FROM THAT.

And oh my god—him helping you into your jacket in the parking lot after you'd left the venue, complimenting your dress again followed by a dumbass comment (“You sure you not into hookups? Shit, aight, sorry, don’t look at me like that”), which you THANKFULLY hadn’t spiraled over because somehow you’d accepted that flirty, suggestive comments were just part of the Rafe Cameron starter pack.

And also, YOU KINDA LIKED HEARING HIM SAY STUFF LIKE THAT HIHIHIHHI.

Because the fact that he found you attractive, even being down to sleep with you, and showered you with comments like that... yeah, that DID something to you. Huge ego and confidence boost and let’s just say it stirred another part of you as well.

While lying on Rafe, you felt that tingling sensation surging through your whole body, a buzzing warmth low in your stomach. That desire for his hand on your waist to slide a little further down to your butt, or maybe even higher… to rest on your boobs. Or how you wondered what his abs felt like under that stupidly well-fitting polo, or what his lips might feel like on yours. How those same lips would taste, how they’d feel on your neck, shoulders, stomach, thighs, and—

HE HAD!!! HE’D LET HIS HAND WANDER FOR JUST A TINY SECOND, JUST A TINY INCH TOWARD YOUR HIP AND… then he’d pulled back.

Had you been absolutely overwhelmed in that moment? Yes. Were you still disappointed he hadn’t leave his hand there? YES. But did the fact that he did pull back—because he cared about not making you uncomfortable—make you want him to touch you even more BECAUSE HIM CARING ABOUT YOUR COMFORT WAS SO FUCKING HOT?

ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY.

You’d always found Rafe attractive (I mean, duh, even fifth-grade you had good taste), but now? This didn’t feel like just a crush anymore, like some cute guy you liked looking at. No, this was… different. Like there was this magnetic pull toward him and— okay, let’s be real, it felt like you wanted him to rip your clothes off and rock your world.

And the wildest part? Rafe apparently wanted to do exactly that, as he’d stated two days ago, and WHAT'S STOPPING YOU THEN HHAHAHAHHAHAHA.

Oh right.

Probably the crippling fear of rejection, the fact that you're a virgin with zero real-life experience outside of chaotic fanfiction, and also the sheer vulnerability of baring your entire soul and body in front of a guy while handing him the key to the most fragile little drawer of your being.

Hah. Yeah. Nope. Sex definitely wasn’t happening anytime soon.

Besides… didn’t you technically just become friends two days ago? And that only because you basically forced him into it during that horrible spiral over his intentions. And if you suddenly told him (not that you even had the balls to do that) that you’d maybe potentially be down for… something, he’d probably smash your head against the wall for being so damn indecisive and for driving him to the brink of insanity during that conversation.

HAHAHAHAHA. Yeah not happening.

Anyway.

School.

You slung your bag over your shoulder and were just about to text Rafe when your phone buzzed at that exact moment, nearly giving you a heart attack.

Seriously, this freaking guy.

How was he one of the “cool” guys at school when he didn’t even know how to use the basic features on his phone? Like, excuse me? -100 aura.

Also, him saying he hated cats for being moody when HE acted like a moody stray cat himself? The irony was almost poetic.

AND NOT HIM CALLING YOU ‘BABY’. WHAT.

Okay, yeah, he very professionally crossed the word out, but like, he could have drawn over it completely.

But he hadn’t.

WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN OMFG.

Not a single day went by without him completely messing with your head with those weird, mixed (but also not mixed at all) signals. I meaaaan, he’d made it pretty clear that he wanted to bend you over, but was also totally fine being friends who flirted for fun???

Okay, the more you thought about that, the more ridiculous it sounded soooo, let’s push that thought away before you spiraled again and Rafe ended up actually smashing your head into a wall hahaha.

So you just—

Bzzrt.

You grabbed your phone again and chuckled.

You never would’ve guessed Rafe was such a drama queen and kind of needy. Not sexually (okay, maybe a little), but more like emotionally needy?

Like, the way he'd called you out for needing reassurance during your argument, and, look at him, the very same night clinging to you like a second shadow, blowing up your phone at every opportunity like you were the only friend he had.

And honestly? It kind of made you feel… wanted. Because he did it in this passive-aggressive, caring kind of way that made your chest warm up in all the right ways.

Shit, Rafe = Doberman confirmed (again).

Also, it was really sweet how comfortable he seemed with you. The way he let his guard down, showed vulnerability and affection, let himself be attached like that. He definitely didn’t act like that with Topper and Kelce.

Well, to be fair, they also hadn’t been cuddled up to him with their boobs pressed against his chest last night sooo… yeah.

Okay, you really needed to head downstairs now before Rafe showed up and gave you some kind of speech about making him wait 0.3 seconds.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

"Your mom loves me," he said as he pulled his Benz out of your driveway, grinning so wide he looked like the Cheshire Cat.

And, well, yeah, your mom had stood at the front door waving at him with a smile when she said goodbye. Actually, she was still standing there, her grin mirroring Rafe’s.

Ughhh, why was this so embarrassing.

"I think she’s just relieved I’m not taking her car again," you said with a small laugh. You’d kinda scratched the side mirror that one time trying to park in some hellishly narrow underground lot, oops.

Rafe shook his head, still grinning, and waved back to her before driving off. "Nah. Looks more like she just found the perfect son-in-law."

A baffled laugh escaped your lips at the absurdity. "Don’t know about that."

"Yeah? And why’s that?" He raised a brow, smirking at you as he glanced over. "Seemed like your mom and your dad pretty much threw themselves at me on Saturday."

You exhaled through your nose, amused. "Well, yeah. You looked wrecked with that bruise. Still do," you said, eyeing the purple blotch on his cheek. "Plus, my dad’s a doctor. It’s literally his job to care about people."

If only he knew how deeply your parents actually cared about him. How concerned they were after speaking to him once.

Rafe scoffed. "Yeah, sure. Next time I see them, they’ll probably start planning a wedding."

"And I’m pretty sure they’d ask for my consent first," you chuckled, though your heart did a little jump at him even mentioning marriage.

And your pulse spiked even more when Rafe gave you this weirdly serious look, almost more confused than amused. "What? Am I not living up to the princess’ standards?"

OH. WHAT.

Boy, if you only knew. You were the standard.

ALSO WHY WAS THIS THROWING YOU OFF SO BADLY, WHAT THE HELL.

Oh god, how were you supposed to respond without offending him but still giving an answer that satisfied him enough to let it go, without completely exposing your feelings but maybe still dropping some kind of hint AHHHHH???

Cheeks heating up, you let out an awkward laugh, fiddling with your bracelet. "Well, I mean… you don’t exactly strike me as the relationship type."

OH GIRL.

Rafe scoffed, amused. "Shit, what? So you’re saying I’m never settling down or what?"

UMMMMM.

Heart racing like crazy in your chest, you let out a strained chuckle, shaking your head. "No! No, of course not. I didn’t mean it like that, I just… I meant right now, you know?" You fidgeted with the little key charm on your bracelet. "I’m just not sure how to say it without you taking it the wrong way."

"It's that hookup topic again, huh?" Rafe asked, not entirely clear whether he was annoyed or entertained.

You shook your head. "Yes—I mean, no! Not that exactly. I just…" You sighed, feeling your neck heat up as well. "I only meant to say it doesn’t seem like you’re interested in anything serious right now. You brought up marriage and all, but that kinda needs a relationship as a foundation, right? Not that anyone our age is actually thinking about marriage." You grimaced, cringing at yourself. "Okay, please ignore everything I've said. I'm talking nonsense."

Rafe let out a chuckle and glanced sideways at you. "You know, I can have fun now and still settle down later."

UGHHHH PLEASE DROP IT.

"Yes, of course," you said, nodding like a lunatic. "I’m not judging. I was just objectively describing how you come across to me. That’s all."

He gave a tight-lipped smile, scratching his jaw, like he was letting your words settle. "I guess."

Oh no. Oh god. You’d offended him.

SHIT.

QUICK, FIX IT.

"I didn’t mean anything bad by it," you said quietly, watching his jaw clench.

The car stopped at a red light.

Rafe nodded, lips pressed together, and squinted out the windshield as he let out a strained laugh. "I dunno. You kinda made it sound like I’m incapable of committing."

WHY WAS HE TWISTING YOUR WORDS.

You shook your head, eyes wide. "Rafe, no, that’s absolutely not—"

"I mean, family’s important, right?" he cut in, his tone softer now, meeting your gaze for a split second. You nodded and opened your mouth but he kept going: "It’s about blood, loyalty, and all that shit. That’s what you build your life around." His brows twitched. "Just actually finding someone worth sharing this shit with, that’s the part that sucks."

He scoffed, raising his shoulders. "I mean, shit, there’s not a single girl at school I could tolerate for longer than a class period. Either they’re the most exhausting person alive or the most basic, boring chick ever."

Alriiiiiight.

Okay, first of all: him having this view on family and commitment? Wow. Unexpected. But then again, okay, not that surprising considering Ward Cameron was known to value family above everything else and Rafe practically worshipped his dad. So, okay, yeah, it made sense he shared that belief.

And second: wow… what were those last words supposed to mean? Did that mean he couldn’t actually tolerate you either? Which made no sense because he clearly—

“Don’t,” he scoffed, amused.

You blinked. “What?”

“Can hear your fuckass brain minion preaching some bullshit again.”

Uh…

“Obviously I wasn’t talking about you,” he said and pulled the car back into motion as the light turned green.

OH. WHAT.

WHAT WAS THAT SUPPOSED TO— WHAT. OKAY NO, THIS JUST SENT YOUR SPIRAL INTO OVERDRIVE BECAUSE WHAT DID HE MEAN BY THAT.

A baffled little laugh left your lips. “Not sure how I’m supposed to take that.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, brows furrowed as he stared straight ahead, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. Then he shrugged. “You’re fucking weird, so you’re not basic shit. And yeah, you are fucking exhausting, but not in a ‘buy me this, why didn’t you call me’ kinda way, blah blah,” a crooked smile tugged at his lips, “more like ‘I make easy things complicated’ exhausting.”

Uh-huh. Should’ve never asked.

You nodded slowly, raising your eyebrows. “Right.”

“Right,” Rafe mocked you with a scoff. “Just told you for like the hundredth time I fuck with you. Dunno what’s so hard to understand about that.”

Man, this guy and his attempts at expressing himself. You two really needed to work on that.

You raised a brow at him, lips tugging into a small grin. “Did you just mock me?”

“Did you just mock me,” he mimicked again, only to get smacked (more or less gently) on the arm for it.

A boyish laugh escaped him as he raised his brows at you. “Shit, nearly dislocated my shoulder.”

Idiot.

“Keep it up and Cacty’s gonna be raised by a single parent,” you said flatly, your expression amused.

Yes, during your Uber ride yesterday you’d both heavily debated what kind of plant to choose for your TrackerBuddies plant and, even more importantly, what to name it.

In the end, you’d compromised (okay, Rafe had given in because you threatened to kill the seed off). He got to pick the plant (“cactus are tough as fuck, aight”) and you picked the name (“fuckass name, plant’s gonna be a loser”).

Yeah, well, and now Cacty was already on level 3 because via notifications you’d seen how Rafe had been grinding that app since 5am this morning (not him paying for in-game coins and farming XP).

Rafe shot you the most dramatic scowl alive. “Shit, I already am a single parent. You only watered that fucker once since yesterday.”

“I didn’t have time this morning,” you replied with a chuckle.

“It’s literally one tap of a button.” Rafe raised a brow at you. “Fingers busy with something else or what?”

DUDE.

Immediate heat rushed to your face as you let out a very strained laugh. “You’re nasty.”

“Imma take that as a yes.”

HELP OH MY GOD. WHY WOULD HE SAY THAT.

Wait, no—fuck that. Last night you hadn’t been shy at all, why were you acting all flustered now? He’d literally had a boner lying next to you, like????? That hadn’t bothered you but this did?

Nah.

Time to throw that shit right back.

You gathered your courage and gave him a deadpan look. “Maybe you should use yours more often. Might help keep your libido in check.”

He only scoffed in amusement but ha! You caught that tiny furrow between his brows, the way his jaw tightened as he rubbed it.

Making Rafe uncomfortable? Shouldn’t feel as satisfying as it did.

He was just about to throw a smart-ass reply back when both your phones buzzed at the same time. His in the center console, yours in your bag.

Immediately your stomach tightened with unease. You couldn’t help but think of Ruthie. Was she trying to play real-life Gossip Girl now?

Before you could reach for your phone, Rafe grabbed his and tossed it into your lap. “0510. Who’s being annoying?”

ALRIGHT. TRUSTING YOU WITH HIS PHONE AGAIN AND EVEN GIVING YOU HIS PASSCODE. I MEAN. OKAY.

Heart beating a little faster, you unlocked it and tapped on the notification, leading you straight into his email app.

You blinked. “Mr. Smith.”

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

“I think we should use the free period to work on the project,” Rafe said as he crossed his arms on the stone table, biceps flexing while he did.

Mr. Smith had very kindly announced ahead of time (10 min prior the lesson) that he wouldn’t be in today because he was going to an art exhibition out of town. But he’d left the art room unlocked for anyone who wanted to continue working on their project.

You pulled your iPad from your bag, eyes scanning the display as you skimmed through your school notes. Shit, maybe sitting in the courtyard hadn’t been the best idea. The screen was reflecting.

Ugh, whatever.

“Again, I’ve got a math test afterward and I really don’t wanna fail,” you said, glancing up for a second. “I mean, you could already head to the copy shop and we can do the rest after school.”

PROPS TO YOU FOR INDIRECTLY ASKING TO HANG OUT LATER HIHIHI.

Rafe grimaced and leaned back, scratching his jaw. “Nah, I’ve got no clue about that crap. Besides, I’ve got no time this afternoon. Need to talk to my dad.”

Your heart sank. You’d really hoped to see him again later and spend more time together, but he was right. The Ruthie situation took priority. He only had six more days till the Gloaming to convince his dad to accept the deal and get the video deleted from Ruthie’s stash.

So you just nodded, opening your math folder. “Do you already know what you wanna say to him?”

You’d offered to talk about it last night during your late-night drive around, but Rafe insisted on saving that for today.

Rafe furrowed his brows, rubbing at one. “Shit, I don’t know. I mean, I gotta make him reconsider the deal.” He exhaled and shrugged. “But it’s fucked. The terms are shit, and agreeing to it would be like submitting to a guy way below him. No way he’ll even listen to me.”

Yeah, the whole thing would’ve been way easier if Rafe had to propose a new deal. But trying to make his dad rethink one he’d already dismissed? Practically impossible.

You nodded. And good thing you’d given this some thought before falling asleep. “Okay, three options,” you said. “First, you present the deal in such a way that he has to reconsider and say yes but even I think that’s the hardest route.” You pointed your Apple Pencil at him. “Second, we get Ruthie’s dad to rethink his terms. Maybe he’s open to talk. Or, I dunno, if we’re lucky maybe Ruthie is.”

Even as the words left your mouth you knew it was stupid. Ruthie never gave in. That’d just drag Rafe deeper into the shit.

“Fuck that,” Rafe said, crossing his arms on the table again AND GOD THEY LOOKED DELICIOUS DMKNCJKNCJKDS. “This bitch can’t be trusted and I sure as hell won't give her the satisfaction of handing her even more control over the situation.”

You chuckled. “I’m just laying out all the options, okay.”

Rafe exhaled and nodded, flicking his hand. “Aight. Option three?”

The juicy one.

“We play Ruthie’s own game,” you said, snapping your Apple Pencil back into its case with a soft click. “Either we hit her with an uno reverse and blackmail her so she has to delete the video.” You tilted your head. “Or we take care of it ourselves.”

An amused scoff escaped Rafe. “Yeah sure, let’s just ask her for her phone. I’m sure she’ll gladly hand it over.”

You frowned. “Rafe, I’m just trying to help you.”

He nodded, brows furrowed, running a hand through his hair. “I know, I know, I just…” He exhaled hard and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. “Shit’s pissing me off so bad, I can’t even put it into words.”

It's not like you’re capable of putting anything into words but yeah.

Still, how badly you wanted to see Ruthie burn for distressing this already distressed boy so badly. At least—and that was the only comforting thought at the moment—he didn’t seem to be falling deeper into his addiction (at least for now). His pupils looked normal, and by Rafe’s standards, he was acting pretty normal too.

“I know,” you said softly, giving him a small smile. “But again, you’re not alone in this shit, okay? And I still think it’s a good idea to let Topper and Kelce in on it. I mean, they’ve pieced most of it together by now anyway, might as well tell them the whole truth.”

Rafe grimaced, eyes fixed on the golden ring he kept fidgeting with.

“I know you’re kinda suspicious of Topper,” you went on, “but maybe we could use his closeness to Ruthie to our advantage. You know, get him to somehow delete the video or something, I don’t know.”

Then he looked up at you, eyes holding a weird glimmer, and said the last thing you expected to hear: “Or Gracie could.”

Your smile faded instantly.

Somehow that made your heart sink right away, a sick and ugly feeling twisting in your gut, and you could physically feel some butterflies die in your stomach.

“I mean that bitch follows her around everywhere,” Rafe continued, brows furrowed. “She’s basically glued to Ruthie. If anyone could actually get to her phone, it’s her.”

Sure, he always talked shit about Gracie whenever she was brought up, and yet… she was still some kind of ex-girlie of his and—UGH GIRL PLEASE.

"Yeah," you said, your voice a little too detached. "You said it yourself: she’s glued to Ruthie. And even if you somehow convinced her to betray her best friend, how are you even planning to talk to her without Ruthie getting suspicious?"

Rafe shrugged, leaning back again. “Getting her to talk isn’t the problem. I could just hit her up, say I wanna hook up again. Should be easy enough.”

...

A few more butterflies lost their wings in that moment and your stomach practically turned inside out.

You just stared at him, genuinely overwhelmed and not knowing what to even say to that.

Shit, on one hand, that wasn’t even a bad idea. Out of everyone, Gracie did have the best shot at getting Ruthie’s phone. And Ruthie being betrayed by her own best friend? That was poetic justice.

But on the other hand...

The idea of Rafe and Gracie working together when this was supposed to be you and him, and worse—what if they rediscovered their thing again and actually went through with it?! AHHHHHHH.

No. Just no. Please don’t.

“What?” Rafe asked, clearly confused, pulling you out of your downward spiral.

You shook your head, brows furrowed. “Nothing, I… I just don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Rafe raised his brows, waiting for more.

“Well, like I said, I don’t think Gracie is that easily convinced to betray her best friend,” you said, the distant edge creeping back into your voice. “And let’s say she does agree to... talk. There's a high chance she runs straight to Ruthie the moment you even bring it up. You’d just be shooting yourself in the foot.”

That THANKFULLY made him pause.

Please say I'm right. PLEASE SAY I'M FUCKING RIGHT.

“Shit, what else am I supposed to do?” Rafe said, clearly frustrated. “It’s my only chance at getting rid of that fuckass video. Like, how the fuck am I supposed to blackmail Ruthie, huh?” He gestured to himself, shoulders raised. “Her nudes already leaked and no one cared, her dad fucking their housekeeper—no one gave a shit for whatever reason, and I bet anything else we could dig up on her, she’d just talk her way out of. This is fucked.”

He rubbed his eye and motioned with his other hand. “Might as well just go ahead and show my dad the fucking video myself.”

NO!

Your expression softened. “There’s gotta be another option. But I really feel like using sex as a last-ditch effort to get what you want is—”

“Shit, no,” Rafe cut you off quickly, shaking his head, face twisted in disgust. “I wouldn’t actually hook up with her.” He tapped both sides of his temple, eyes intense. “Bitch is fucking crazy. And I’m not talking ‘got some dumbass minions in her head’ crazy, I mean like, ‘asks to roleplay as Ruthie during sex’ crazy.”

ALRIIIIGHT WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

As much as this was the biggest relief ever, more than anything it absolutely horrified you. Then again… Gracie did seem to worship Ruthie a little too much, so this actually sounded kinda legit.

UGHHH. EW.

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “I really could’ve gone my whole life without knowing that.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Rafe scoffed. “What do you think it felt like for me? Right in the middle of bending her over, she turns around and—”

“OKAY! I believe you! No need for details,” you cut him off with a strained chuckle and—SHIT! Only twenty minutes left until math class. “So, how about we continue this after school? Or uh, after your convo with your dad?” You smiled sheepishly. “I really gotta study now.”

Rafe’s brows twitched, but he nodded. “4pm? I don’t think that talk’s gonna take long. If my dad’s even open to listening.”

Slowly, the butterflies in your stomach began to piece themselves back together. A warm smile tugged at your lips at the thought of hanging out with him again later. “Sounds good. Hoping things go well.”

And just like that, a smile appeared on Rafe’s face too.

“Aight,” he said, getting up and walking around the table to your side, practically bumping into your hip as he sat down next to you. “Now lemme see how we can save your math grade from sucking ass.”

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

"There you two cuties are," Cara said as you and Rafe arrived at the table, holding your lunch trays in hand.

Funny, haha. You both just happened to arrive at the dining hall at the same time and just happened to get your food together hihihi (they were serving wraps and you could choose your own fillings).

The other three (+ Cara, obviously) eyed you with the biggest grins ever. Molly was seated between Kelce (obviously again) and Topper, and Cara sat across from them (which, kind of weird they were seated 3 + 1 instead of 2 + 2 but um… yeahhh).

You slipped in next to Cara and Rafe moved in beside you, immediately manspreading so his knee touched yours again.

THIS JUST MADE YOUR NERVES BUZZ A TINY LITTLE BIT BUT YOU LEFT IT THERE (ANOTHER OBVIOUSLY HIHIHI).

"How was last night?" Molly was the second to speak, and you could feel how badly Rafe wanted to throw a scowl her way.

So you beat him to it with a sheepish smile: "It was nice."

"Yo, we want details," Kelce said, grinning like an idiot.

UGHHHHH THIS SOUNDED WAY TOO MUCH LIKE “DID YOU GUYS DO IT?”

"Took her dad’s Corvette and we drove around," Rafe answered, a cocky smile tugging at his lips (him not crashing out? a first).

Kelce’s eyes widened. "Shiiiii, for real? Bet it felt like sliding down clouds."

"Better," Rafe answered, still grinning, and Kelce squinted like he’d just tasted something absolutely delicious.

"Your dad allowed that?" Topper asked, directing the question to you, swallowing a bite of his wrap. His bruise somehow looked worse than Rafe’s after one day.

Cara rolled her eyes. "Duh. He’s not your mom."

The table chuckled. Only Topper frowned, but you quickly said, "Well, I figured he’d allow it if someone capable was driving."

And that actually drew a genuine smile from Rafe as he looked down at his wrap, kinda struggling to hold it together (good thing you hadn’t told him to ask for it wrapped in a paper bag, but sure, what did you know).

"So, what happened after?" Cara asked, her face way too smug.

GIRL PLEASE.

"You always this fucking nosy?" Rafe lifted his gaze from his tragic wrap to meet Cara’s eyes with an irritated smile.

EXCUSE ME SIR, that’s my bestie!

You kicked him under the table but that idiot kept holding Cara’s gaze with a straight-up challenge in his eyes.

Help. They were both stubborn as hell. This could go downhill fast.

"We got some food and that’s basically it," you said with a tense smile, hoping those idiots would get the cue. And to quickly change the topic you asked, "And what about you guys?"

WAIT NO. SARAH AND THE POGUES HAD COME OVER AFTER YOU AND RAFE HAD LEFT.

OH MY GOD. SOMEONE SHOOT ME.

"I asked out Molly for the Gloaming," Kelce said (OMG MASTER OF READING SOCIAL CUES, THANK YOU).

You smiled genuinely and turned to Molly. "I assume you said yes."

"He dragged me to the beach and gifted me a necklace," she said, giggling, cheeks pink. "So yes."

OMDNJKSCHNSDKHNCKVDSHCNKVSHVSDK.

CUTEST COUPLE IN THE UNIVERSE FR OMG (let’s ignore Rafe brooding next to you).

And now you spotted it. A silver sun-shaped necklace resting against her freckled collarbone.

I LITERALLY CANNOT.

Cara nodded. "I want at least that and a fancy dinner and the biggest bouquet of roses possible."

Lmfao, the way Topper immediately looked up from his food, probably taking mental notes. Also not Cara very obviously saying that out loud.

So she was done with JJ. After one day.

Wow. Got her cheeks clapped and dipped. Queen.

"And you?" Kelce asked, turning to you with that gleaming white grin.

You smiled sheepishly, feeling your cheeks flush. "What?"

"Well, what’s your dream ‘getting asked out’ scenario?"

OH HELL NO. YOU KNEW EXACTLY WHAT HE WAS DOING, SAYING THAT IN FRONT OF RAFE, AND THAT JUST MADE EVERYTHING. SO. FREAKING. AWKWARD. BYEEEEEE.

"Or someone already done that?" he added, eyes flicking over to Rafe for a second who was very focused on not letting his wrap fall apart (you were this close to snatching it and wrapping it properly for him).

Ummmmmmm. Literally though, if Rafe asked you out?

Dead. Instantly. Because holy shit, that? That’s what little you had always dreamed of, always hoping that the impossible would happen and Rafe freaking Cameron asking you out to Midsummers or the Gloaming.

You just let out a nervous chuckle and shrugged. "Um… no."

AND THEN THE WORST THING HAPPENED.

Kelce’s gaze shifted to Rafe again. AND YOU COULD ALREADY HEAR HIM GEARING UP TO ASK RAFE IF HE’D BE THE ONE TO ASK YOU OUT OR SOME SHIT BUT—

"Rob’s still in town until Sunday," Topper stated, and you could feel the gust of wind from how fast Rafe’s head snapped up beside you. "He’s been asking about you."

Oh… um.

A baffled smile tugged at your lips because you honestly didn’t know how to feel about this fact.

Flattered? Uncomfortable? Annoyed that Rafe hadn't asked you out for the Gloaming just after two days of befriending each other hahahahha ???

"Why the fuck is that fucker still hanging around?" Rafe asked, scowling so deep you could see the minus friends symbol appear above his head like he was a Sim.

Topper eyed him for a second, clearly still bitter about the punch, and shrugged. "High school doesn’t start for him until next week, so he’s sticking around at his aunt’s place a little longer."

Um, the tension at this table was basically tangible now. Rafe was glaring at Topper like he was more pissed at him than Rob being in town.

"And I thought if Y/n wanted a date to the Gloaming," Topper continued, "they could go together."

Cara nodded in agreement (HUH?) and turned to you. "Yeah, oh my god, you vibed so well and you’d look so cute together."

Oh, you knew what she was doing. What all of them were trying to accomplish here. And it just made you want to crawl under the table and disappear.

You knew they meant well, but trying to get Rafe to ask you out by making him jealous or competitive or whatever? Absolutely and definitely the wrong move.

And Rafe thought so too. His smile twisted with irritation, and--

OKAY GIRL LET’S DE-ESCALATE THIS.

You very politely shook your head with a smile, trying to ignore the way your palms got clammy. "That’s a nice thought, Topper, thanks, but I feel like that would just give him the wrong idea."

Topper’s brows twitched but he nodded. "Still, you could keep it in mind."

MY MIND IS FULL ALREADY, THANKS.

"Yes, thanks," you replied anyway, relaxing a little when Rafe seemed to shift his attention back to his food, finally grabbing a fork and eating his disaster of a wrap like that.

Wait.

Oh no.

You saw it. Everyone (except Rafe, who was fully focused on stabbing his wrap) looked at Molly with this quiet, knowing anticipation.

COULD THEY PLEASE DROP IT. THIS WAS GETTING OUT OF HAND.

Molly let out a small breath and gave Rafe one of her signature sweet smiles. "What about you, Rafe?"

"Huh?" He looked up, mouth full of wrap.

"You planning to ask someone out, or are you going solo?" Molly asked, and wow, instead of snapping at her, Rafe just furrowed his brows.

Molly really was an angel.

And holy shit, everyone at the table seemed to hold their breath. YOU INCLUDED BECAUSE JCDKWLSJSDHJFUJDFLS.

Rafe swallowed his bite, a deep crease between his brows, and said: "If every girl keeps being this fucking annoying—"

“Yo, dude,” Kelce cut him off firmly, and oh. My. God. The way he actually looked intimidating when he wanted to, voice soft but with just the right amount of warning. Um… kinda hot, BYE.

Molly just chuckled softly, AND THANK YOU QUEEN for not taking Rafe’s moody ass to heart.

“What?” Rafe said, gesturing to his food. “Just trying to fucking eat here and y’all keep pissing me off with annoying-ass questions. If I wanted to giggle about the fucking Gloaming, I’d have sat with a bunch of 6th graders.”

Cara snorted. “Then maybe let them show you how to eat properly too.”

All of you chuckled. Except Rafe, whose face turned into a full-on scowl (keep it up and it’ll stick like that forever). He aggressively stabbed his fork into a slice of avocado (and when it slipped off, you nearly lost it).

Then he raised the now-empty fork and pointed it at everyone, a crooked smile on his face. “You know what. You’re all fucking lucky I let yesterday’s bullshit slide.”

Duuude.

Was he seriously still salty about everyone spending a few hours with Sarah and the Pogues? Pleaseee, this weird class war in his head needed to be eradicated immediately.

The funniest part was how everyone just stared at him with the most deadpan looks ever (even Kelce and Molly BAHAHAHA) over the way this boy was acting up, and how he'd behaved yesterday.

Like, stupid idiot not realizing he was lucky they let his bullshit slide, But alright, go off, king of dramatic tantrums.

For a good ten seconds, the table was dead silent—just muffled voices from the other tables and the faint sound of the dining hall’s radio—until Molly finally spoke, her kind eyes and soft smile doing the absolute most.

“Did you guys know there’s a new museum opening in town?”

And just like that, the others jumped straight back into the convo like Rafe hadn’t said a damn thing.

You barely managed to stifle your laugh as he turned his head to meet your eyes, giving you such a fucking deadpan look like he was in The Office. “Next time we’ll fucking eat alone.”

AJSDFJKDFJKS OKAY.

The fact he kept including you in everything like it was the most natural thing in the world since Saturday? MADE YOU FEEL ALL KINDS OF SPECIAL.

Cheeks on fire, you chuckled and nodded toward his plate (which honestly looked like a bomb had gone off on it). “First, you gotta learn how to eat alone.”

Instead of snapping back, he just snorted, lips twisting into the cutest smile ever.

The rest of the lunch break actually went pretty smoothly. Luckily, the others mostly avoided any topic that might trigger Rafe (which was like, a solid two in total), and they even stayed away from talking about their night with Sarah and the Pogues.

Topper brought up the upcoming surf tournament again—the one he’d already mentioned last week at Kelce’s—and got kinda grumpy about the fact that the bruise on his face might still show up in the photos if it didn’t disappear by next week.

To which Cara simply said: “Don’t be such a baby. Just make sure they only shoot your other side. That one’s better anyway.”

“See,” Rafe added, looking at Topper. “Did you a favor.”

As soon as the bell rang, everyone got up to head to class.

Molly gave Kelce a kiss (they claimed they were only dating but yeah, wedding bells were ringing loud and clear), and headed off with Cara. You didn’t even get a real chance to say goodbye to Rafe and Topper because Kelce already started dragging you away, way too excited about the fact that Rafe was using TrackerBuddies again.

“He still hasn’t added me back, though,” he said with a slight frown as you walked down the hallway.

You chuckled, remembering they’d already had a plant together before but Rafe hadn’t watered it. “I’m sure he will. He’s probably still mourning the loss of your first plant.”

“Nah,” Kelce said, waving a hand with a grin. “He’s too busy with yours.” He nodded, impressed. “Level three already after just one day.”

Um, if he only knew Rafe kinda farmed the XP using real money. You definitely needed to tell him to stop doing that.

“Yeah, I think the only reason he re-joined that app was to beat your level with me,” you said, amused.

Kelce snorted. “Not surprised. If ‘competitive’ was a person, it’d be him.” He let out a laugh as you rounded the corner. “Back in 6th grade, he started surfing just to beat Topper.”

WAIT. RAFE COULD SURF??? OMFG.

The mental image of a wet, sunburnt Rafe in perfectly fitting shorts, riding waves and jogging back to shore with a surfboard under his arm, breathing heavy and—GIRL.

“And did he?” you asked, trying to chase away those unholy thoughts.

Kelce nodded, eyes wide. “Totally did. Dude devoured Topper with every wave. If he hadn’t quit after a month because he got bored of the sport, he probably could’ve gone pro.” His voice turned a bit more serious. “That’s the thing about him. He’s got so much potential, picks up on stuff so damn fast if he actually wants to. He could do so much more with himself but he just… doesn’t.”

Yeah, you’d noticed that too.

He crushed science and economics classes and even adapted quickly in art. Like when you were working on your collage? You only had to show him a few examples and he picked exactly the snippets you would’ve chosen. Not to mention his driving skills.

He already handled his Benz like he’d been born behind the wheel, but your dad’s Corvette? He adapted to that thing like it was second nature. Which, hot as hell.

Watching him drive in general? HOLY SHIT. That was one of the few times he got that concentrated, that focused and… ughhh you needed to chill.

“You and him are closer than he makes it seem, right?” you dared to ask, voice and expression full of genuine curiosity.

Kelce laughed. “I was his first friend in elementary school. He almost beat me up after I accidentally bumped into him.” A big grin spread across his face. “But I beat him up first and I guess that tamed him. He's still salty about it to this day.”

That made you laugh too, just as you came to a stop in front of your classroom. “I’m guessing that’s where the love-hate relationship between you two comes from.”

“Nah, that's his perspective,” Kelce replied with a soft smile, tapping his chest. “I love that guy, even if he acts like a rabid dog sometimes.”

You didn’t even get the chance to respond because Mrs. Richman was already calling the two of you into class.

Yay. Two hours of English with the way-too-enthusiastic teacher in her twenties who was already married and had two kids like OKAY.

And not even ten minutes into the lesson, your phone buzzed in your bag. Richman usually didn’t care, as long as you delivered during class.

So you fished your phone out of your bag and were immediately greeted by this absolute bomb:

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.

What a fucking rollercoaster of emotions that conversation had been. Like, the literal heart spike that first picture alone had given you should’ve been enough to get you rushed to the ER.

AND THEN HE HAD THE AUDACITY NOT TO STRAIGHT-UP SAY HE WAS ASKING YOU OUT AS A DATE FOR THE GLOAMING, HELP OMG. 

For one tiny fucking second, you’d actually thought he was asking you out to be his girlfriend (the delusions were truly getting out of hand). OH MY GOD, YOU COULD STILL FEEL YOUR CHEEKS BURNING AND THAT TINGLY FEELING UNDER YOUR SKIN JUST THINKING ABOUT IT.

Okay no. This was too much.

And here you thought you’d mastered the art of being chill around Rafe and just being yourself, which—this nonchalant persona you’d projected during the chat? Yeah, that was just you gaslighting yourself into staying calm BUT OH. MY. GOD.

Rafe Cameron. Wanted. You. To. Be. His. Date. To. The. Gloaming.

That was.

Crazy.

Insane.

Absolutely batshit impossible.

LIKE HAD THE OTHERS MANIFESTED THIS JUST EARLIER??? OR HAD RAFE ACTUALLY FALLEN FOR THEIR 'LET'S MAKE HIM JEALOUS' TACTIC????

I’m fine :) Totally fine :)

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP PASSING OUT AHHHHH.

And god, AGAIN, how freaking clingy that guy was. It was kinda sweet and sad at the same time. He seemed genuinely excited about you, but also? The way he clung to you so tightly probably meant he was scared you’d slip through his fingers or whatever angsty stuff was going on in that boy’s brain.

The broken sound of his voice as he called after you last night, begging you to stay, still echoed in your head, making your chest clench whenever you thought about it.

However, you needed to set some boundaries. As much as you loved his attention, this couldn’t spiral out of control. Clingy was just a short step away from possessive and controlling. And since Rafe only did extremes and already had a tendency to slip into that kind of stuff real quick, you needed to be careful.

Not cold or distant, just a little more mindful.

Like when he mentioned having a claim on you for the Gloaming... Sure, yeah, he was the first to ask you out, and yeah, he technically had dibs since he wanted to give it another shot (and also he was your crush...so) but calling it a claim?

Hmm. Definitely a grey area.

HAHAHAHA. FUNNY.

From not even speaking to Rafe for literal years to friendship, cuddling, and (almost) being each other's dates for the Gloaming in just one week? Yeah.

The fact that your brain had kept up with all of that without combusting or exploding? Impressive.

“Miss Y/l/n?”

Startled, you looked up from whatever void you’d been staring into.

Shit.

Mrs. Richman was eyeing you with one brow raised and that well-known face that screamed I knew you weren’t listening.

Ughhhh.

Your face immediately flushed as the whole class turned to look at you, Kelce included, who gave you a huge shit-eating grin from the side.

Okay. No other choice.

You plastered on your friendliest teacher-face, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips as you said: “Sorry, could you repeat the question please?”

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“Why don’t you two just get it over with already and fuck?”

You let out a baffled laugh at Cara’s deadpan expression.

After school, you’d met up and decided to grab some smoothies at the beach. And well, obviously you’d filled her in on everything since last night after you and Rafe dipped.

Oh, and kinda everything before that too. Your little heated conversation, how you ended up cuddling again etc. etc. (you did skip the boner incident because... yeah).

AND. You respected Rafe’s wish not to tell anyone about Ruthie’s blackmailing. As much as your whole body was itching to tell Cara—because SHE would definitely know how to beat that bitch at her own game, and also she was your bestie, you usually told her everything—you kept quiet.

Luckily, she was solely focused on the fact that Rafe had asked you out for the Gloaming anyway.

“I’m serious, Y/n,” she said, blinking dramatically at you. “Like...” she gestured randomly through the air, “you like him, he likes you. You’re obviously into him, and he’s so down bad for you, too. And god, don’t even get me started on that tension between you two.” She shook her head, pointing both hands at you. “I don’t even get why you two agreed on this whole friendship thing when you could’ve just started dating.”

UM.

Another surprised laugh escaped your lips, and Cara frowned. “I mean, you basically went on three dates already, sooo.”

“C, what are you even talking about?” you asked with a chuckle, sipping your iced smoothie.

“He took you out on Saturday,” she replied, raising her brows. “Twice, actually. And last night? That was pretty much a date.” She started counting on her fingers. “Paid for your ticket and snacks, sat down with you on one of those couple lounge beds—”

“That was just a regular lounge bed.”

“For couples, yes. Anyway,” she went on, “you fucking cuddled! I’m genuinely shocked you two haven’t kissed yet. But whatever.” She held up four fingers. “And then you dipped together afterward. Tell me that wasn’t a date.”

Okay. She had a point. But.

“Rafe’s straightforward,” you said, playing with your straw. “If he wanted it to be a date, he would’ve said so.”

Cara shook her head with a smug uh-uh expression.

“What?” you asked, raising your brows.

“He’s nervous,” she said, and you almost laughed out loud. “He’s only ever had short little things with girls. But with you? You’re not into hookups or meaningless stuff, so he knows it’s either all or nothing.” She tilted her head, smiling crookedly. “Plus, it’d be his first real relationship as well, and he’s never actually dated anyone before.”

“C, please.”

Cara blinked. “What?”

“I get what you’re saying,” you said with a small smile, “but like I already said yesterday, I don’t wanna ruin this thing with him by jumping ten steps ahead.” You let out a slightly overwhelmed laugh. “I mean, I gotta adjust to this situation at first. And I wanna get to know him properly before I even start thinking about that kind of stuff.”

Cara nodded like a maniac, motioning at you. “Exactly. That’s what dating is for. Getting to know each other, spending time together, seeing who the other person really is.”

“So basically what we’re already doing,” you said, amused.

She slapped her hand on the table. “Girl, that’s exactly what I’m telling you. Just make it official already. Talk to him, say the obvious out loud, and tell him nothing needs to change but instead of calling it your little meetings hangouts, you’d like to call them dates.”

Why was she so good at being convincing? Oh right, there was a reason she was in the debate club.

And honestly? If you brought that up at the right moment and made it sound like a little joke, you could test the waters and see how he reacted and then actually talk about it.

AGAIN: With Rafe, you never had to be afraid of doing dumb shit or embarrassing yourself.

He literally didn’t care. He might joke about it for like a second, and then drop it.

And didn’t he just say earlier during the ride to school that he’d be open to something serious with the right person? And didn’t Kie say just yesterday that you could be that person? And didn’t she also say he was probably into you (which, hello, you still hadn’t fully spiraled over)? 

AND APPARENTLY EVERYONE ELSE THOUGHT YOU TWO WOULD BE PERFECT TOGETHER TOO??????

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH. THIS WAS TOO MUCH FOR YOUR BRAIN TO PROCESS AND DIGEST.

“Just think about it,” Cara said, her tone soft this time. “I honestly think just the fact you’d have the guts to bring it up would make him submit instantly.”

You laughed. “I don’t want him to submit. Both sides should want it."

Cara shrugged, lips tugging down. “Couldn’t be me.”

“Yeah, speaking of,” you said, a huge grin spreading across your face. “How’s it going with Topper?”

And that’s how you spent the rest of the afternoon—chatting, giggling, and sipping on delicious smoothies on the wooden deck of Harry’s Smoothie Bar, overlooking the sea.

Cara told you all about how last night had gone for her. 

AKA how she cuddled with JJ during Barbie, how she later found out he shared a blanket with Pope during Transformers (jjpope confirmed?), how extremely whiny Topper had been in the first aid tent and how much he’d complained and sulked, ranting about Rafe the whole time.

How Cara had told him to shut the fuck up if he didn’t want her to leave, and how they were the only ones left after Kelce and Molly had dipped too, along with Sarah and the Pogues right after, because they wanted to go skinny dipping or something.

“God, I would've loved to join, but drama queen Topper obviously didn’t wanna come along,” she said, rolling her eyes. “So I stayed with his pitiful ass.”

Then she told you how impressed she was with Topper’s knowledge of politics and his take on the whole system, and how she’d almost considered blowing him in the toilet stalls for that but held herself back because she wanted to keep him on edge a little longer.

“He’s gotta work a little harder than just pulling this pathetic act,” she said.

You chuckled. “Don’t think it’s an act.”

“Yeah, no, me neither. Anyway…”

Eventually, you decided to head out—Cara had a hangout planned with Topper later (why was she allowed to call it a hangout??? whatever), and obviously, you were meeting up with Rafe.

Right on time, at 4 PM, you got home, said hi to your parents, and went straight to your room. HEART ALREADY RACING WITH EXCITEMENT AT SEEING HIM AGAIN (help I'm falling way too deep).

But when you pulled out your phone and sat down in your desk chair, a weird feeling started creeping into your chest.

Zero messages from Rafe.

You’d expected more weird or suggestive reaction pics he found on Pinterest, or maybe an update about how the conversation with his dad had gone but nothing?

Weird.

And you couldn’t help but wonder if it had gone that bad. Like bad enough for him to fall back into a coke-fueled high to drown his emotions like yesterday.

You'd kinda been ignoring his addiction and little criminal side hustle because just a boy doing dumb shit HAHAHAHA RIGHT, but if he was already—

The buzzing of your phone in your hand snapped you out of your near-spiral.

RAFE!

But he wasn’t texting you. NO THIS GUY WAS CALLING YOU.

HELP.

Okay okay everything’s chill, it’s not like this is the first time he’s calling me. GIRL YOU CUDDLED LAST NIGHT WITH HIM BFFR OMFG.

“Hey,” you answered, your voice pitched higher than it should be.

“Hey,” he said, chuckling. “You good?”

You nodded—AND THEN REALIZED HE COULDN’T SEE YOU—so you quickly said, “Yeah, Cara just dropped me off and I was getting ready.”

Another chuckle, though this one sounded… slightly off? “Aight. Just wanted to check if you're already home and let you know I'm gonna hop in the shower real quick, then I’ll head over. So I’ll be there in like 20.”

You very quickly pushed away the rush of images of RAFE IN THE FREAKING SHOWER and asked, totally normally: “Perfect. How’d things go with your dad?”

Oh no.

That pause said everything.

“Uh, yeah… maybe better if I tell you in person,” he replied awkwardly (?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!!?!).

Um, no. He couldn't give you a teaser like that and just leave you hanging… for like a few minutes BUT STILL.

You let out a strained chuckle. “Short version?”

“Trust me, it’s better if I tell you—”

“Just tell me if it went well or not.”

Another pause. Then: “For you or me?”

UM WHAT.

Heart rate skyrocketed. Immediate panic rushed through your nerves. And you couldn’t help but wonder if this had something to do with Gracie.

“Uh, what?” you asked, forcing a smile into your voice.

ANOTHER FREAKING PAUSE.

“I mean… for me, it could be real good,” he said, sounding way too excited for some reason. “But that depends on you.”

THIS WAS GETTING WORSE BY THE SECOND.

You frowned. “Am I supposed to convince my dad to take the deal or what?”

Rafe chuckled. “Shit, no, don’t think that’s something he’d be into.”

DUDE.

“Then what? Just spit it out please.” Your nerves were about to snap if he kept dragging this out.

A cute laugh escaped his lips. “Alright, alright.”

AND THEN ANOTHER STUPID PAUSE, I’M ABOUT TO LOSE IT.

“Okay, uh,” he started, clearing his throat awkwardly. “You know the stuff Molly does around Kelce?”

Ummmmmmmmmmmmm.

“Being herself” you stated, completely tensed.

WHERE THE FUCK WAS THIS HEADING?

“Yeah, no,” Rafe said, letting out a nervous breath (HIM BEING NERVOUS ALWAYS MADE YOU 200% MORE NERVOUS). “That whole acting like she just chugged a love potion thing. Heart eyes, giggles, and shit like that, you know.”

UH-HUH.

“I don’t think she’s acting,” you said, smiling nervously, feeling your hands grow clammy. "Pretty sure that's called being in love."

Rafe let out a breath that was somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. “Yeah, whatever.”

PAUSE.

And then he dropped the biggest bomb yet:

“I kinda need you to do the same.”

w h a t .

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K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

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T A G L I S T F O R M (taglist for this series is CLOSED but you can sign up for my other stuff through this link)

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[ggukivrse]

THE ART OF PRETENDING - JJK | 06

summary. when you and jungkook show up to your much anticipated graduation trip and realise neither of you had the guts to tell your friends about your recent break up, there’s only one thing you can do to keep the trip from falling apart: pretend.

but somewhere between fake kisses and real feelings, you start to wonder if letting go was ever the right choice at all.

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre/warnings: exes to lovers, fake dating, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, swearing, fluff, angst, arguing :’(, jk’s an asshole in this i’m sorry, (eventual) explicit sexual content, ft. seokjin, namjoon, hoseok, jimin, taehyung, yoongi + four female ocs

word count: 4.6k

notes: okay first of all, i’m SO sorry for the wait. second of all, this chapter was meant to be much longer but i split it into two :< anyways, likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are sooo appreciated!! enjoy (?) reading my angels <33 (and pls don’t hate me </3)

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⤷ chapter six — tv

“and i’ll be in denial for at least a little while / what about the plans we made.”

The kitchen is quiet, only filled by the soft buzz of the fridge and the distant sound of waves. You take a slow sip from your mug, fingers curled around the ceramic.

The coffee's still warm, just the way you like it — strong, slightly bitter, just enough milk to soften the edge. You’d made Jungkook’s the same way you always have. You didn’t even think about it. Just moved through the motions like you’ve done a hundred mornings before.

But that was nearly half an hour ago.

His mug is still sitting on the counter. Steam long gone, surface barely warm. You glance at it for the third — maybe fourth — time, as if expecting it to have vanished. It hasn’t. It’s still there, untouched.

And so is the space beside you.

You haven’t seen him since waking up.

You’d stirred sometime around eight, alone. No arm slung over your waist, no weight shifting the mattress beside you, no sleepy grumble against your shoulder. Just cold sheets and a quiet room. The fan was still spinning overhead lazily, and the only thing on the nightstand that hadn’t been yours was a single bottle of water.

You’d stared at the ceiling for a few minutes after that.

It would’ve been easier if you hadn’t let yourself get used to waking up like that again. If you hadn’t let it feel like something.

But you did, because you always do, with him. Even now.

So when you eventually got out of bed, you made two cups of coffee. One for you. One for him.

You tell yourself it was just habit. But that’s only half-true.

Because the other half — the part you don’t say out loud — is that you were kind of hoping he’d show up.

That you could sit across from him, trade casual conversation, build your way back into something steady enough to finally ask the things you’ve been swallowing down since the breakup. Finally ask the things you wanted to ignore last night when you kissed him.

What happened?

What changed?

Why did it feel like he was ready to spend the rest of your life with you, and then suddenly, he wasn't?

You’ve been sitting with those questions for weeks. Letting them settle into your bones. Last night had started to smooth out the edges. That kiss, the way he held you, the weight of him tucked against your back — none of it felt like someone who’d let go for good.

But this morning?

This morning feels like the reset button was hit again. Like you’re back at square one.

And it’s starting to scare you.

You take another sip from your mug.

It’s not just that he left. It’s the fact that you have no idea where he went, or why, or when he’s coming back. It’s that your questions are still sitting in your chest, unanswered. It’s that his coffee is still sitting in front of you, lukewarm.

It’s that you keep hoping for something that keeps slipping away.

And sure, it could be nothing. He could walk into the kitchen any minute and prove that all of your overthinking was for nothing and place a kiss against your temple as he silently confirms that you guys are finally okay again. But as you stare down at nothing in specific, eyes unfocused on the ground, you can't ignore the feeling that it's not going to be that easy.

A hand waving in front of your face breaks you out of your thoughts.

“Hello? Earth to ___?"

You blink and turn to find Kiara standing in front of you, one brow raised, one hand waving dramatically in front of your face.

“Fuck,” you mutter, pulling back a little, caught off guard. “You scared me.”

She grins. “I said your name twice. Thought you died standing up.”

You force a breath through your nose, trying to ease the tension from your shoulders. “Sorry. I zoned out.”

“Clearly,” Kiara says, folding her arms as she leans back against the island across from you. “You were staring at that coffee like you were possessed or something.”

You glance back down at Jungkook’s mug. The coffee inside has gone a dull, murky brown. It's oddly fitting.

“Just thinking,” you murmur.

Kiara gives you a long look, tilting her head slightly. She doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches.

You expect her to pivot the conversation, maybe ask what time you’re heading to the beach, or what’s for breakfast.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she says, softer now, “Is everything okay with you and Jungkook?”

Your stomach drops, and you're too slow to catch the surprise on your face before it shows.

She doesn’t look accusatory. Just curious. Maybe a little concerned.

You think about what Jungkook said — that your acting sucks.

Clearly, he was more right than you gave him credit for if this is the second time someone has thought that something was off between you two.

You give Kiara a tight smile, trying to play it off. “Of course we’re okay. Why wouldn’t we be?”

Your voice cracks slightly at the end and Kiara’s face shifts. Her eyes narrow, expression flattening just a little.

God. You suck at this.

She doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you.

And when you glance past her, you realise Ari and Yasmine are both in the kitchen now too. You didn’t even hear them come in. They're hovering by the counter, not pretending they didn’t hear the conversation. Yasmine raises her eyebrows at you as if to say, Really? That’s the best you’ve got?

You laugh, the sound a little too loud and a little too fake.

“No, seriously. There’s nothing going on. We’re totally fine,” you insist. You try to make it sound breezy, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. But there’s this edge of strain in your tone that even you can hear now.

Yasmine exchanges a quick glance with Ari. Ari raises a single brow.

“____,” Kiara says, and her voice almost sympathetic. “We love you to death. If anything if going on, you can tell us. We will fight that man if needed.”

You snort at the ridiculousness of the offer, trying to ignore the way they're all watching you.

“Okay, maybe don’t plan my best friend’s murder right in front of me,” Jimin says around a half-yawn, wandering into the kitchen. His hair is a mess — flattened on one side and fluffy on the other — and his hoodie is inside out. His expression, though, is amused as hell.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. It’s half a laugh, really — short and quiet, but enough to break the tension hanging over you. Your shoulders drop just slightly.

“No one said murder,” Kiara replies, looking entirely unbothered. “We said ‘fight.’ With fists. Maybe knees.”

“Maybe a little arson,” Yasmine adds, chewing on the edge of a strawberry she pulled from the fridge.

Jimin walks past them and reaches up to grab a granola bar from the top shelf. “You know I’m contractually obligated to defend Jungkook’s honour,” he says through a yawn, unwrapping the bar. “Even if he’s being an idiot. Which, to be fair, is frequent.”

“Then maybe pass that message along,” Ari says, deadpan.

He finally glances toward you then, eyes briefly scanning your face. He doesn’t say anything — and thankfully, he doesn’t ask — but something in his expression softens. Like he can see the way you’re slightly curled in on yourself, even if you’re trying to fake calm.

The semi-circle of concern around you shifts a little to make room for him, and he steps into it without hesitation, granola bar still in hand. It’s oddly comforting, how casually he folds into the space — like maybe if he acts normal, things will be normal.

And you’re grateful for it. The way attention slides off you and onto Jimin’s sudden presence.

You sip your coffee again, and it tastes slightly better now. Or maybe it’s just that your heart’s not pounding against your ribs anymore.

“Actually, I actually need to tell you guys something,” Jimin says once he’s halfway through the bar, mouth still kind of full. “Before everyone disappears into the sand for the rest of the day.”

You tilt your head, turning slightly more in his direction.

Jimin finishes chewing, wipes his hands on the front of his hoodie — inside-out tag flipping up in the process — and leans casually against the counter.

“Okay,” he starts, tone turning slightly serious. “This doesn’t leave this room. At least not yet.”

Immediately, all of you perk up.

“Oh my god,” Kiara says, leaning in. “Are we finally getting the tea?”

“Someone’s pregnant,” Yasmine whispers like it’s a wild theory, eyes wide.

“Wrong group,” Ari deadpans.

You snort.

“No one’s pregnant,” Jimin says. “But something is happening. And it’s big. So, swear you won’t say anything to Haeun.”

You all nod in varying degrees of seriousness. A chorus of “obviously” and “duh”s.

“Seokjin’s proposing.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. Not because no one saw it coming — but because even when you expect something, hearing it said out loud hits differently.

“No way,” Ari breathes.

“Finally,” Yasmine grins, clapping once. “She’s going to lose it.”

“I knew it,” Kiara says, not even pretending to be surprised. “He’s been acting weird since we got here.”

“Super obvious,” Ari agrees. “He kept spacing out yesterday during volleyball. I asked him if he was okay and he just said, ‘Just picturing things.’ I thought he meant, like… strategy?”

You set your coffee down, half-smiling. “That man has never strategised a day in his life.”

Jimin nods, serious. “Exactly. So, the plan is— he’s doing it the day after tomorrow. Right at sunset. On the back deck. He wants to keep it lowkey but still romantic. Just the group, nothing flashy. He’s got this whole thing with the fairy lights and stuff. It’s very... Jin.”

Yasmine clasps her hands together with a little squeal. “Do we get to be part of it?”

“Yeah,” he says, glancing at her. “Actually, he wants you to take pictures. Nothing major. Just candids. And the rest of us just need to, like, not make it weird.”

“What do you mean not make it weird?” Ari asks.

“I mean like… don’t swarm them,” Jimin says. “Don’t make it a whole scene. Just let it happen and then we can scream after she says yes.”

You all nod.

“God, they’re gonna be so annoying and in love,” Kiara sighs. “Good for them. Can’t wait.”

Jimin’s expression softens as he talks — and you can tell how much this means to him. How long he’s probably been sitting on it. How relieved he is to finally let it out. He’s one of Jin’s closest friends — the fact that Jin looped him in says everything.

“Wait, does Haeun know anything?” Ari asks.

“Not a clue,” Jimin says, grinning. “She thinks she’s just getting a sunset drink on the deck with Jin tomorrow before dinner. Meanwhile, he’s been carrying around the ring like it’s a live bomb.”

“She’s gonna be a mess,” you say quietly, voice warm.

"They're both gonna be a mess," Kiara replies, and you smile.

Honestly, it feels good to think about something else — to imagine someone else’s future for a while. One that's good and certain.

Not murky. Not lukewarm. Not tangled up in old habits and unfinished questions.

And just as that lightness settles in — just as you feel your chest unclench, just a little — the glass doors behind you slide open with a low hiss.

Everyone freezes.

The sliding door clicks back into place, the sound of it too sharp in the sudden stillness. Jimin’s eyes dart past you. Kiara, mid-sip of her drink, lowers her glass. No one says anything.

Your breath catches as you look over Yasmine's shoulder.

Please not Haeun, you think. Pleasepleaseplease.

Jungkook.

Helmet in one hand, motorbike keys hooked around two fingers on the other.

You're heart tugs with relief.

You’re glad he’s here.

Not because things are fine. Not because you know what you’re going to say. But because not knowing where he was all morning had started to eat at you, slow and annoying and persistent. Like something you couldn’t scratch out of your skin.

Jimin’s the first to speak.

“Fuck, man,” he says, twisting toward the door. “You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were Haeun.”

Jungkook’s mouth twitches, the barest hint of a smile. “Sorry.”

He steps further into the kitchen, the door soft-clicking shut behind him, and sets the helmet down on the island with a dull thud. The keys land beside it with a jingle. The whole group relaxes and the conversation starts backs up, but you’re barely tracking it.

Your eyes stay on Jungkook.

And his eyes don’t quite stay on you, but they flicker. Once. Then back down.

He moves to the cabinet and pulls out a mug from the same shelf you used earlier.

You pause, glancing at the mug still sitting beside your own on the counter. You hesitate for a second before you slide it toward him with your fingertips.

“Here,” you say. “I made one for you already.”

He pauses mid-motion, the clean mug in his hand, and his eyes drop to the one you nudged forward, then back up at you.

“I’m fine. Thanks though." He gives you a tight-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

Oh.

Okay.

Maybe he just wants tea or something. You've never known him to be a tea person, but you don't dwell on it that much.

You're already moving to shrug it off when you catch a glance — just over the rim of your mug — of him moving back toward the coffee pot, and you watch, with a slow-burning disbelief, as he starts making the exact same cup of coffee that’s still sitting in front of him.

Same brand. Same scoop. Same splash of milk from the fridge. He reaches for the sugar and adds the same amount.

You stare.

Seriously?

You don’t say it out loud, but it hovers in your expression. Long enough that Ari, who’s been half-listening while peeling a clementine beside you, gives you the smallest nudge with her elbow.

You don’t even glance at her.

Your eyes are still on Jungkook.

He doesn’t notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t care.

The air shifts around you and it feels like you’ve suddenly dropped into a scene you weren’t given the script for. Because it’s not about the coffee, really. It’s never just about the coffee.

It’s about how easily he dismissed it. Dismissed you so easily, as if you were nothing more than a stranger.

And maybe it’s petty, but come on. You made that cup for him. It wasn’t some random gesture. You got up, went through the routine, thought about what he’d want, even left it sitting there like a peace offering. And he’d rather go through the whole process again himself than take what you’d already done for him?

Fine.

You sip your own drink again, and try tune back into the conversation.

Jimin is talking about how Seokjin tried to smuggle the ring through airport security without Haeun seeing. Kiara makes a joke about hiding it in his shampoo bottle. Yasmine laughs so hard she nearly drops her bowl of strawberries.

And for a moment, it’s fine.

You even smile a little. Force yourself to pull your eyes away from Jungkook and land somewhere safer — like Jimin’s dramatic re-enactment of Seokjin’s TSA panic face.

But when your gaze flicks back, just for a second, you find Jungkook leaning against the opposite counter, sipping his freshly made coffee like he didn’t just say a whole lot by saying nothing.

And you don’t say anything either. Because what are you going to do — call him out for rejecting your cup of coffee?

So you let the conversation keep moving. You nod along. You laugh in the right places. You keep your expression neutral. Maybe a little too neutral.

But your jaw is just the tiniest bit tight. And your fingers wrap around your mug a little firmer than before.

Guess you weren't just overthinking after all.

The rain starts as a mist before quickly turning into a steady downpour.

You and Haeun are halfway back from the beach by the time it hits properly. She doesn’t bother running, and neither do you. You just glance up once at the thick, grey sky and laugh a little under your breath. She grins beside you, jogging lightly as she shakes water out of her ponytail.

“I told you it was going to rain,” she says, smug.

You’d been adamant about it, insisting that it would be warm as usual when you asked Haeun to come swim with you. She’d shown you her weather app and you’d waved it off with a dramatic, “Those things are never right.” Now, soaked halfway to the bone and blinking through the drizzle, you’re starting to eat your words.

"Yeah yeah, whatever."

By the time you step inside the house through the glass sliding doors, your legs are lightly dusted with sand and your hair is sticking to the sides of your neck, still damp from the ocean, and now slightly tangled from the breeze.

It’s warmer in the house, and for the first time since the trip started, everyone is inside. No one has slipped off to the beach or disappeared with a book to some random corner of the deck.

You brush your fingers through your hair absently as you kick off your flip flops near the threshold. Haeun’s already moved toward the kitchen, mumbling something about tea, leaving you to linger for a second by the open space where the wooden floor transitions into the living room rug.

Jimin and Taehyung are on the floor by the coffee table, throwing popcorn into each other’s mouths with miserable aim and laughing at their failures. Ari’s curled up with Namjoon on one end of the abnormally large couch that takes up almost half of the room, the two of them watching something muted on the TV while Kiara and Yasmine scroll through their phones on the floor beside them, bickering about which photos to post later.

And there's Jungkook.

He's sitting on the other end of the couch, knees propped up, thumbing idly through something on his phone.

He looks calm. Not relaxed, exactly — Jungkook doesn’t really do relaxed when he’s spaced out, but his shoulders aren’t hunched like they were this morning, and his jaw isn’t clenched. He just sits there scrolling.

You hadn’t seen him on the beach. You’re not even sure where he’d gone off to all morning, after the coffee exchange that had been awkward enough to replay itself in your brain on loop.

It’s not that you’re trying to obsess, but it’s hard not to notice when someone you used to know inside out starts moving like a stranger.

You take a slow breath, brushing your hand down your thigh once — a nervous gesture you don’t bother disguising — and cross the rest of the living room, stepping carefully over Taehyung’s outstretched legs as you make your way toward the couch.

There’s an open space beside Jungkook and you decide take it.

But before you can even properly sit down or bring up your knees to get comfortable, Jungkook's already standing.

You watch as he crosses the living room and drops down into the armchair beside Yoongi without a single word, disbelief painting your features for a second before reel your expression back to neutral.

You don’t look at anyone.

You definitely don’t look at Jungkook.

Instead, you keep your gaze pinned to the muted television in front of you — some vaguely familiar movie playing with the subtitles on — and try to ignore the way your heartbeat has picked up in your ears.

It’s not a big deal. Not technically. Maybe he just wanted to sit by Yoongi. Maybe you’re reading too much into it. Again.

But still.

Still.

You cross one leg over the other, trying to breathe through the stiffness now crawling up the back of your neck. You can feel a strand of hair clinging to your collarbone. You reach up and tuck it behind your ear just to do something with your hands.

“Hey,” Jimin says suddenly from the floor, glancing back toward you, “you two get caught in the rain?”

You force your mouth into a small smile. “A little.”

“Dumbasses,” Taehyung says fondly, tossing a kernel of popcorn that smacks Jimin square in the cheek. “Told you it was gonna pour.”

“It’s barely even raining,” Haeun calls from the kitchen, voice slightly muffled from the distance.

You hum in agreement, mostly to say something, but your voice barely makes it out. You don’t think anyone notices.

Except maybe Kiara, who glances at you briefly from the corner of her eye. She doesn’t say anything, but it’s enough to make you shift in your seat.

You try not to look again. At him.

You fail.

Jungkook’s posture hasn’t changed — one arm resting on the armrest, the other slung low in his lap. He’s facing the TV, but his gaze isn’t fixed on anything in particular.

This isn’t normal. Not even close.

Not that anything has been normal since the breakup, but this is different. Cold in a way he’s never been with you — even when you fought. Even when you broke up.

It’s the kind of distance that doesn’t come from anger. It’s more deliberate than that.

And you really don’t know what you did to deserve it.

The rain doesn’t last. It trails off sometime after the movie ends — not that you can remember a single scene of it — and by the time it does, the sky outside is starting to dip in colour.

You keep your eyes on your hands, loosely folded in your lap, while the rest of the group starts to migrate back outside into the pool and the beach. Someone tugs open the back door and lets the salt-heavy breeze rush back in. Kiara walks past and ruffles your hair lightly, says something about joining them soon. You nod, even though you’re not sure you will.

You don’t even register Jungkook until he’s moving past the arm of the couch.

“Jungkook,” you say.

He stops just in front of the door to the front.

He doesn’t turn fully. Just glances over his shoulder, enough to let you know he heard.

You stand before your courage can second-guess you. “Can we talk?”

A beat of silence passes. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, but doesn’t look at you.

“I don’t think there’s much to talk about.”

It takes you a second to process his words.

“What?” you ask, brows knitting.

“I just—” Jungkook shifts, hand flexing at his side like he’s trying not to clench it. “I think we’re handling things fine. Everyone still believes us, right? That’s the whole point.”

You stare at him.

“That’s not what I meant.”

He exhales, but doesn't respond.

“I’m not talking about the deal. I’m talking about you— us— and the fact that you’ve been ignoring me all day.”

“I haven’t—”

“Yes, you have,” you cut in, voice firmer now. “You wouldn’t even look at me this morning. You’ve barely said more than three words since last night.”

“I thought you wanted space,” he says quietly, finally turning around to face you. “I figured, after yesterday, that it’d be easier if I just gave you room.”

“Easier?” you echo. “For who?”

He swallows. His gaze drops. You can see the tension in the way his shoulders pull in slightly, like he’s trying to fold himself smaller.

“I’m just trying not to make this harder than it already is."

Your chest tightens, something sharp rising behind your ribs. There’s a line between being careful and being cowardly, and you don’t know when Jungkook crossed it — only that he’s already miles past it now, still walking away from a conversation he won’t even let you have.

“And moving when I sit beside you— what’s that supposed to be?” you ask. “Because if that’s you being careful, it really fucking sucks.”

His jaw twitches.

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like, Jungkook? Because you’re not talking to me. You won’t even look at me.”

His lips part like he wants to say something before he stops himself.

You wait, but he doesn’t answer.

He just stands there in silence, eyes unreadable, like he’s scared whatever comes out of his mouth next will be the wrong thing.

And that frustrates you more than anything else.

Because you just want the truth, not silence. Even if it hurts. Even if it means hearing him say that he doesn't love you anymore. Because at least, then you’d know.

You cross your arms slowly, swallowing the lump that has started forming in your throat.

“You can’t just fucking kiss me one day and ignore me the next.”

“Look, I’m—” He exhales harshly. “I’m sorry the kiss didn’t mean anything, okay?

You freeze.

Something inside you falters, buckles under the weight of it. You try to breathe around the burn clawing up your throat, but the room suddenly feels too stuffy.

You press your nails into your palms. You can feel your pulse there — quick, shallow, and it’s the only thing anchoring you to the moment. You don't trust yourself to speak, so you don't.

Jungkook's voice is soft when he eventually speaks. “We only have to do this shit for one more day. That’s it. I’ll stay out of your way until then, and when it’s over, we can pack our bags, go home, and you never have to talk to me again.”

You stand there for half a second too long. Long enough for the silence to feel thick again. Long enough to think — maybe he’ll take it back, or stop you. Maybe he’ll say something else.

But he doesn’t, so you turn.

You walk away, footsteps too loud against the hardwood. Your throat is tight, your chest worse. You make your way outside and up the stairs into you room, shutting the door with a quiet click — not because you're calm, but because slamming it would mean he still matters enough to make you angry.

And right now, you're trying not to let him matter at all.

You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the blank wall, trying to will yourself not to cry.

You don’t win that one. Not completely.

But you wipe away your tears before they can stain your face, because if anyone comes looking, you’ll lie. If he comes looking, you won’t open the door.

Still, you wait for the sound of footsteps outside the room.

None come.

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[nekonaps0]

Hiii, first time requesting smth from you but i LOVE your work! Its just so easy to read, its descriptive but not too wordy, which is a pet peeve of mine for fan fics lol.

Anyway, could you write a reader/idia of an unlikely pairing? Like the reader is almost a polar opposite of idia but they somehow manage to get together?

Thank you so much! And again, keep up the good work <3

Out of my league

✦fem!reader

✦characters: Idia

✦Social anxiety (Idia), fluff overdose, Idia overthinking literally everything

The first time Idia Shroud noticed you, it was because you were loud.

Not in the annoying way. Not in the “make him mute the game” way. Just…so present.

You moved through Night Raven like you belonged in the center of every scene: laughing in the dining hall, calling out to people in the hallway, showing up to class with glitter on your face and a joke in your mouth. You wore the loudest colors. You clapped when you laughed.

You were, in every possible way, a walking migraine to his quiet existence.

So why, in the name of all things, did his stomach do a weird little flutter every time you passed by?

It started with an accident. You had wandered into the Ignihyde dorm looking for Ortho who adored you, naturally and you got lost.

He panicked when you suddenly knocked on his door and you just stand in his doorstep with a big smile. Not because he didn’t want you there. But because his room was a disaster of cables, figurines, wall-to-wall monitors, and one very red, very reclusive housewarden in pajama pants…

You looked around with stars in your eyes and said

“Holy crap, your room looks like the inside of an anime opening! This is SO COOL.”

Idia glitched.

Like, emotionally glitched.

No one ever said his world was cool. He spent years trying to keep it separate from everyone else’s.

You plopped down on his beanbag chair like you belonged there and pointed at one of his favorite rare figurines.

“Is that the limited edition figurine from that new anime? One of my friend has one. He says it’s cursed.”

He choked on his own spit.

You grinned. “So… are you cursed too?”

He didn’t know what to do with that.

•

You didn’t stop visiting.

At first, Idia assumed you were just being nice, or maybe doing some weird social experiment to see if he’d explode.

But you kept showing up. Kept dragging him into sunlight… metaphorically, thank the gods… and demanding his opinion on things.

“Would you still like me if I was a worm?”


“Which anime would we be the power couple in?”


“Should I dye my hair blue to match yours, or would that be cringe?”

He answered in stammers and soft muttering, while his hair burned pink like he was about to self-combust.

You made it worse by leaning in every time.

Like he was worth listening to.

The thing about you was: you never asked him to change.

You didn’t force him to go to parties. You didn’t drag him into crowds. You just… showed up. With snacks. With stories. With shiny trinkets and strange animal facts and the warmest presence he’d ever known.

And somehow, despite all odds, Idia started opening the door before you knocked.

One day, he asked.

“Why do you… like hanging out with someone like me?”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You’re, like, sunshine and shouting. And I’m… basement gloom and digital ghosts.”

You tilted your head, lips twitching. “And yet, here you are, warming up to me like a lizard in a heat lamp.”

He short-circuited.

But you weren’t done.

“You don’t get it, do you? You’re easy to be around. You don’t fake things. You care about stuff…like, deeply. And when you talk about the things you love? You glow, Idia. You’re brilliant.”

He stared. Speechless.

And then you kissed his cheek. Casual. Soft. Like it wasn’t the biggest moment of his life.

“Also,” you added, winking, “you’re cuter than you think.”

Idia was red for six hours straight.

•

It took time…weeks…months, loaded silences and soft heartbeats, but eventually…

You were curled beside him on the bed, watching a boss fight. You shouted excitedly when he landed a crit. He blushed. You cheered. He muttered something about how his “damage stat increased just because you were watching.”

And then, quietly, tentatively, he took your hand.

“I don’t… I mean, I didn’t think… someone like you could like someone like me.”

You turned and kissed the top of his head.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Shroud. We’re a legendary drop—rare, chaotic, and somehow exactly what we needed.

..............................................................................................................................

Hiiii~ I hope you like it ✨

[skzophreniic]

⍣ ೋ cw: chronic pain, back injury, emotional breakdown, crying, self-worth struggles, internalized pressure/perfectionism, comfort/healing themes, soft intimacy, references to physical and emotional exhaustion

notes: (queued post) felix's back hurting literally hurts me. poor baby i hope he doesn't actually feel like what i wrote. this was requested so thank you to the anon who requested it <3 <3

The hotel room glows golden with city spill, the kind of light that’s warm but borrowed—filtered through the curtains, flickering gently against the white duvet, your half-unpacked suitcase at the foot of the bed. Music hums low from your phone speaker, but it’s the sound of his laugh that wraps around your ribcage the tightest.

He’s sitting cross-legged, hoodie rumpled, hair still damp from the shower he took before you arrived. You’d barely stepped through the door when he pulled you into a hug—arms wound around your waist like he thought you might vanish if he let go too soon.

And now he’s talking fast, smiling wide, full of stories he didn’t want to wait to tell.

You’re only here for three days. He keeps saying that like a countdown he refuses to acknowledge.

You nod along, matching his grin, watching the way he talks with his whole body—shoulders swaying, hands animated. But even through the glow of reunion and room service and the chocolate you brought him from home, something itches at the back of your mind.

He hasn’t leaned back once.

You clock it in the way he sits perfectly upright. The way his jaw ticks when he thinks you’re not looking. How his fingers press against his thigh like grounding points. It’s subtle, but it’s Felix—you know him too well.

You let him go on a little longer. Let him revel in the rush of having you here—finally, finally here. The hotel room feels different with you in it. He feels different with you in it. You know that. You know he’s trying to keep the moment light, to stretch it out like taffy and pretend it isn’t straining.

But still—you notice.

You always do.

So you shift forward on the bed, slow and nonchalant, like it’s nothing. Like you’re not trying to inspect him. Your hand finds his knee first, then the hem of his hoodie. You smooth your palm over it casually, letting your fingers slip underneath to touch the warmth of his stomach.

He startles, then grins. "What’s that for?"

“You just looked really cute sitting there,” you lie, though not really. “Wanted to touch you.”

He hums, a low, pleased sound. But there’s a flicker in his eyes, a half-second of pause. And before you can ask anything else, he’s leaning in—hands coming up to cup your cheeks, smile turning shy and sheepish and utterly distracting.

“Missed you,” he murmurs.

“I missed you too.”

And then he kisses you.

It’s a soft thing, at first—barely there, a whisper of pressure and warmth. But Felix kisses like he’s pouring something back into the world, like affection is a currency he never wants to run out of. The kiss deepens, his thumb brushing your cheekbone, his other hand sliding into your hair, tilting your face just so.

You feel it in your knees. Your heart. Your everything.

But then—

He shifts.

It’s just a small movement, barely noticeable to anyone who doesn’t know. But you do. You know the difference between his usual slow crawl into your lap and the stiff, guarded slide he just attempted. And more than that—you feel the sudden tightness in his body, the way his breath hitches, the ghost of a flinch.

He pulls back too quickly.

"Sorry," he says, voice too bright. “Just—stiff from rehearsal.”

“Stiff,” you repeat, flatly.

Felix offers a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s nothing, I’m okay—”

“Felix.”

Your voice is gentle, but it lands like an anchor. Firm. Unshifting. It stills him.

His smile falters for real this time.

You soften your gaze, fingers brushing lightly beneath his jaw. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I’m not just here for the good parts.”

He exhales slowly, chest deflating like a balloon finally giving out. His hands fall from your cheeks to his lap, fingers curling inwards like he’s trying to hold something in—dignity, maybe. Or guilt.

“I just…” He glances away, jaw tightening. “You came all the way here. You only get a few days. I didn’t wanna make it about me hurting again.” He releases a frustrated breath. “It’s my back. Again. Worse this time. I thought it would go away, but it just… hasn’t. And I didn’t wanna tell you because I didn’t want to waste time talking about pain when we could be doing this.”

He gestures vaguely—at the kiss, at you. At the fragile, glowing bubble he tried so hard to keep intact.

You look at him for a long moment—really look.

He’s still sitting upright, spine pulled taut like a bowstring, even though every inch of him is screaming to lie down. There’s sweat gathering at his temples, just a sheen, but enough to give him away. His hands are shaking a little where they rest on his thighs. And his eyes, God—his eyes are so full of apology it guts you.

Because this isn’t just about the pain.

It’s about how hard he’s trying to be fine. For you. For the moment. For the memory he wanted to make of your first night in New York.

And you’d be lying if you said it didn’t break something in you.

You reach for him again, this time slower. Gentler. Fingers skimming the curve of his shoulder until they reach the base of his neck. You lean in close, let your forehead rest lightly against his.

“I don’t care what we do with our time, Lix,” you whisper. “I just want you to feel okay while we do it.”

His eyes flutter shut.

“I didn’t want to waste a second,” he says again, softer this time. “Didn’t want to miss anything.”

“You’re not missing anything,” you murmur. “You’re here. I’m here. That’s all I need.”

He exhales, and it shudders out of him like something heavy. His hands come up to hold you again, but the motion is stilted, cautious. He grimaces.

That’s it.

That’s the moment you shift into motion—deliberate, calm, but unshakable. You take his hands in yours and gently lower them back to his lap, smoothing your thumbs across his knuckles like you’re calming a storm.

“No more of that,” you say quietly. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you lying down.”

Felix hesitates, brows pinching like he wants to argue—wants to say he’s fine, that it’s not that bad, that he can push through. But you give him that look again. The one that says I see you. I love you. Let me do this.

He gives in.

You help him shift—slowly, carefully—guiding him back against the pillows with one hand braced behind his neck, the other smoothing under his ribs. He winces again as his back touches the mattress, jaw tightening like he’s trying not to let it show.

Your heart aches so fiercely it nearly knocks the breath out of you.

He ends up curled slightly on his side, legs tucked in just a little. It’s not his usual sleeping position—it’s the one he uses when the pain is too loud to stretch out. You’ve seen it before. He hates it. Hates what it means. But still, he lets you settle the pillows behind him. Lets you tuck the blanket around his hips.

And he lets you stay close.

You brush his hair out of his face, soft and slow, fingers curling behind his ear.

“I brought the patch,” you murmur. “And that arnica balm you like. Do you want them?”

He nods once, quiet. “Yeah. Please.”

You press a kiss to his forehead before slipping off the bed and digging through your carry-on. When you return, he’s still watching you—tired but open, expression soft in that raw, defenseless way that only comes out when he knows he’s safe.

When he knows it’s you.

You warm the patch between your hands before peeling it open, then kneel behind him on the mattress, carefully lifting the hem of his shirt. The skin at his lower back is flushed from tension. He twitches beneath your touch.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t be,” you whisper, brushing your lips against the top of his spine. “You don’t have to apologize for hurting.”

You press the patch gently against the center of his back, smoothing it with the flat of your hand. His breath stutters beneath you, a shaky inhale that barely makes it to his lungs. You wait for it to settle.

Then—slowly—you lean down and kiss the bare skin just above the patch.

Soft. Lingering. Tender.

His breath catches again, but this time it’s different.

You follow the curve of his spine with your mouth, dropping kisses one by one—up toward his shoulders, down along the tense ridges of his back. Between every kiss, your fingers work the balm into the muscles flanking his spine, warm and slow and steady, like you're trying to soothe him into softness molecule by molecule.

“I’ve got you,” you murmur against his skin. 

He goes silent.

Too silent.

You pause, glancing up—and that’s when you see it.

The tight clench of his jaw. The glossy shimmer clinging to his lashes.

He’s not just hurting.

He’s unraveling.

You press one more kiss to his shoulder and crawl up beside him, hands finding his face before the first tear can fall. He tries to blink it away, tries to roll to the side again, to hide. But you cup his cheeks and press your forehead to his and whisper, “No, love. Don’t go. Stay with me.”

That breaks the last of it.

The tears spill silently at first—slow, hot streaks that slide past your fingers as he squeezes his eyes shut, breath hitching against your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes. “I just—fuck, I’m just so tired. I keep showing up and smiling and dancing and I know I’m lucky, I know I am, but it feels like my body’s betraying me and I can’t keep up, and I—”

Your hands don’t leave him. Not for a second. One stays cradled against his cheek, the other smoothing slow, grounding lines down his side. You press your forehead to his, anchor him to your breath, your presence, the steadiness he’s lost in himself.

He swallows hard, trying to finish the sentence, but the rest of it breaks in his throat—just a sound now, raw and wounded and ashamed.

You nudge your nose against his. “And you… what?”

He lets out a broken laugh. “And I feel like I’m letting everyone down.”

That sentence hangs there for a moment, fragile and aching.

“I’m supposed to be the one who lifts people up,” he continues, voice cracked and spilling. “I’m supposed to be strong. I want to be strong. But lately, I can’t even stand for more than an hour without feeling like my spine’s going to snap in half. I stretch. I ice. I pretend. I smile. But it’s still there. And it’s so fucking frustrating. I just want to give everything I can on stage, and instead I—”

His words tangle. Collapse.

“I feel useless,” he says finally. Quiet. Hollow.

It rips something open in you.

Because you’ve seen the way he gives—always. The way he puts his whole body into the joy he brings others. The way he laughs louder when he’s in pain, so no one asks questions. The way he thinks he has to shine all the time, or else he’s disappointing someone.

You frame his face gently, guide him back down into the pillow as tears keep slipping sideways into the fabric. You kiss each cheek, slow and firm.

“You’re not useless,” you whisper. “You’re human. You’re hurting. That doesn’t take away everything you’ve given.”

He shakes his head, but you keep going, curling your body into his like a shield.

“You’ve never needed to earn love by being perfect, Felix. Not mine. Not theirs. Not anyone’s.”

He presses his face into your shoulder, breath warm and uneven.

“I feel like I’m falling apart.”

“Then fall here,” you murmur. “Fall into me. I’ll keep you safe.”

His shoulders shudder once—twice—before going still. The kind of stillness that only comes when the body has exhausted every other way of holding itself together. You feel him melt into you, bit by bit, like the last dam inside him has cracked open and everything is finally spilling out.

You hold him closer.

You don’t rush to fix it. You don’t rush at all.

You let him breathe. Let him be. Because sometimes love isn’t in the answers—it’s in the silence that waits without fear.

“I hate this,” he whispers eventually. “I hate that I can’t do what I used to. That I can’t move the way I want to. That my body feels like a traitor half the time.”

You nod against his temple, hands never still. One runs soothingly through his hair, the other slipping beneath his shirt again to rub slow, careful circles into the small of his back—where the patch still radiates warmth beneath your palm.

“I know,” you say softly. “I know, baby.”

You press a kiss just behind his ear. Then one to his neck. Then another—lower, softer—right where his pulse flutters, tender and alive.

“You don’t have to keep pretending it doesn’t hurt,” you whisper. “Not with me.”

His breath hitches.

He doesn’t respond right away. Just breathes—shaky, uneven, but beginning to settle. His face is buried in the crook of your neck now, warm breath ghosting against your skin. You can feel the tension in him easing—not gone, not entirely, but no longer clinging to his bones like armor.

You hold him through the silence. Through the weight of what he didn’t say. Through the grief of a body that’s asking for more patience than he knows how to give.

And then, finally, he speaks again—small, almost like a child.

“Do you think it’ll get better?”

You pull back just enough to look at him, to brush your thumb across the tear-streaked curve of his cheek.

“I think healing doesn’t always look the way we want it to,” you murmur. “But yes. I think it will get better. Not overnight. Not all at once. But piece by piece. Day by day. And you won’t be alone for any of it.”

His eyes flutter shut at that, lashes still damp, and he exhales like the truth of it finally sinks in. That he doesn’t have to carry it alone. That he can break in your hands and still be held like something whole.

“I love you,” he says, and it comes out quiet but steady. Like he means it more in this moment than he ever has before.

You lean in and kiss him—gentle, firm, the kind of kiss that doesn’t ask for anything in return.

“I love you more.”

You tuck him into your arms then, body curved around his, and let him breathe. Let him rest.

And soon, his body gives in. You feel it—the slow sinking of sleep pulling him under. His breathing deepens. His muscles soften. The furrow between his brows smooths out.

He dreams, eventually. You can tell by the little twitches in his fingers, the faintest smile at the edge of his mouth.

You stay awake just a little longer. Just to watch him.

Just to hold him through the quiet.

[strnilolover]

Special birthday request hehe

Ride or Die Matt - reader ignores Matt after he hasn't fucked her in a while and gets bratty whenever he speaks to her. Matt sees her sexual frustration and draws it out a lil until she begs for it. The actual smut is yours to create and imagine. LOVE YOUUU

⌗ . . . A GOOD FUCK

WARNINGS : DOM!MATT. MEAN!MATT. BRATTY!READER. SMUT. PNV. DEGRADING. TEASING. SEXUAL FRUSTRATION!

for my lovely kay!! @endereies happy happy birthday!! <3

you knew matt wasn’t intentionally meaning to ignore you—you knew he had a big race coming up in a week and he just wanted to make sure everything was perfect and ready for himself to win.

but it was getting to you.

sitting in the hot garage day after day just to watch him work on his car with chris—his attention barely on you day after day. you were growing frustrated—needy—the tension in your body so tight you felt like you were going to burst.

and really today was no different than the last few. you were in the garage again—sitting on the empty tool bench in the far corner with your legs crossed. you were doing everything in your power not to look at him. you wanted to be mad at him—you were mad at him. but it was like your body just didn’t care what your mind thought.

matt was bent over the open engine bay of his race car, sweat dripping down the back of his neck and his hands buried deep inside the guts of the machine. chris was next to him, his sleeves rolled up with grease on his jaw, and tossing tools between his fingers while reading torque specs off his phone.

“she’s still knocking on the left side. probably a valve lash issue.” chris muttered, reaching for a socket wrench. “did you tighten these already?” you overheard him ask and matt grunted, reaching back and pulling a rag from his back pocket to wipe his hands. he nodded, sighing. “twice. and she’s still not settling.”

“You think it’s the camshaft?” chris asked, trying to help matt figure out what could be wrong with the car. he hummed. “could be.” matt replied before he stood straight for a moment, cracked his neck, and swiped sweat from his brow. his half-zipped suit hung low on his hips, exposing the white tank under it, stained with grease from the car and whatever else.

you didn’t even blink. chris noticed your behavior—and you were sure matt did too—and shot you a quick look, raising a brow at the way you sat there all stiff and silent, but didn’t say anything. he knew better.

matt had already tried to make conversation with you three times already today.

“did y’see the new tires?”

no reply.

“you wanna help baby? or just pout all day?”

still nothing.

“you’re not mad at me right?”

you were. but you smiled sweetly at your phone like he didn’t even exist. and matt scoffed low under his breath and leaned against the hood while chris ducked back under it. he was watching you and that made you twitch, but didn’t look up. he definitely noticed.

chris glanced up from under the hood of the car with a smirk like he was used to tuning you both out when you got like this. he himself could feel the tension between you two now beginning to grow rapidly. “i’m gonna..go grab the plugs.” he muttered, suddenly disappearing toward the supply shelf in the back.

as soon as he was gone, matt tilted his head at you and smirked like he was going to say something, but instead he gave you one last knowing look before he turned back to the car with that same smug little shake of his head.

matt definitely knew. it was like he could read you like an open book even if you didn’t want to be read. you were needy—throbbing and pent up. and you hated that he knew. hated how cocky he was about it. like he could feel it on you.

you could feel how flushed your face was, how hot you were just from him staring at you. it had been days since he’d touched you—fucked you. and it felt as if every little thing he did just served to rile you up more. you just turned yourself away from them once chris returned, keeping silent.

you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. not another glance or sound. you crossed your arms over your chest, your lips tight as you just stared away from them. your phone was still in your lap, but you’d scrolled past the same tiktok five times. you couldn’t focus.

you hadn’t realized that matt started to watch you again until he spoke—too wrapped up into your own head and trying to be mad at him. “baby.” matt called again, from across the garage after chris walked off again—this time taking his sweet time at the far end of the room. “you’re not even gonna look at me?”

you didn’t. you were barely breathing at this point.

there was a long pause—nothing but the sound of chris messing around somewhere in the back room could be heard. but the the sound of his boots coming toward you echoed through the garage.

you didn’t bother to move. but your stomach dropped and your cunt clenched—it didn’t take long before your eyes flicked up in spite of yourself just as he reached the tool bench you were sitting on. his frame was towering over you, arms crossed as he looked down at you.

“you’re actin’ like a fuckin’ brat.” he muttered, voice low enough to be for you only. “and honestly, it’s cute.” and you just blinked, like you didn’t hear him, but your nails dug into your arms. “don’t give me that.” he said with a chuckle, dropping his voice lower as he leaned in closer. his hands came to rest on the side of the bench, right by your thigh. “you’ve been sittin’ there all day with that little attitude. like i don’t know exactly why you’re so quiet.”

you still didn’t say anything—but it was becoming increasingly hard to stay quiet. to not just give in right now and drop your whole bratty act. you knew what you were doing—you did this every time you wanted his attention. he was so close. too close.

“poor baby.” he said, the mock sympathy dripping from his words as he cocked his head. “so neglected. must be real hard not getting my cock for a few days, huh?” and you clenched your jaw, exhaling slowly. your thighs pressing together. of course he knew—but you weren’t expecting him to say it out loud. not here at least.

“bet you been touchin’ yourself when I’m not around. whining into your pillow.” he sneered, his fingers barely brushing the top of your knee as his hand moved slowly. “but it’s not the same, is it?” and that’s what got you to finally look at him. finally. and he grinned.

“m’not a brat.” you mumbled, crossing your legs the other way, trying to move away so he wouldn’t make your walls crumple anymore than they already were. “oh, sweetheart.” he said, now dragging his thumb across your thigh. “you’re the fuckin’ definition of one.” he leaned down now, his lips right against your ear. “but i love when you act like this. makes it more fun to break you down later.” and then he pulled away, giving your thigh a light squeeze then and tap before turning away to go back to his car.

your heart was racing now, and you swallowed—your stomach already twisting and turning—mind running with so many thoughts of what he just might do.

-

the next day was worse. you were so much more worse.

you didn’t even say hi when you walked into the garage—and honestly you weren’t even sure why you kept coming back in here when you knew you didn’t have to. but you just strutted in anyways in a pair of tight little shorts and a cropped tee.

you made it a point not to look at matt when he glanced up, watching the way you climbed up onto that same tool bench and crossed your legs. but your whole body was stiff—because you could feel the way he looked at you.

chris was underneath the car, his legs sticking out like some cartoon, which honestly made you crack a small smile. but you wiped it away quickly as you started to peel open a popsicle you had brought with you and stuck it between your lips without a word.

matt shook his head and chuckled under his breath—he knew what you were doing. and you knew that he knew. it was on purpose, what you were doing. every little slurp you made on the red popsicle was for him. even the eye-roll you did every time you moved your head down was meant to test him. to tease him—just to see how far he’d let this go.

but he just kept working, even if you were staring to become distracting. his eyes flicking over to you every few minutes, watching the way some of the juice from the popsicle was dripping down the sides of your mouth. and how your nipples were poking through that shirt of yours. of course you weren’t wearing a fucking bra—matt didn’t like the thought of chris’ eyes landing on you and seeing it.

you sat there for a while, not watching the boys, just scrolling on your phone and eating your popsicle until it was finished. but at some point chris had left to “take a call.” he knew how you guys got, and really he wish he didn’t, but he was around be too often to where he started picking up on little details. and so he shoot a knowing glance between you both before heading out. the door swung shut behind him.

and that’s when the air seemed to change. it became more tense—so thick you could probably cut it with a knife. you and matt were both on edge, but it wasn’t going to be him who was going to snap first.

you didn’t hear mat move right away, just the sound of tools being set down gently in the tool boxes where they went before the sound of a rag was heard. and then his shadow was being casted over your legs. he didn’t give you time to react before he was already speaking to you.

“i should bend you over that hood.” he murmured, not even giving you the satisfaction of looking directly at you, instead he was looking else where. his hand rested on the edge of the bench beside you, fingers slowly curling just like they had yesterday.

he startled you to say the least but all you did was blink slowly before your lips parted, taking little breaths in and out. your heart hammering.

when he finally looked at you, he moved to step between your knees. “don’t look so shocked sweetheart. done nothin’ but try to provoke me today.” and you couldn’t stop the next words from slipping past your lips. “fuck you.” you mumbled, though it came out breathy.

he hummed, his hands moving slow—up your thighs, spreading them apart just a little as he leaned it towards you. “i like this version of you. all pouty. all worked up.” your breath hitched as his fingers ghosted over your core—so close you could feel the heat radiating off his knuckles.

but he didn’t touch you. not in the way you wanted him to—and that make your head spin, your walls crumbling down in an instant. “please.” you whispered without thinking and matt tilted his head, smirking to himself. he had you exactly where he wanted you. “please?” he echoed mockingly. “that’s it?”

he tsked, leaning in so close to you that his lips brushed your ear, just like they had done yesterday. and you could feel the way your breath caught in your throat. “nah, baby. you’re not gettin’ my cock until you’re begging for it. i wanna hear how bad it hurts not having your pussy stuffed after a few days.”

you whined, your hips shifting forward. he hadn’t even done anything to you yet—but yet here you were—your body already on fire and your mind already beginning to turn to mush just from how he was talking to you. “it hurts,” you whispered. “been hurting all week.” your words were breathless, almost inaudible as you spoke.

matt shifted just slightly, moving his palm to suddenly press flat against your cunt over your shorts—your legs parted more for him as you gasped at the contact. it was such a small move, but fuck did it feel amazing.

“oh, I fuckin’ bet.” he growled, his fingers now moving to rubbing slow, firm circles over your clothed clit. he was focused on the fact that chris could come back into the garage and see you both like this—no—he was focused on making you pay for how you had been acting towards him. “this little pussy’s been neglected, huh? bet she’s been so fuckin’ soaked for me, isn’t she?”

you nodded so fast you thought you’d get whiplash, your breath catching. he was always so hot when he spoke to you like this. it was exactly what you needed—and you were so so close to getting what you wanted, it was like you could taste it. “mhm—yes. fuck, matt please.” you begged just slightly, but it obviously wasn’t enough. because just as your hips started to grin against his fingers, he pulled back and just stepped away.

just like that.

and you stared at him with your lips parted in disbelief. he touched you and then backed off—why would he just do that?

“mm-mm. that’s not what i asked for.” he said, reaching out and wiping his hands with a clean rag, turning back toward the car with a smirk. “i said to beg. not whimper. makes you sound desperate baby.”

you were seething. your eyes turning to slits as your voice started before your brain could catch up. “matt!” you slid off the bench, storming over to where he way by his car, your voice beginning to raise. “you’re such a—” and before you could get the rest of the words out, matt was spinning quick to pin you back against the edge of the car with a hand against your stomach. “careful. sat the wrong thing and i’ll edge you on my tongue for an hour just to send you home without my cock.”

your eyes widened—welling just slightly as your whole body began to throb even more. it wasn’t fair how he was acting—he would’ve just given into you by now. you felt as if you’d cry right here and now with how much you needed him.

“now be a good girl,” he whispered, one hand coming out to grab at your hip as the one on your stomach began sliding down and into your shorts. his fingers dancing along the outside of your panties, tracing faint lines over your pussy. “and tell me what you want.” you were warm—everywhere—the wet patch on your panties growing by the second, sticking to you.

“want your cock,” you gasped, the words being mumbled, your pride crumbling. your body basically shrinking in front of him. “please—want it so bad—been aching for days.”

“yeah? what, you want it—here?” his fingers moved and pressed hard over your clit. you nodded desperately, lips parting as your eyes fluttered shut for just a moment. “c’mon baby, say it. tell me what filthy little thoughts have been swimming around in that pretty head of yours.” your hips twitched at his words, eyes fluttering back open.

“I want you to bend me over and fuck me like i’m nothing.” your voice cracked just slightly—you felt so embarrassed. “want you to use me. make me cum so hard i forget how long i waited.” matt groaned out a noise of approval before he leaned down, his mouth connecting to yours in a heated kiss.

his hand moved out of your shorts, coming up to land on your other hip as his lips broke away from your own, quickly spinning you around—pressing you against his car. the hood was down now, and you hadn’t even realized it was. almost like he planned for it to end like this.

he pressed a hand up between your shoulder blades, a quiet signal for you to go down. and you listened—bending yourself forward and arching the best you could, letting your legs spread more for him.

you let yourself lay flat, your cheek pressed to the metal of the hood. matts hands grabbed at the waist band of your shorts and yanked them down to your knees—your panties now on full display for him, absolutely soaked through. “look at you, soaked through your fuckin’ panties,” he muttered. “how pathetic is that?”

you turned your head slightly to look over one of your shoulders the best you could—catching a small glimpse of him before you let your head fall back down. “please.” you whined, pushing your hips back against him. you could feel how hard he was already, his cock straining against the material of his pants.

he thought about teasing you more—letting you grind yourself back into him like a needy girl—but he decided not to waste anymore time. after all, he was getting impatient himself.

so he just reached down and slid your panties to the side, his other hand coming down and undoing his pants, pulling his cock out as quickly as he could. he pulled back slightly so he could spit down onto his hand, reaching down to fist himself until he was slick enough. the loss of contact made you whimper, your desperation growing more by the second.

he chuckled when he noticed, tsking before grabbing your hip and lining himself up. “so fuckin’ impatient baby. you want it so bad? then fucking take it.” and with that his hips pushed forward rather rough, his cock burying itself so deep inside you, it nearly knocked the wind out of you.

you moaned loud—the sound almost between a cry and a scream—but he reached around and clamped a hand over your mouth rather quickly, shutting you up as his hips snapped forward. “shh, baby. y’gotta keep it down. wouldn’t want chris hearing what a needy little whore you are, hm?”

you shook your head, small “no’s” slipping past your lips as your nails scraped against the hood of his car. he started fucking you rough and deep, one of his hands tangling itself in your hair as the other stayed over your mouth.

“five days without my cock and look at you,” he hissed. “takin’ it like you’re starved for it. you are, aren’t you? so upset that my attention hasn’t been on you, you greedy girl.” your moans we’re muffled against his hand, drool pooling in the palm of it as he tried to keep you quiet.

“say it.” he growled, the hand in your hair yanking your head back and away from his hand that covered your mouth. your moans echoing through the garage now as his cock kisses that sweet spot inside you over and over again. the drool now trailing down the sides of your mouth, pool against your shirt.

“I—i was upset!” you gasped, a hand reaching back to grab at him every time he rammed inside you. your scalp starting to burn slightly from the grip he had on your hair. “just—just wanted your attention matt—missed it—please!” he cursed under his breath, his own eyes rolling back from how good you were behaving now. “there’s my good girl.” he murmured. “all that attitude just cause you needed what? a good fuck?, hm?.”

you nodded, the words dying on your tongue as he fucked you faster. the car under you was shaking and neither of you cared if chris heard you—both of you were just focused on the moment and how good you both felt.

every part of you felt on fire—from the heat or from matt you weren’t sure. but your stomach was becoming tighter, your orgasm building. you were crying by now, you were sure of it—your eyes all watery and nose sniffling as matt’s hips didn’t stop. he could feel the way you clenched around him, drawing him in every time he pulled out—it was like you were milking him.

“c’mon sweetheart, i can feel you clenching around me. you gonna cum already? missed my cock so much that you can’t even last?” your body shuttered at his words. he was mocking you—and you tried to deny it, tried to lift your head to say no but it was no use. he wasn’t lying.

the hand tangled in your hair pushed your face back down to the hood of the car, sliding down to grab at the back of your neck. holding you there. “cum on my cock baby. show me how bad you missed me.” hips get kicked your legs wider as he thrusted forward, the new angle making your eyes rolling back as you clenched around him again.

“ah—ah—oh fuck!” your body shook and tensed, walls fluttering around matt’s cock as you let go. you came with a loud cry, your juices beginning to rush out and down his cock. soaking the back of your thighs and the front of his pants. your legs almost threatened to give out on you, but matt just held you up as he fucked you through your high. his own not too far behind.

it wasn’t long before you body started to become over sensitive, twitching slightly in his hold as you started to babble. “matt—fuckfuckfuck—ohmygod—“ his hand on your neck decided to move again, this time trailing down your body and pressing to your clit, rubbing it quickly as his thrusts started to become sloppy.

“y’gonna cum again baby. c’mon, want you to cum again—you can do it f’me.” he groaned, his body leaning forward to press his chest flush to your back, his teeth sinking into the flesh of your shoulder as his hips stuttered. he stilled moments later, his balls drawing tight as he spilled himself inside you. thick ropes of cum painted your walls, some even leaking around the sides of him as he tried to bury himself deeper into your cunt.

the feeling of it triggered your second orgasm—your cunt clenching down around him once again as you came. your vision blurred for just a moment as small gasps slipped out of you. matt continued to empty himself inside you, making sure to fill you to the brim before his body relaxed on top of yours basically.

“this what you wanted, huh?” he muttered, turning his head two press a kiss where his teeth bit into your flesh. light purple marks already blossoming around the bite. and you nodded, your body half-limp and your mind absolutely gone. your breath catching.

“good.” he whispered—his arms moving to peel himself off of you gently. he was being gentle now. this was your favorite part after it all—how gentle he is with you, knowing he pushed your limits just a little. “stay right here for a sec while i get stuff to clean us up baby.”

you whined as he started to pull away—not wanting him to go. you just wanted him close now. “matttt.” but he just shushed you as his hips pulled back, his cock slipping from your now spent and full cunt. he watched as a mixture of his cum and yours leaked out of you, giving just a small smirk before he wandered off to get some clean rags.

matt had managed to get you both cleaned up in time and dressed before chris came back inside. matt had been situating you on his lap, your head snuggled into his neck, before chris came back into the building. you yourself were already starting to doze off in his arms, your body tired and weak.

and chris glared at you both—knowing just from how calm you were and how smug matt looked—that something went on in here that he’d rather not think about. a quite “you guys are disgusting.” muttered from him as matt just laughed.

a/n : this was supposed to be posted on june 28th but i’m very bad at sticking to a schedule obviously. but happy birthday kay!! my sweetest and bestest friend ever. i love you so so much and i hope your day was fantastic and just know that you are stuck with me forever 🤗

this also isn’t proofread so if there’s any spelling mistakes, i apologize

[saudianna]

ᯓ★: word count: 1.5k or smth ᯓ★ readerx lando ᯓ★: a/n: highkey this is just an escape cuz I’m getting writers block on love is papaya orange and like bro i have so many of these in my drafts PLEASE SEND ME REQUESTS also gonna make a series outta these small things ive been doing but make em a lil longer like this one ᯓ★: genre: smut, some fluff ᯓ★: tws: unprotected p in - use protection kids.. rough, slight exhibition kink? fingering, praise, degradation (opposites I guess..) established relationship, size kink if u squint, aftercare cause he’s a cutie <3

Lando loved fucking you while you were busy! it was more a game to him than anything else, how far he could push you, how loud he could make you, how absolutely wrecked and desperate he could make you by the end of it. he’d always start slow with it, sitting down slowly on the couch as you pressed the green button on screen, answering this very important call! you talked to the person on the other line, ignoring the brit’s humongous hand on your thigh innocently. until it wasn’t. fingers dancing right by the lacy band of your panties. his two digits slipping in between your folds so casually it made you moan out loud, you panicked and covered it with a cough, pressing the phone closer to your ear, trying to keep your voice steady and stoic. Lando’s fingers were warm and slow, dragging through your wetness like he was testing it, testing you. he pushed his fingers deep inside with no warning. knuckles stretching the first ring of muscle as you squirmed, body tensing under his touch. his other hand gripped your other thigh to keep you still. 

“Yeah.. no, I’m still here, sorry.” you muttered into the phone, voice higher now, breath uneven and hitching.

Lando smirked, eyes glued to your face as he curled his fingers just right, hitting that perfect spot again and again, your hips bucked and your face twisted in pleasure, cunt squeezing around his hand, but it only made him go rougher, faster, more urgent. the sound of your cunt sucking around his fingers filled the room, wet and obscene, and you had to bite your lip from whining into the speaker! he pressed his thumb to your sensitive nub with practiced precision, circling your clit slowly, waking your, stomach flip. you could barely follow the conversation anymore. all you could focus on was the way his fingers fucked into you with a rough rhythm, thrusts deep and your arousal dripping down his knuckles, heat built in your tummy like fire about to catch, a knot tying up and feeling like it’s about to snap.

The moment you pressed the end call button, stringed with an excuse that you had a really bad stomach ache, you dropped the phone from your hand, landing somewhere on the fluffy carpet, you looked at him for the first time since the start of his shenanigans, your legs shaking, eyes wide and panting, while he just looked pure amused. 

“Did you not tell them how soaked you are for me baby?” he murmured, voice thick and sultry, teasing as he pulled his fingers out of you with a wet pop and sucked them into his mouth, licking your slick off lazily and seductively as his eyes locked to yours. 

“God, you’re such a good girl when you try to behave darling..” he smirked and pushed you back onto the couch cushions, grin never leaving his face. 

“But I’m not finished with you yet.”

Other times, he would do it just to make fun of you with how easily you get flustered, or just to inconvenience you. He would linger his hands on your waist in the paddock, rub your sides up and down while you were at the gym together, and bend you over the kitchen counter as you made dinner for him! Big palms pushing your hips to an angle, leaning you against the counter and grinding against your ass, you whined and he rubbed against you. 

“Baby you okay with this?” he asked just to make sure, and you nodded, grinding yourself against him, he groaned and lifted his shirt off his muscular torso and gently pushed down your shorts as you took your own cami off. He pushed into your ass more and you whimpered more. He pushed his sweatpants down with one hand and his boxers too, flushed cock slapping against his stomach and tip a bright red and leaking already.

“Bend over for me more baby, cmon.” You let out a mumble of approval and do as told, he grabs your hips and groans.

“Good girl baby. So obedient for me.” He chuckles and you whine a little, he taps his tip on your pussy, laughing at your whimpering.

He slides it between your folds, your legs shaking and back hurting from his hand pressing your spine down. He dragged himself mire along your sticky folds, already slick and begging for more.

Pushing it in, stretching your walls and you grip the counter for more leverage, the surface providing little to no help.

You whine and push back more as he pulls out completely and you sob at the loss, him suddenly pushing in completely, thrusting into you with one go, and you scream as he hit your cervix, and you shook your head.

“Lando no-! Please you’re too big-“ you whine and he pulls out a bit,

“baby, you’re gonna take it for me alright?” You let out a breathy moan and he carried on pounding into you, wrapping his hand around you to circle at the dripping mess in between your thighs, and you cry out,

“Mmfhh! Fuck Lan!” he chuckles and he lifts one of your legs up, hitting that one spot and you shriek

“Lann— too much- it’s too big please!” You let out a strangled sound and he carried on, dragging his heavy cock through your swollen lips and velvety walls, the slick sounds and your needy moans.

“Who's making you feel this good huh?” He whined himself at the clench you gave him, knocking the breath out of you.

“You-! You Lando-! Shit I’m so fucking close-“ You mewled at the aggressively executed thrust and his hand came around your throat. 

“Shut up. We have neighbours you know? God you’re screaming like a slut so loud people can probably hear us from floors above!” And he brought his hand back, spanking your ass hardly and you panted out, crying now. 

“Cmon baby. Cum for me yeah?” Your walls squeezing him, fluttering now as he spread love bites down your back. As you finally came, his fingers tangled in your hair, your back arching and cunt clenching so hard Lando thought his soul was being sucked out from his body. 

“Shit- you tryna milk me baby? It’s fucking working-“ he gasped out and came all inside you, moaning like a manwhore and he reached around again to overstimulate the both of you, thrusting into you harder and making you keen out, tears running down your cheeks and into your parted lips, bitten raw from suppressing your whines and moans.

“You’re such a mess for me, baby—just look at how wet you are.” And wrapped his hand around your loose hair. Pulling it back to look at your face, messy and tear coated lashes, looking at him from the side as your lips quivered and he laughed in your face, still pounding into you from behind. He grabbed your jaw with his other hand and kissed you roughly, full of teeth and tongue and you moaned into the kiss and the man behind you utterly ruined you. He laughed in your face as your eyes rolled back as he delivered a particularly spot-hitting pound. 

As he felt your walls clenching around him again he pushed your head down to see  your walls gripping his dick so hard, and you moaned in your his ear, his mouth nibbling on your neck, licking on your collarbone. He groaned as you came with a shout, legs giving up on yourself and he gave a few more thrusts, coming deep deep inside.

“Fuck- you like me filling you up huh?” And he slowly stopped his thrusts, you moaned and he pulled out, lifted you up and put you on the counter.

“You okay baby?” You nodded and he looked down at your raw and puffy folds, grinning at the sticky liquid dripping out of you, reaching down and scooping it back in, and you whimpered.

“Mm keep it in baby.” He picked your undies off the floor and put them on you, keeping his residue in. 

“Was I too rough love?” You shook your head and wrapped your arms around him. He kissed you and cradled you in his arms. After a few moments he pulled away and kissed your forehead, walking away and getting a warm cloth and wiping down your thighs.

“Can I run a bath for you?” He asked,

“Yes please.. join me?” You titled your head and he laughed and nodded.

“Of course baby.” He picked you up in his arms and went and placed you in the bath.

“How about you run the bath and I’ll go get some clothes hm?”

You nodded and gave him a little peck, he smiled and went to go when you said something that made him laugh.

“Agh… everything hurts Lando..!” You giggled and sat on the side of the bath.

“I guess I owe you a massage huh?” He winks and walks to go get the stuff for you. <3

[vaginalvr]

fast - learning boy, nsfw

Summary: You teach Spencer how to give head...

content warning: Descriptive sexual tension, heavy making out, explicit consent discussion, one partner teaching the other about oral sex

a/n: the first in the inexperienced!spencer series!, enjoy :)

word count ~ 1.2k

Spencer was fidgeting so much at dinner that you’d given up trying to keep the conversation casual.

He was brilliant at everything else. Casework. Chess. Quoting obscure research. Remembering the names of every victim and unsub you’d ever tracked together. But personal things? He got shy. And sex? He’d grown bolder with you, sure—but there were still frontiers he hadn’t crossed.

Tonight you watched him shift in his chair, push his food around his plate, and bite his lip so hard it went white.

You finally set down your fork.

“Spencer,” you said softly. “Talk to me.”

He blinked. “I am talking.”

“You’re brooding. There’s a difference.”

He swallowed. His voice dropped. “It’s…personal.”

“Everything about us is personal,” you reminded him, covering his hand with yours. “Try me.”

He went even redder, then whispered so low you barely heard:

“I don’t know how to…do that. You know. On you. I’ve read about it. I know what it is—I’m not an idiot. But I don’t want to mess it up.”

You blinked. Then smiled so big your face hurt.

He winced. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not! Spencer.” You squeezed his fingers. “I’m delighted. You want to learn?”

He looked down. “I want to be good for you. You deserve that.”

Your heart melted.

You shifted forward so your knees brushed under the table. “I can teach you.”

His eyes darted up, wide and almost fearful. “You’d…be okay with that?”

“Spencer,” you murmured, leaning closer. “Nothing would make me happier.”

He looked like he might pass out.

By the time you got home, his nerves had returned with a vengeance.

He hovered by your bedroom door, twisting his fingers. “You sure?” he asked for the fifth time.

You stepped up, pressing your palms to his chest. He was so warm, heart thudding like a trapped rabbit.

“Positive,” you whispered, tipping your head up for a kiss.

He responded shyly, mouth tentative, until you sighed into him and he relaxed, pulling you closer.

You nudged him gently to sit on the bed. He obeyed, palms braced on his thighs, looking up at you like you were a puzzle he was desperate to solve.

“First lesson,” you said, brushing your fingers through his hair, “is don’t overthink.”

He gave a strangled laugh. “Literally impossible.”

“Then listen to me.” You pushed your fingers into his hair more firmly, tilting his head back. His breath caught.

“Second lesson,” you continued, voice husky, “is pay attention. To me. Not the textbooks in your head.”

He nodded dumbly.

You smiled and kissed him again, slower this time. He relaxed further, his hands settling on your waist. When you nipped his lower lip, he gasped.

“You like that?” you teased.

He blushed. “I…yes.”

“Good. Because you’re going to watch me, listen to me, learn me. Understand?”

“Y-yeah.” His voice cracked.

You took his hand and guided it between your thighs over your clothes. His fingers trembled.

“Warm,” he murmured. “You’re warm.”

“Good. Feel my heartbeat?”

He nodded, wide-eyed.

“That’s for you,” you whispered. “Because I want this.”

He swallowed hard, lashes fluttering. “I want it too. I want you.”

You smiled and kissed him fiercely, pushing him back slightly on the bed. When you pulled away, you let his hand drift higher along your body.

“Touch me like that. Gentle. Curious. Don’t rush.”

He obeyed, fascinated. You could see the profiler in him analyzing your reactions—where you gasped, where your breath caught.

“Good,” you praised, voice thick. “Just like that.”

He shivered. “God. Your voice.”

You smiled, breathless. “My voice?”

“It—it’s helping,” he admitted. “You telling me what you want.”

“Want me to keep going?”

He nodded so hard you laughed.

When you finally unbuttoned your jeans and guided his hand beneath, he made a tiny sound in the back of his throat.

“Oh,” he whispered. “You’re…”

“Wet,” you supplied, nipping at his ear. “Because of you.”

He groaned.

You pressed his fingers more firmly, coaching him with gentle words. He was clumsy at first, but so attentive it made your chest ache.

“Slower,” you whispered.

“Like this?”

“Mm. Better. More pressure. Don’t be afraid.”

You felt him swallow hard. “I’m…nervous.”

“I know. I love that about you,” you confessed.

He let out a broken laugh, exhaling against your throat. “You’re evil.”

You smiled wickedly. “And you like it.”

He kissed you then, more sure, until you had to break away for air.

Finally you shifted back, pushing him gently down so he was kneeling on the floor between your legs, looking up.

You cupped his face. “Ready for the advanced class?”

He groaned. “God. Yes.”

Your heart was pounding like a drum.

You held his hair gently. “Watch me. Listen to me. Don’t stop unless I say.”

“Okay,” he rasped, breath coming fast.

You could see how hard he was breathing, how eager he was to learn.

You told him exactly what you wanted, voice shaking with heat. His eyes stayed locked on yours the whole time, wide and worshipful. He asked questions, his voice wrecked with nerves and want, and you answered in low, shaking whispers.

You praised him every time he did something right. Your fingers twisted in his hair. At one point he mumbled something against you that made you laugh breathlessly and tug him closer.

“Spencer. God. Just like that.”

He made a desperate, ruined noise at how you said his name.

And when your voice finally broke, when you gasped his name in a wrecked whisper, he shuddered like he was the one coming apart.

You tugged him up to kiss you, messy and hot and grateful.

“Did I…do okay?” he asked, voice hoarse, eyes shining.

You let out a broken laugh. “You did perfect. Best student I’ve ever had.”

He buried his face in your neck, still breathing hard.

You held him close, fingers stroking through his hair, your whole body thrumming with warmth and promise.

The rest of the night lay open before you, full of lessons you were both eager to learn.

[bloomseishiro]

you prank rin by telling him a tiny, fabric headband is your new top ₊˚ෆ⊹.ᐟ

before you read. fem!reader, very suggestive at the end lol, mdni!! 

“Rinnie, look! My package finally came,” you squealed, peeling the tape off the box and opening it up. 

He glanced up from his laptop to look at the excitement on your face. Rin paused the video footage of his practice game before he asked, “What did you order again?”

“A new top!” you said, picking up the fabric headband you had strategically placed in the box only a few hours before. 

The headband was a pastel purple made of a soft, stretchy fabric. Was it enough coverage to be a shirt? No way in hell. But maybe you could convince Rin it was a top and watch his sanity crumble. 

The perks of having a chronically offline boyfriend. He never knew what pranks were trending. The perfect victim for you to mess with whenever you were bored!

You tried to hide your laughter as his face changes from one of neutrality, to one of concern, confusion, then anger. 

“Well, where is it?” he asked. 

You blinked slowly, forcing a bemused look onto your face. “What do you mean? It’s right here.” You waved around the purple headband before holding it up to your chest. “It goes around you like this. A tube top!” 

“A tube top,” Rin deadpanned. “I’ve seen you wear one of those. They’re normally, like, ten times longer than whatever that piece of string is.”

“But it stretches,” you insisted, pulling the headband wide with your hands. 

He winced as he watched you manipulate the fabric. “It’s getting even thinner as you stretch it. That covers nothing!”

You pouted, folding your arms across your chest. “So you think it’s ugly? My boyfriend isn’t supportive of my new fashion sense?”

“Is being nude your new fashion sense?!” 

A giggle escaped you at his outburst. He was finally snapping.

“Well, micro is the new trend,” you said matter-of-factly. “Like, you know microskirts? Now, micro tube tops are in! Let me show you.”

Rin shook his head in disbelief. He sighed before challenging you, “Fine. Yeah, show me then. How the fuck do you wear that thing?”

You grinned. Just the question you wanted him to ask. “You’ll see.”

Smothering your fit of giggles behind your hand, you skipped out of the room to change out of your shirt and into the headband. You looked in the mirror, trying not to burst out into laughter at the stupidity of this prank. You just hoped the headband would hold together and not rip apart until Rin absolutely lost it. 

Once the fabric lay flat against your breasts, barely covering a single thing, you walked back out into the living room to show off to Rin. 

“It’s ooooon!” you sang, striking a cheeky pose. “Do you like it?”

Instead of being annoyed and calling it stupid like you expected, you noticed Rin was quiet. Oddly quiet. 

You looked up, quirking your head to the side in question. 

His face was red and it looked like he wasn’t even breathing. “I…”He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, unable to form a full sentence. “You look…”

Heat rose to your cheeks. Oh. So it was like that. 

Despite your own embarrassment, you decided to tease him further. No one knew how to push Rin’s buttons like you.

“I think we should go to the grocery store now,” you said, walking over to the front door to grab your keys hanging on the wall. “We need some more eggs—“

Before you could open the door, you felt Rin behind you, hand on the door to keep it shut. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he muttered, eyes half-lidded. 

“…To the grocery store?” you said innocently. 

“Nope.” 

Before you could retort, Rin picked you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style down the hallway into your bedroom. You squealed at his roughness and urgency, throwing your arms around his neck to secure yourself. 

“Maybe I should wear this more often,” you giggled as he peppered kisses down your neck towards your very exposed breasts. 

Rin scoffed but relented. “Only if I can see you in it first.”

“Always!” 

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Glastonbury Kisses.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here !!

authors note - we all saw that video….so i thought why not make something happy out of it🫶

word count - 500.

in which, it’s the last day of glastonbury and whilst listening to a dj in the vip section, you and your husband enjoy a rare moment of just being the two of you.

The night hums with energy. The DJ’s set pulses through the air, the beat vibrating up through your feet. You’re leaning against the rail in the VIP section, tucked close against Harry’s side.

His arm is around you, his fingers absently drawing patterns along your hip as you both take it all in — the lights, the crowd, the music, the moment.

Harry glances down at you, his hair wild from the breeze, his smile soft and easy.

“We should do this every year,” he says, voice low so only you can hear.

You look up at him, surprised. “What, Glastonbury?”

He nods, gaze sweeping the crowd before settling back on you. “Yeah. This. Us. Out here, no schedule, no stress. Just music and you and me.”

Your heart warms at the thought. “Our yearly escape?”

He grins, that crooked, dimpled grin that still gets you every time. “Exactly. We’ll be the couple that always shows up, sneaks into corners, and snogs like teenagers when no one’s looking.”

You laugh, leaning into him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

His eyes sparkle. “I’m a simple man. Good tunes, good festival food, and you in my arms? Heaven.”

And then — like the universe is listening — the music shifts. The DJ fades out the heavy beat, and soft guitar chords fill the air.

You go still.

Your breath catches as the first notes of Amazed by Lonestar drift through the speakers.

You glance up at Harry at the same moment he looks at you, both of you wide-eyed.

“Every time our eyes meet

This feelin’ inside me…”

“Is that—” you start, but your voice trails off.

Harry’s already nodding, his lips parted in surprise. “It is. Our song.”

His hand comes up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. His eyes are soft, dark, full of all the things he can’t say.

“Come here,” he whispers, and when his mouth finds yours, the rest of the world melts away.

The kiss starts slow, soft, like he’s memorizing you all over again. His lips move against yours with that familiar sweetness, that quiet reverence. The world tilts, narrows, until it’s only him — only this.

Harry deepens the kiss, parting your lips, tasting you, losing himself in you. His hand threads into your hair, angling your face so he can kiss you deeper, fuller.

“You have no idea,” he breathes between kisses, “how much I love you.”

Your fingers clutch at him, pulling him closer. “I do,” you whisper, before his lips claim yours again — harder this time, hungry, as if he can’t get enough.

“I don’t know how you do what you do

I’m so in love with you

It just keeps gettin’ better…”

The song swells around you, wrapping you both in it, and Harry kisses you like he’s trying to fuse the two of you together — mouths hot, breath mingling, hands roaming, hearts racing.

When he finally pulls back, breathless, his forehead rests against yours. His thumb brushes your lip, swollen from his kiss.

“Glastonbury every year,” he says softly. “Promise me?”

You smile, dazed and happy. “Promise.”