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kingkaisen · 4 days ago

Note

PLEASE do a one shot where gojo and reader announce the pregnancy to the whole family i beg

DOUBLE TROUBLE ୨୧

♡ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Last year, you & your husband, Satoru, adopted two of his teenage students, Yuji & Megumi. You also have a biological five-year-old girl, and now? You’re pregnant with twins! How does your chaotic family handle your pregnancy & two new members of the family?

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ ONLY || contains fluff, smut, tiny bit of angst. pregnancy & birth, fem reader, canonverse, brief mentions of depression & suicidal thoughts, feral/protective gojo, “uncle” nanami, brief “aunt” shoko, & “uncle” geto, gojo being the best dad and husband ever!

♡ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: . . . 14k :)

♡ — 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: this fic is part of my dad!gojo series, but reading the other parts isn't necessary. also, i apologize for any inaccuracies regarding pregnancy/labor! || artwork by @/3-aem, ribbon dividers by @/cursed-carmine!

THE NEWS

“We’re homeee!”

The double front doors shut with a gentle slam, and in walked Yuji with Megumi lingering behind him.

“Mom? Dad?” Yuji called out yet again, darting his eyes around the big foyer for any sign of life — the sound of you whipping together an afternoon snack, the excited ramblings belonging to their little sister — your biological daughter — Maya, or Satoru’s heavy, yet comforting footsteps making their way down the hall; the usual noises they came home to.

“Momma?” Yuji tried once more. Stepping further into the foyer, he leaned down to take off his red shoes. “Anybody home?”

“I think it’s just us,” Megumi, who too started to remove his shoes, spoke up. Was it out of worried curiosity, or was he simply tired of hearing Yuji shout? The truth was unclear.

But he did know one thing.

He, for the most part, was a well-behaved teenager. Rarely did he ever find himself in trouble, and when those all-too-rare moments occurred, it was usually because he was wandering the streets too late at night, failed to check in on time during his missions, or he got lost in his latest nonfiction book while at the park — and thus, didn’t realize that the afternoon sunlight was no longer illuminating the pages of Of Wolves and Men by Barry Lopez, but the moon and nearby streetlight were.

Those days, he would always arrive home, later than promised, and he’d hear the hurried footsteps coming from the warmly lit living room all before being met with the worried frowns that belonged to you and Satoru. One of the many purposes behind the Gojo household’s group chat was for those unfavorable scenarios. While it served as a form of family communication for good morning texts, chore reminders, last-minute items to add to the grocery list, and any silly videos Yuji or Satoru wanted to send, the main purpose it served was as a check-in.

“You’re teenagers. You guys are very independent, and up until now, you never needed to let anyone know your whereabouts. I get it. And I don’t care if you guys wanna, I don’t know, catch a movie after running an errand or something like that. All I ask is that you send a text message to the family group chat so we don’t worry, okay?”

Those were the words you spoke to Megumi and Yuji during the week following their adoption.

Megumi couldn’t quite believe that had happened a year ago. A year.

And he didn’t understand it at the time. The protectiveness. But, either way, he knew just how much it mattered to you.

It wasn’t a one-sided expectation either. You and Satoru also took the time to alert him and Yuji whenever an unplanned circumstance occurred.

That was what initially led to a wave of worry washing over Megumi, because as Yuji started to walk through the house, calling for you, Megumi pulled his phone out of his pocket.

His lock screen only held seven notifications: a reminder to take his antidepressants, two text messages from Maki, three text messages exchanged between Nobara and Yuji in their class group chat, and a photo Satoru sent to the family group chat of Maya’s dinosaur painting from school; a photo that was sent hours ago.

There was nothing that explained your current absence.

Yuji returned to the foyer as Megumi tried to refresh his messages and double-check his wifi connection.

“They’re not here,” Yuji, who leaned against the wall, let the corners of his mouth fall into a small frown.

“They didn’t send a text either,” Megumi glanced up from his phone. “I know they’re alright, but-”

“But it’s weird, right?”

“Yeah,” Megumi replied, sliding his phone back into the pocket of his school uniform.

“Mom and dad have been acting weird lately in general if you ask me,” as Yuji spoke, he pulled out his own phone, checking his lock screen — which was a picture of the entire family, along with Nobara, at a baseball game — and his frown deepened at the sight of no new text messages. Megumi was right.

“I’m gonna call ‘em,” Yuji shrugged, strands of his pinkish hair tickling his forehead. “Can’t hurt.”

Yuji dialed the number under your contact and put the phone on speaker. The two boys listened in a thick silence as the phone rang four times. Just as another wave of worry was about to make Megumi fidget with his hands, the ringing was abruptly cut off.

“Hello?” You answered.

“Mom!” Yuji’s eyebrows shot up, and Megumi moved closer towards the phone. Alas, they knew you were just fine.

“That’s me,” You joked, but then, with all the care and worry of a mother that you held in your heart, you softly asked, “Is everything alright, honey?”

“Yeah, we’re fine, it’s just that, uh, we’re home and you guys aren’t here. You didn’t send a message either. Where are you?”

“Hold on one second.” The boys heard you pull away from the phone. Then, they heard a sudden, faint shout. “Satoru! Our kids are worried about us!”

“See? Told you they liked us,” Satoru’s voice came through the phone speaker, distant, but ever-present.

“Huh? Was that even a real concern? Same kids who panic when you have a small cold, here.” Yuji paused. “Where’d you guys go, anyway?”

“We’re in the backyard.”

With a blink, Yuji darted his brown eyes up at his glaring brother. “Ohhh.”

“You idiot, you didn’t check the backyard?” Megumi’s hand met his forehead, and he closed his eyes in utter disbelief.

“I forgot about it!”

—♡ —

When Satoru was young, he didn’t enjoy relaxing in the grass and daydreaming about his future. There was too much chaos going on in the present, in his opinion. However, when the overconfident teenager with messy white hair, blacked out sunglasses and a foolish grin imagined his future now and then, he pictured himself living in the city, surrounded by wild people, alcoholic beverages, and the finest decor that represented both his unique taste and astonishing wealth.

Those rotten daydreams were a direct result of how he was raised — not as a person, but as a god.

Then, one day, he met you.

That overconfident teenager with messy white hair, blacked out sunglasses, and a foolish grin walked into his first class at Jujutsu High School, and he saw the most stunning girl — he was certain he had overused his Six Eyes, and his otherworldly perception of his surroundings was skewed, but no. That wasn’t the case.

You were truly that stunning.

You turned your head, facing the fellow first year standing in the doorway from where you sat in the first row of the majorly empty classroom, and you smiled at him.

It was a shy, friendly grin.

But oh, that was enough.

The Satoru Gojo was no longer a god. He was a blushing fool, one who tripped over his own feet when he tried to take a step forward, one whose throat dried to a crisp when he tried to say hi, and a pathetic squeak came out instead.

His dreams changed then. When that stumbling teenager with sweaty white hair, crooked sunglasses, and a flushed face imagined his future, he pictured himself living in a house big enough for the enormous family he wanted to have some day, surrounded by his loved ones, the gifts he would adorn them with, and photographs of his big, big family at festivals, birthday parties, and holiday gatherings hung upon the walls.

That was why, currently, Satoru grinned as he flipped over a steak on his grill, watching as his two boys emerged from the back door. To his left, Maya was creating a Magical Meal composed of grass, dirt, sticks, leaves, and whatever else she could find in the backyard. To his right, you were relaxing on the outdoor sofa in the patio area, sipping on water with one hand, and holding a novel with the other.

It was a dream come true.

“What’s going on? Is it someone’s birthday?” The question came from Yuji, who collapsed onto the empty, light blue sofa cushion beside you.

“Nope. Your mother and I just have some pretty big news,” Satoru paused, flipping another steak. “How was school and the movies? Kill any curses today?”

“You’d know if you were there,” Megumi said. “Does you taking the day off have anything to do with the big news?”

“Sure does.”

“I’m not sure I wanna know what it is.”

“Sure you do.”

“When are you guys gonna tell us?” Yuji darted his eyes back and forth between you and the man standing over the grill. “I hate waiting for big news!”

“We’re gonna tell you as soon as dinner’s ready,” you replied with the tone of someone cool, calm, and collected, as if this wasn’t something that made your palms sweat. As if.

Suddenly, Megumi felt something tug on his school uniform. He glanced down to see Maya staring up at him.

“Hm?”

“Can you help me with my-with the homework? Pleaseee?” The five-year-old frowned, though it wasn’t necessary. When you or Satoru were busy, or she simply wanted to spend time with her brother, she would always ask him for homework help, and he would always say yes.

“You know I will. Do you want to go inside or stay out here?” Megumi questioned with a soft smile.

“Muffin, you already finished your homework, remember?” Satoru chimed in, and the little girl pouted as a result.

She adored homework. Homework, in her eyes, was extra bonding time with whichever family member she picked. It was true she finished her assignment about numbers with her dad when she came home from school, but right now, she wanted to color with Megumi.

“We can color after dinner, if you want.” Megumi offered — he was smart in that way.

Suddenly, Maya’s pout changed into a bright smile. “Okay!”

“Take her inside,” You spoke up. “You all need to go wash up and set the table. I gotta talk to your dad about something.”

Two teenagers and the little girl offered their share of curious gazes, but they shoved that confusion down, temporarily satisfied with the promise of hearing the Big News! later on, and they made their way back into the house.

Once they were out of sight, you got off the outdoor sofa, put your water and book down on the edge of the unlit fire pit, and walked over to your cooking husband.

“Before you ask, yes, I’m giving you the biggest piece. No, I won’t let you switch with me, and yes, I'm cooking it to the safest temperature.” Satoru grinned, but when he turned his head and noticed your face didn’t share the same grin as his own, he asked, “What’s on your mind, baby? Don’t be nervous.”

“Useless advice,” you mumbled. “Why are we doing this? Making a big, nice dinner to deliver news they might not be too happy about?”

“They will be, I promise. I’m sure they’ll be shocked, but they’re not going to raise hell like you think they will.”

“It’s Maya and Megumi I’m worried about. I know I’ve said it a thousand times, but I just . . .” Your words trailed off into nothing, the sizzling steaks filling the silence, but that was fine. No other words were needed. After all, this was, indeed, a conversation you had a thousand times.

Satoru figured that, maybe, you’d start to accept his words if they were said a thousand and one times.

“Muffin loves people. Remember how happy she was when Megumi and Yuji joined the family? It’ll be no different than that. As for Megumi, we’ll do whatever it takes to show him that adding new members to the family doesn’t mean we’re taking members away.” Satoru held his arm out. “Come here. Come on.”

With a little frown, you wrapped your arms around him. He hugged you, pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

“You have the cutest frown in the world, you know that? I hate when you’re frowning, of course, but it’s so cute.” He kissed you yet again. “You’re just so cute, what the hell.”

“Stop it,” A smile now replaced your frown, and when you put a bit of distance between your body and his, he took advantage of it by pressing his soft lips against your forehead, nose, and cheek.

“Sir, your behavior is the reason I’m pregnant now.”

“Your cuteness is the reason you’re pregnant now.” Another kiss. “Wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up pregnant again after this, just saying.”

“Like hell,” you giggled, and the very lips that released that soft laugh? They were kissed as well.

—♡ —

Megumi and Yuji hovered over the dining room table. The dark-haired boy gently set out the plates in everyone’s desired seat, meanwhile, Yuji laid out the napkins and silverware.

“Hey,” Megumi interrupted the comfortable silence, grabbing a plate from the stack in his hand and setting it down in your spot. “When they mentioned the news they wanted to tell us, did they say it was good news?”

“Huh?” Yuji looked up from where he stood at the other end of the table. “Uhh, I think they only mentioned it being big news. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

What a lie. Yuji wasn’t as observant as Megumi was when it came to certain things. He didn’t know that Maya — who was currently in the bathroom washing her hands — used the term homework to sometimes “trick” her family members into playing with her, for example.

But Yuji knew Megumi quite well. And right now, he could see his pinched brows and downward-pointed lips, as if a cloud of worry was forming over his head.

“So, how’re you feeling lately?” Yuji asked, his eyes on Megumi, though his hands were placing forks and knives on the table. “Ya know, the meds, the therapy, the psychia-”

“Don’t talk about it.”

“Why not? There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m in therapy too, ya know.”

“Your care plan isn’t as intense as mine.”

“Well, is your care plan helping?” Yuji tried yet again. This time, he was the one with the cloud of worry forming over his head.

“I don’t know. I think so,” Megumi shrugged. It wasn’t a lie, either. Some days, he wanted to rewind time and stop his comrades from intervening whenever a curse came close to ending his life. Other days, he smiled as he defeated his entire family in a game of trivia and ate a few handfuls of your homemade trail mix. But most days, he felt like a zombie. As if moods and emotions were beneath him, or rather, out of his reach.

“Is therapy helping you?” Megumi asked.

“Yeah. Feels nice to have someone to talk to without them getting all worried and stuff, ya know? I can see how stressed mom and dad get when I talk about all this vessel mess,” with a smile, Yuji set down the last of the silverware. “Ya know, there are some things only you and I can understand. I probably can’t give you the world’s greatest advice, but if you ever wanna talk to me, you can.”

Yuji started to walk towards the nearest bathroom. Before he was completely out of Megumi’s line of sight, Yuji paused, glanced back with that familiar smile, and said, “Love you!”

—♡ —

Dinner time occurred fifteen minutes later. Your family sat around the table packed to the brim with grilled steak, steamed rice, roasted brussels sprouts and asparagus, and hot miso soup. The tantalizing aroma from the delicious food certainly caught Yuji’s attention, but the anticipation of hearing your big news made him keep his eyes on you rather than the steaming dishes sitting in the center of the table.

It was as if your back leaning against your dining room chair was an activation switch.

“What’s the news?” Yuji was practically bouncing in his seat.

Maya, following her older brother’s lead, said with a giggle, “What’s the news? What’s the news?”

“News? What news?” You gave them a playfully sly smile. Then, your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh! Satoru, we forgot the donuts and tea.”

Donuts and tea? Megumi thought.

He watched as you and Satoru left the dining room like sneaky little kids, whispering among yourselves.

Satoru returned moments later with a small tray of donuts.

“Ooo, pink and blue!” Maya’s eyes glistened at the sight of the colorful desserts being placed on the table.

You returned with mugs, sitting them down in front of each family member before retreating yet again, only to return with the hot container of herbal tea — and a lukewarm cup of tea for Maya.

“Here’s some tea to help with digestion,” you said, pouring the soothing beverage into everyone’s mugs.

“No juice, mommy? I love, love, love, love juice.” Maya asked.

“No, no juice this close to your bedtime.”

“Okayyy.”

You sat down once again. Satoru reached for a particularly large steak and put it on your plate, and just like that, the family began passing around the prepared food, portioning out however much they desired.

Fifteen minutes of dining and polite conversation went on. The subjects drifted between the film Megumi and Yuji saw earlier that day — Megumi liked it, Yuji thought it was a little drawn out — vague dreams of a big family vacation within the next year or so; simple chatter.

Maya was the one who interrupted the simple chatter. Her eyes were fixated on the little mug in her hands, or rather, what was written on the front of it.

“Sss . . . suh-is-ter . . . of . . . of . . . fa-or.”

“Whatcha reading? Let me help.” Yuji leaned over, glancing at the mug.

“Sister of four,” he read, then tilted his head a bit in confusion. He looked over across the table at you. “Momma, did you read the mug before you bought it?”

“Hm, I can’t remember,” your voice was sugary-sweet with false innocence. “I wonder if they all say something.”

Those words led to Megumi and Yuji grabbing their mugs. As they read in silence, Satoru sneakily grinned at you, reached over, and squeezed your hand.

“Mine says brother of four,” Yuji said.

“Mine too,” Megumi added, putting his mug down and taking a spoonful of soup.

“Dad, what does your mug say?”

Satoru didn’t answer Yuji’s question. Not with words, at least. Instead, the man raised his mug, taking a slow, suspicious sip.

“Awesome father of five,” the boys read in unison.

“Hers says loving mother of five,” Megumi’s eyes trailed the words along your mug.

For a while, the boys sat in silence . . . thinking, thinking, and thinking . . .

Yuji started to cough, nearly choking on the tea he was sipping on.

“You’re pregnant?!” He exclaimed in between coughs, his face going red, his eyes going wide. “With twins?”

“Wait, seriously?” Megumi leaned forward, his eyebrows almost shooting up into his hairline.

Duh. Of course. Of course!

“Took you boys long enough to piece it together!” You couldn’t help but erupt into laughter, holding Satoru’s hand as he too joined in on your joyous fit.

“Hmm?” Maya blinked.

Satoru rose out of his seat, walked over to where his little girl sat, and kneeled.

“Your mommy and I are giving you a couple more siblings, Muffin,” his long fingers tickled her tummy, and she shrieked, giggling wildly as he spoke. “You ready to be a big sister, sweet girl?”

As it often did, a round of tickling turned into a game of chase. Maya hopped out of her chair, continuously laughing all the while, and Satoru trailed behind the running girl — not using his full speed, of course — and together, they played in the living room.

“The donuts . . . You’re having a boy and a girl?” Megumi asked.

His expression, once the initial shock wore off, was unreadable. He was as blank as a new canvas.

You tried. You tried to place meaning behind the blank stare, the stilled lips, the straightened brows . . . but there was nothing. Nothing.

“A boy and a girl, that’s right,” you said.

Yuji was on his feet. He held his arms out, and you grinned, standing and opening your arms.

“Congratulations! This is huge! How far along are you? Have you come up with any names yet? Can they hear me talking?” The rambling boy hugged you more gently than he normally would. After letting go, he leaned down a bit, pressing his ear against your stomach first. He wasn’t very satisfied with the silence. Suddenly, he shouted, “Hellooo! This is Yuji, your older brother!”

“You’re too much,” You ruffled his pinkish hair, but your smile faded into a more stern look.

“So, boys, how do you feel about this?” You asked, grabbing a seat near the two of them, and Yuji, who knew that stern look meant that it was time to get serious, sat back down in his chair. “I know things tend to get pretty chaotic around here sometimes and, well, having twins won’t make that any easier. I know you both tend to think that your wants and needs come second to everyone else’s just because we adopted you both a little over a year ago, and I know I’ve shown you both how that is completely, one hundred percent untrue. Having twins won’t change that, okay? You two are just as important as these two. And Maya, of course. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am!”

The eager response came from Yuji. Megumi took a tentative sip of his tea.

“Megumi?” You called out, raising your brows.

He gave a small nod, then, that blank, fresh canvas-like face of his met yours.

“Congratulations,” he said.

—♡ —

That next morning, your eyelids fluttered open to the ding of your phone. You reached over as best as you could with your husband clinging to you like a needy koala, and you grabbed your device off your nightstand. Blinking away the last bit of sleepiness was a chore. But, eventually, your vision cleared up enough for you to make out your most recent notification.

Megumi had sent a text message to the family group chat.

Megumi: I’m going for a walk. Be back soon.

A walk? A morning walk?

Your eyes flickered up to the time displayed in the corner of your screen. It was so early, the sun hadn’t yet fully risen.

Before Megumi’s depression kept him bedbound until noon, he was an early bird, often awake before or at the same time as you, making his way around the house unintentionally as quiet as a mouse.

Therefore, you would have been happy to know that he was, once again, rising with the sun. But this? This created a wave of worry that washed over you until you pressed the back of your hand against your forehead.

“Satoru?” You rocked your body against your husband. “Wake up.”

He groaned, pulling you closer, albeit gently, still aware of your delicate condition even amidst his sleep. “Wake up,” you tried once again.

“Hmm?” With a yawn, Satoru rubbed his eye. The messy strands of his white hair were going every which way.

“Megumi’s going for a walk,” you whispered.

“Good for him. I love exercise.”

“No, not good. This isn’t like him. He’s upset. He’s upset about the twins. I knew it. I told you.”

The sheer, slight panic in your voice knocked out the last bit of sleepiness dancing around within Satoru.

“Want me to rush and try to catch up with him?”

“No,” you mumbled. “If he is upset, a walk is the best thing for him, right?”

Satoru leaned forward, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “Do you ever worry about me and the little things I do this much?”

“Nope. You’re easy to read. You have a very expressive face. When your eyebrow twitches, I know you’re hungry. When you frown, I know you want my attention. Plus, you’re just gonna tell me whatever is bothering you immediately. I never have the luxury of worrying about you.” This time, it was your turn to lean forward, and you kissed his forehead as best as you could with his messy white hair acting as a barrier. “I’m gonna wash up and get started on breakfast. I want to surprise Yuji with those soufflé pancakes he likes. Make Megumi some black coffee, fresh juice for Maya too.”

“Your favorite fruit chopper is on his way,” Satoru yawned and rolled over onto his back.

—♡ —

Breakfast was served. A beautiful display of food crowded the breakfast nook in the kitchen, earning a heartfelt, “Wow! This is the kinda breakfast you see in movies!” from Yuji.

While he and Maya were in the kitchen, enjoying their meal, you were straightening out the pillows on one of the living room couches with Satoru.

A figure appeared.

You glanced up and smiled at the sight of Megumi.

“Megumi, you're back! How was your walk?”

“It was fine,” he said.

But there was something more. His eyes . . . they darted away from you.

“What is it, buddy?” Satoru asked him. He noticed his son’s strange, distant gaze as well.

Megumi stepped away.

He then returned with a large box in his arms.

“Here. I got this for you.”

Satoru hovered over you as you reached for the box.

What now rested in your arms was a soft, curved, dark blue, pregnancy pillow.

You wanted to say a lot of things; he didn’t have to spend his money like this. How big of a surprise this was. How much you absolutely adored him.

But all you could do was stand there in shock, letting the hot tears start to brim in your waterline.

“You’re gonna make her cry,” Satoru smiled at the teenager as he soothingly rubbed your back.

“Oh, hush. Leave me alone. I can cry if I want to,” With a sniffle, you said, “thank you, Megumi!”

“You’re welcome. You’re a great mom. And you’re a great dad.”

“Stop, now I’m gonna cry,” Satoru turned his head, but he couldn’t fight off the grin upon his face, nor did he want to.

“Can we hug you?” You asked Megumi.

“Sure.”

After setting the box down, you and Satoru wrapped your arms around him. You released a heavy sigh, feeling the burden of worry finally ease off your shoulders.

—♡ —

THE BABY SHOWER

The friends and family of you and Satoru were hardly surprised by the . . . odd traditions and ideas Satoru implemented into his life after traveling to various continents as a hard-working sorcerer.

That was why walking into a baby shower venue, one that looked more like a modern museum, was a shock to no one.

Only the best for Mrs. Gojo.

It was a little ways into the evening, sometime after everyone had been fed, marveled over how Maya was getting taller, and before presents were to be presented to you, and Satoru was chatting with Utahime when he felt someone tap his arm. He turned around, grinning, as he faced Maki and Yuta.

“Congratulations,” Maki said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Yeah, congrats! We’re happy for you,” Yuta smiled as well, his smile noticeably brighter.

“Hey, thanks, you two, and thanks for coming.” Satoru’s large hand landed on Yuta’s head, and he ruffled his hair.

“Free food,” Maki shrugged, but in truth, she adored you — everyone did.

“Have as much as you want. My future unpaid babysitters should enjoy the baby shower, right?”

Satoru walked off then with a sly grin, shoes clanking against the floor as he ignored Maki’s shouts of protest.

Kento Nanami was standing near the colorful arrangement of balloons nearest the buffet. The well-dressed man was replenishing his cup of lemonade, and as Satoru strolled over, he could hear his loud son, Yuji, chatting with his relatives; both real ones, and those who were simply friends of the family, but were close enough to earn the honorable title of aunt, uncle, or cousin.

“Kento! It’s been a while!” Satoru slung his arm over the unsuspecting man’s shoulder, but that composed man didn’t jump, flinch, or appear startled in any way.

He only adjusted his glasses and said, “Indeed it has. Congratulations, Satoru. I’m happy for you.”

“Hey, congrats to you as well, you’re getting another niece and nephew.”

“Uncle Kento, huh? What an honor.”

“One Muffin bestowed upon you and the rest of my friends. She’s always running around asking for Uncle Kento, Aunt Shoko, and the like.” Satoru removed his arm from around Kento’s shoulder. “You’d make an amazing father, you know that, right?”

“Babysitting your kids has been and will be enough for me,” Kento took a sip of his lemonade. “Besides, I don’t know if I could bring kids into . . . Sorry. I didn’t mean to judge you.”

Much like how Kento’s composure didn’t falter when Satoru surprised him, Satoru’s pleasant grin didn’t twitch.

“No, no, it’s alright. You’re not wrong, either. I always thought it was selfish to bring kids into a world filled with curses and curse users, but,” Satoru’s hand was on Kento’s shoulder, and he turned the man around until they were both facing the swarm of chatting guests, and Satoru pointed to you, the one person among the crowd who glistened brighter than the lights, stars and moon themed decorations within the baby shower venue. “Seeing that amazing, beautiful woman over there carry my child, and holding that child for the very first time . . . It’s turned me into a selfish man.”

Kento turned back around to face Satoru. A whisper of a grin appeared on his face.

“One could argue that you’re doing the world a favor. Your children will undoubtedly grow up to become the strongest sorcerers. They could save many lives someday,” Kento said.

“Maybe. Maybe not. If they wanna fight curses, I won’t stop them. But if they wanna make music, flip burgers, sell houses, or whatever, then that’s fine with me.”

“You’re hoping for the latter.”

“Of course I am.” Only then did Satoru’s smile start to fade. “The last thing I want is for my muffin to experience the things Yuji and Megumi have. I can barely keep it together when she cries. How am I supposed to handle her coming home someday, scraped up or worse?”

“You speak as if you won’t be right by her side.”

“I can’t always be there. I told you about the time the school took advantage of my absence and sent Megumi, Yuji, and Nobara off on a mission they weren’t ready for, right? The one at the detention center? And that curse turned out to be a special grade?”

Kento glanced up at the ceiling covered in glistening starlike lights for a brief moment, thinking. Then, his eyes locked with Satoru’s. “Right, I remember. Nobara and Megumi got hurt, and Yuji, well, died.”

Satoru nodded. “They were just my students back then, but even then, I was ready to kill all the higher-ups. I can’t imagine the person I’ll become if something else like that happened to any of my kids. I mean, you’re telling me my sweet girl’s next? In a decade, Muffin will be going to Jujutsu High?”

This time, it was Kento’s turn to place his arm around Satoru.

What an odd act, coming from him. Satoru was certain Kento would only ever initiate physical touch when he was in his casket, and Kento would lightly tap his hand or shoulder as a way of saying goodbye.

For Kento’s arm to rest around Satoru’s shoulder now? Well, the other man’s face must have shown a great deal of borrowed grief from the future.

“You’re not the kind of person to start stressing out about things that have yet to happen,” The blonde-haired man’s voice was soothing. Like a comforting hug. “And you shouldn’t stress out about it tonight. I’ll . . . finally let you come to my house and vent about it all later this week if you aren’t busy. Just promise me you won’t let it get to you right now. You’re supposed to be having fun.”

And, like it often did, that familiar, Satoru Gojo Grin reappeared on his face. “Kento, Kento, remember who you’re talking to. I know how to be stressed out and have fun. Keeps things exciting, ya know?”

“I don’t.”

At the front of the museum-like venue, there was a stage. It was home to the giant crescent moon decoration that brought tears to your eyes — you blamed the pregnancy hormones, but in truth, it was just that gorgeous — and right now, that stage was home to Satoru as he stood on it, microphone in hand.

The chatter and music died down, and your husband started to speak.

“Hey everyone, thanks for coming to our baby shower. It means the world to me, my wife, and our kids. We’re about to start opening gifts, but first, there’s something I wanna show everyone. Most of you might remember this video from our wedding, or from my little muffin’s baby shower, but there are some new faces here. And the old faces are just gonna have to put up with it again, ‘cause this woman right here,” Satoru hopped off the stage. A spotlight followed him as he approached you, leaned down, and gazed at you with a passion so obvious, the hearts of your guests melted at the sight of love they witnessed. “I’m madly in love with her, I’d die for her, and I’m lucky enough to be the man she decided to marry and have kids with. I’m grateful. This video means the world to us, because if it weren’t for the events that happened on this day, there’s a chance none of us would be celebrating the arrival of two new family members right now. So, watch it, or else none of you are coming to Yuji’s future wedding.”

Gentle laughter broke out among the guests. Just above the stage, a projector screen came to life. The old video started with Satoru resting his head on his school desk.

Upon seeing the italicized date in the corner, Shoko, who then locked eyes with Satoru, gave him a soft, knowing smile.

—♡ —

JUJUTSU HIGH SCHOOL — 2006

“Why’re you recording me? Can’t you see I’m crying? You think this is funny?”

The second-year student glanced up at the camera in front of his tear-soaked face. His blacked-out sunglasses had fallen off his desk and tumbled to the floor, and his teary, blue eyes darted between his two best friends.

“You’re the one who talked up a big game. Now hurry before you miss your shot.” Suguru said from behind the camera. He was the one recording Satoru’s all-too-rare meltdown, and he zoomed in on the special-grade sorcerer’s face.

“Shoko, can’t you ask her for me? Pleaseee?” Satoru, who sat backwards in his chair, ran his fingers through his messy white hair.

Suguru turned his camera towards Shoko. The teenage girl rolled her eyes.

“Kinda pathetic to get someone else to ask. If I were her, I’d say no because you didn’t have the courage to ask me directly,” she said.

“Oh my god,” Satoru hid his face in his hands. “Oh my god, I’m gonna die, I swear I am.”

Suguru’s camera picked up the sight of you at the front of the classroom, quietly sitting at your desk, jotting down the last few bullet points written by your teacher on the green chalkboard.

Then, Satoru’s flushed, wet face came into view once again.

“Are you seriously crying?” Shoko asked, stifling a giggle.

“Leave me alone, I’m nervous, okay? I swear I’m gonna throw up. Do you see how pretty she is? And she’s so strong, too. Her smile is-is just . . .” dramatically, Satoru sprawled out across the desk in front of him, sniffling. “Guys, what if she says no?”

“What if she says yes?” Suguru said. “Clocks ticking, Satoru. Karaoke night is tonight and school’s about to let out. If you don’t ask her now, you won’t get another shot.”

“Can’t we reschedule?”

“Why? So you can panic and cry again later?”

Satoru whined, raised his head again for a moment, then rested the side of his head on Suguru’s desk — tried to, at least. In truth, he just ended up smacking his head.

Shoko suddenly came into view, her short brown hair dangling. She leaned close to the camera, and whispered, “What’s really pathetic is that he killed special-grade curses yesterday all while talking on the phone, and now he’s crying because he can’t ask a girl out on a date. Weird.”

“I can hear you,” Satoru mumbled. “You guys don’t get it. Every time I talk to her, all I do is stutter and embarrass myself, almost like I’m not as awesome and amazing as I think I am. What’s up with that?”

“It’s called having a crush,” the amusement in Suguru’s voice was clear.

It made Satoru whine yet again — he was suffering. His friends found it funny, but he was suffering. Suffering!

“Yep. You are downright smitten. Poor thing,” Shoko chuckled.

Suddenly, the school bell rang.

Satoru’s head shot straight up like a dog hearing a whistle, and his blue eyes widened in pure panic.

“Shit, shit, shit, is she leaving? I’m scared to look,” Satoru said, but he turned around and looked anyway.

“I’ll stall her.” Shoko rose from her seat, speed walking to the front of the classroom where you started to gather your belongings.

Bits and pieces of the distant conversation could be heard, and well, Shoko was quite an actress.

There was a gentle thud as Suguru set the camera in his hand down on the desk.

His body then came into view from the waist down as he pulled his nervous friend out of his seat.

“Wipe your tears,” Suguru mumbled, and straightened out Satoru’s uniform. “You can do this. You’re Satoru Gojo, aren’t you?”

“Right . . . right. I got this,” trying to make his messy hair appear neater by running his fingers through it, Satoru released a shaky breath.

Then, he approached you.

Suguru grabbed his camera, moved up a few seats, and sat down. Shoko ended the improvised conversation with you and grabbed the seat of the empty desk beside Suguru.

Suguru zoomed in on the scene that unfolded before him.

“Excuse me,” Satoru tapped your shoulder. You faced him, and he mumbled, “ . . . Hi.”

“Hi,” you smiled.

“Hi . . .” Satoru repeated. His eyes fell to the floor, and he scratched the side of his head with his trembling hand. “So, uh, do you like music?”

“Yeah, I do, why?”

“No reason. Well, there is a reason, but it’s not important or anything.”

“He’s blowing it,” Shoko whispered to the camera. Suguru shushed her as if his dear friend was talking during the best scene of a film.

“I take that back, it’s actually pretty important,” Satoru cleared his throat. God, he could barely look you in the eye. “Asking you out is a big deal to me, ya know? I’ve been practicing for weeks. I can’t believe I just said it wasn’t important. I can, uh, tell that I’m about to do this thing that, for some reason, only happens around you, where I get nervous and start talking a lot, so um, I-I was just wondering if you’d . . . like to go to this group date night karaoke thing . . . tonight? With me? As my date? O-On a date?”

Everyone held their breath. Even the green leaves among the trees visible outside the classroom windows did not blow in the wind.

It was as if the world stopped spinning, and its rotation only began yet again when you laughed softly, your smile brightened, and you said, “You’re adorable. I’d love to.”

“Wait . . . wait, really?” Satoru’s eyes went wide with shock.

The video captured a quiet, joyous shriek from Shoko.

“Yeah, it sounds fun!” You said, closing the binder on your desk.

“O-Oh, great! Um, wait here,” Satoru sped away from you, nearly tripping over his own feet. Again.

His body blocked the camera lens, but he could be heard saying in a rushed, quiet tone, “pen and paper, pen and paper, hurry!”

Suguru put down the camera. He and Shoko scrambled around like disoriented ants, but after a couple of seconds, Suguru handed Satoru a piece of paper, and Shoko gave him a pen. “Here!”

Satoru leaned over a desk and started to write down his number. Suguru grabbed his camera and zoomed in on his trembling hands.

“Your hands are shaking,” Shoko mumbled.

“Not now, Shoko. Please shut up,” Satoru said, writing the last digit, and ripping off a piece of the paper.

Satoru made his way back over to you, his smile bright, cheeks and ears red.

“Here’s my number!” He handed you the tiny piece of paper.

“Okay, cool. I’ll text you when I get home.” You gave him one last smile as you gathered the rest of your belongings. You started to make your way out the door, when suddenly, you paused, turned to face him, and said, “Bye, ‘Toru!”

That was it.

The sorcerer was on the floor.

Suguru and Shoko were on their feet, rushing towards their collapsed friend.

The teenager on the floor came into view, and, once again, tears were streaming down his face, spilling onto the classroom floor beneath him.

“Cut the camera, I can’t take it anymore. I’m gonna die. Did you hear that? Did you hear her call me ‘Toru?” Satoru tossed his arm over his eyes. “I can’t believe it. She said . . . she said yes. I’m not hallucinating, am I?”

Before either one of his friends could answer, he suddenly got off the floor.

“Holy shit,” Satoru whispered. “I gotta go get ready!”

And with that, the man flew out of the classroom. Shoko and Suguru were quiet for a moment, hearing his quick footsteps down the hall, and then, at the same time, they erupted into heartfelt laughter.

“I’ve never seen him act like this before. Is that why you started recording?” Shoko said once the last of her giggles fluttered out of her.

“Yes. I have a good feeling about those two.”

“Wait, wait, Suguru, come look!”

Shoko made her way towards the window, and Suguru — and his camera — quickly followed.

There, they saw Satoru running out of the school.

“See that, future viewers?” Suguru said to the camera. “That’s Satoru running. My best guess is that he’s planning on stopping at any store that catches his eye for a new outfit, new cologne . . . the list goes on and on.”

Suguru then turned the camera around, his face on full display.

“If they don’t work out, I won’t share this video, but as I said, I have a good feeling. I’m thinking I’ll share this video when they go on their . . . fifth date. What do you think?” He looked at Shoko. The girl appeared behind him, joining him on the screen.

“I say whenever they become boyfriend and girlfriend. What if they fall in love and get married? They could show this video at their wedding.” Suddenly, Shoko’s eyes lit up. “Wait, I have an idea.”

She took the camera from Suguru.

With a small wave and a smile, she started to speak to the camera — to the future viewers. “Hi there, if you’re watching this video, that means my friend, Suguru, and I, successfully predicted the future, and Mrs. Gojo is watching this. Congratulations.”

“Wait, what if they decide to show this to their children?”

“Oh, you’re right!” Shoko raised her eyebrows at Suguru’s interjection, then gave the camera another wave. “Hi, kids. I’m your Aunt Shoko!”

“I’m Uncle Suguru,” the dark-haired teenager popped his head into the frame, waving as well.

“I predict that . . . Satoru will become a girl dad.” Shoko knocked her head against Suguru’s shoulder. “Your turn.”

“Well, I see the two of them having multiple children.” Suguru said, and with a soft smile, he added, “But to Satoru’s future children, and to the future Mrs. Gojo, we wish you the best. I hope your days are filled with love and happiness. It’s the best thing one can ask for.”

Together, the two teenagers waved at the camera. “Bye!”

—♡ —

THE BIRTH

Over the last several months, Satoru Gojo’s only mission was to kiss your round belly with every sunrise and sunset. He didn’t travel the world for special assignments only he could handle, he didn’t spend hours cooped up in the stuffy classrooms of Jujutsu High School, teaching young sorcerers the difference between cursed energy and cursed technique.

Once you hit the nine month mark, once you were predicted to go into labor any day now, he walked into the creepy meeting room belonging to the higher ups, told them he was taking some months off to be by your side, and strolled out of there with a relaxed grin on his face, hands in his pockets, all while the old fools huffed and puffed, going on and on about how he couldn’t do such a thing — blah, blah, blah.

Satoru didn’t care.

He only cared about his family.

Damn it all, the world itself could catch on fire and he could be the only human being with an earth-sized extinguisher, and he wouldn’t do a thing. Not if it meant leaving your side right now.

It was early in the morning when the orange, gentle sunlight peeked through the curtains of your big bedroom window, and Satoru raised your night gown and pressed two soft kisses against your belly, one for each of the children you carried in your womb; the boy-girl twins.

“Good morning princess,” Satoru ran his hand gently across one side of your belly, where he knew his baby girl was located. “Daddy can’t wait to meet you soon.”

Satoru felt a small kick against his palm. He grinned.

“Aren’t you precious? I’m glad you’re excited to meet me too.”

His hand graced your skin as he moved it to where his boy was resting.

“How’s my little prince doing this morning, hm? You’re gonna love your nursery. Your Uncle Kento and I worked hard on it.”

His boy didn’t give an energetic kick, but rather a tiny wriggle. Satoru had read online once when you were pregnant with your first child five years ago that how a baby acts in the womb is not always an indication of how they’ll act outside of it, but for some reason — call it fatherly instinct, a lucky guess, or what information he could gather with his Six Eyes based on their cursed energy fluctuations — Satoru believed he was dealing with a hyper, excitable girl, while his boy was on the quieter side.

Your eyes fluttered open.

“Good morning,” Satoru grinned up at you, moving away to give you some space. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Huge. I know I say it every day, but my back is-is . . . god, it’s killing me. I’m so ready for these little ones to come out.” You suddenly swung your legs off the side of the bed, moving much faster than your husband was comfortable with.

“Easy, easy,” he said. “What can your awesome, loving husband cook you for breakfast today?”

“Guess.”

“Crepes?”

You smiled at him. “You really are an awesome, loving husband.”

—♡ —

The soft clink-clank of dishes being washed with soap and hot, running water filled the kitchen. As you grabbed the drying rag to finish off with cleaning the plate that held your crepes, Maya, who too finished her breakfast, approached you with a curious, childlike gaze.

“When will the twins come out, mommy?”

“Any day now. Are you excited?”

“Uh-huh! I get a . . . a new sister and a new brother!”

“That’s right. It’s gonna be a full house.”

Megumi had awakened a while ago. He walked into the kitchen with an empty mug in hand, as he had finished his morning cup of black coffee.

“Do you want my breakfast?” He asked you.

“Of course not. There’s plenty for everyone, and you know you need to eat something with your meds. I don’t want you to get a stomach ache,” you said, moving out of the way so he could make his way to the sink — his favorite mug was much too precious to go in the dishwasher.

“You need the extra food more than I do. Besides, I don’t have a sweet tooth.”

“We know. Your dad cooked you something else. Your breakfast is in that pot on the stove.”

Megumi didn’t respond. But, he truly didn’t get the chance to, as Yuji appeared in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around you.

“Momma!” He greeted excitedly. Talk about being bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

“Good morning, Yuji. How in the world do you wake up with so much energy?”

Yuji pulled away from the gentle hug. “Hmm, well, you could go into labor any day now, so I’ve been pretty excited lately. But I’m always excited about, well, everything.” He continued, “Feel alright today?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, and Maya suddenly grabbed your hand, wanting to hold it. You smiled, stroking her soft skin with your fingers. Then, you refocused your attention on Megumi, who was washing his mug, and Yuji, who was opening the fridge. “So, boys, your ride will be here soon to pick you up and drop you off at school. I’m going with your dad when he takes Maya to school so we can buy the last of what we need before I give birth, and I need-”

You heard footsteps. They didn’t belong to Satoru — you knew what his footsteps sounded like. You whipped your head around, and in the archway of your kitchen stood Kento.

“Kento? When’d you get here?” You asked in pure surprise.

“Uncle Kento!” Maya exclaimed, running up to Kento and holding her arms out for a hug.

“Look at you, Maya. You’re getting taller every day.” The man kneeled, hugging the young girl. Afterwards, he looked your way. “Good morning, I just got here. Satoru called and said you need someone to sort through and put away some supplies. I thought you knew, or else I would have knocked. Sorry for startling you.”

“It’s fine. I gave you a house key for a reason,” you smiled. “But I can’t ask that of you, Kento. It’s my fault I’m so behind with preparations.”

“Well, I’m not letting you tell me no. You have three kids and two more on the way, and to say you have a busy family is an understatement. No one blames you for falling behind. There's going to be a full house here soon enough, and there’s nothing wrong with your family needing a little outside help.”

“That’s what mommy just said! Full house!”

Maya spread her hands wide.

“And your mom is right,” Kento said. “Anyway, your children call me Uncle Kento for a reason, don’t they? Even this one right here,” Kento nodded towards Yuji, who gave him a smile in return. “I need to show I’m worthy of that title.”

“Well, fine. But sit down and have some breakfast, at least. And I’m not letting you tell me no.”

Kento knew better than to go back and forth with you, Mrs. Gojo, when it came to your policy: everyone who walks through your front door will be fed.

Satoru appeared in the kitchen next. He dangled his car keys at you and smiled down at Maya. “Alright, you two. Time to go.”

—♡ —

On ordinary days, you and Maya would stroll down the sunlit streets as a means of transportation, as her school was close enough for you to walk with the young girl, hand-in-hand.

While Satoru would have gladly walked Maya to school, the two of you had last-minute errands to run, and that led to him pulling his car into the parking lot of the white and brown building instead.

“I’ll walk her in. You can clean off the black mark on the back window. It’s driving me crazy,” you said.

You unbuckled your seatbelt. Satoru exchanged loving goodbyes and a couple of tickles with Maya and grabbed the car cleaner and rag he kept in his truck. You strolled across the parking lot and up to the front door of the building with your girl by your side, and she played with the straps of her backpack.

That was when a strange, suited man standing outside the see-through front doors spoke to you.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning. Excuse us,” you replied. You gave him a stranger-friendly smile and went to grab the door handle, but he didn’t move.

“Wait a second, Mrs. Gojo,” the man was fast. His hand gripped your elbow. He pulled you a little ways back to halt your footsteps. Instinctively, you grabbed Maya’s hand. She frowned with great worry, pressing herself as close to you as she could get.

The man’s grip tightened. “You are Mrs. Gojo, correct? And this is your little girl, Maya?”

“What are you doing? Don’t touch me-”

Another hand appeared, this one familiar. It wrapped around the strange man’s wrist, squeezing, squeezing, and squeezing, until he let go of your elbow.

“Hey, back the hell away from my wife and my kid.”

A shaky breath of pure relief escaped from you at the sight of your husband. Without wasting another second, you took your daughter inside the school and walked her to her class.

Meanwhile, Satoru’s grip on the strange man’s wrist only tightened.

“Who the hell are you?” Satoru released his wrist, but only to take haunting steps towards the man, forcing him to walk backwards, stumbling over his own feet as his frightened eyes stared up at the tall, pissed-off sorcerer approaching him.

“Please, I didn’t mean any harm, but-”

“But, you’re a strange man standing outside of my daughter’s school, one who knows my wife and daughter’s name. One who noticed they were alone. One who grabbed my wife’s arm.” He kept walking towards him. The man kept trying to back away. Satoru continued, the dark tone of his voice growing. “I’m going to give you one last chance to tell me who you are. One last chance . . .”

Satoru hooked his index finger around his black blindfold. He pulled it down slowly. He revealed his frightening, wide, blue eyes.

“I’m just a recruiter! Please, I didn’t mean any harm. I-I work with a group of intelligent sorcerers who oppose the teachings of the Jujutsu High School. Therefore, we’re trying to build up our own institution, a-and we would love to have your daughter as one of our students. Perhaps your wife would be interested in becoming a teacher, or-”

“My little girl is five years old,” Satoru spoke through gritted teeth.

“We understand, but being that she’s a member of the Gojo clan, she-”

“Don’t you ever show up here again. Don’t touch my wife, don’t speak to my wife, don’t look at my wife. Don’t touch my daughter, don’t speak to my daughter, don’t look at my daughter, or anyone else in my goddamn family, or I’ll make you regret it. Do you understand me?”

The strange man gulped. Droplets of sweat poured off his pale skin, almost as if he had been walking in the rain.

“Y-yes,” the man squeaked out. “My apologies, sir.”

He ran off like the devil himself was chasing him. Satoru stood in front of the school doors, waiting until the strange man was out of sight before he went into the building.

The entire situation had pissed him off. Greatly. So much so that he had to hold you and Maya close for a couple of minutes.

This wasn’t the first time the Jujutsu Society tried to push you back into the lifestyle of a sorcerer, or get their hands on his daughter.

Satoru himself was separated from his parents at a young age, training relentlessly every single day instead of playing in the warm sun. He would not let the same thing happen to his little girl.

Ever.

—♡ —

“Excuse me. I don’t mean to alarm you, but there is a man who has been staring at you for some time now. He’s two aisles over. I can stay with you while you shop if you’d like me to.”

“Oh, you’re too kind! There’s nothing to worry about, though. That’s just my husband, but thank you.”

“Oh, no problem!”

The kindhearted woman who noticed Satoru’s eyes — as he took his blindfold off for a few minutes — following your every movement walked off with a little smile. You gripped the handle of your grocery cart and hurriedly rushed over to Satoru’s aisle.

“Satoru! You’re supposed to be grabbing baby powder, not stalking me. That lady thought you were a creep!”

“What? I can’t help it. First of all, what happened this morning taught me that I need to be more protective of you, and second of all, you had that look on your face, the one you make when you’re concentrating? It’s too cute, so I gotta stare, sorry.”

Satoru tossed two containers of baby powder into your crowded cart. Sneakily, he pressed a kiss against your cheek. You rolled your eyes and started to walk off with the cart, but he could see the smile tugging at your lips.

The shelves of the pasta aisle were quite packed with a variety of different shapes.

Turning towards Satoru, you said with a playful frown, “Make yourself useful and grab those noodles on the top shelf for me.”

“I love it when you’re bossy,” he smirked, reaching for the big beige box.

“I love it when you’re quiet.”

“Ouch,” he pressed his hand against his heart as if your words were a loaded gun and a bullet was fired into his chest. “I’ll shut up in about five minutes.”

“You still have more to say?”

“Yep. So, I was thinking we could stay out all day until it’s time to pick up Maya from school. The twins will be here before we know it, and who knows when we’ll get to enjoy a nice outing together once they’re born?” Satoru paused. “After we drop off these groceries, we could get some lunch, do a little sightseeing, all that kinda stuff.”

“Sure! Let’s hurry, then!”

—♡ —

Yuji and Megumi stepped through the front doors of their home. The smell of clean laundry and freshly mopped floors hit their noses, and the sight of a spotless, glistening foyer caught their attention.

“Whoa, did Uncle Kento really clean this place up? And I thought it was pretty clean before!”

“Why do you call him that? You know he’s not your uncle,” Megumi said, reaching down to remove his shoes, and Yuji did the same.

“Some families do that kinda stuff. The kids call the friends of their parents aunt and uncle. Uncle Kento, Aunt Shoko, Aunt Jane, and so on and so on. Mom calls Nobara her niece. I think it’s just something you do when you’re close to people, so close you might as well be related, ya know? I love it. It makes me feel like I have this really, really big family.”

“But in reality, when it comes to blood, we’re all alone.”

Yuji froze.

He was used to Megumi’s rather depressing tone, but what made Yuji halt his movements amidst removing his left shoe was the wave of hurt that washed over him. I’m not all alone, Yuji thought. We’re not all alone. We have a mom, dad, siblings, distant relatives . . . right? It counts, right?

Yuji was silent for a moment, but, in a quiet voice, he mumbled, “. . . I think I understand now . . . you think family can only mean blood or marriage, huh?”

Megumi swallowed down the lump of guilt starting to form in his throat. Yuji hardly ever spoke in such a quiet tone. Only then did Megumi realize he had hurt the other boy’s feelings.

“No. In fact, the only people I’ve ever felt a familial bond with were people who weren’t related to me by blood.”

Both Megumi and Yuji rose to their feet, shoes off.

“I don’t get it. What’s the problem, then?” Yuji asked with a great, big frown.

“Be honest with me, Yuji,” Megumi’s eyes focused on the vase of flowers sitting on the table in the center of the foyer. “Do you honestly see me as your brother?”

“Yeah, I do. I mean, I kinda did before we were adopted, ya know? But I take it you don’t see me that way.” As Yuji spoke, Megumi faced him. Yuji gave him a sad smile, trying to hide his hurt. “It’s fine. Maybe someday, right?”

The pink-haired boy started to walk off, but Megumi’s sudden words made him stop.

“You’ve got it all wrong. You guys are my family. That’s the problem.”

“How’s that a problem?” Yuji turned to face him, his eyes begging for answers. “You can talk to me, c’mon. I’m worried about you.”

The words that Yuji spoke to him several months ago replayed in Megumi’s mind: “I probably can’t give you the world’s greatest advice, but if you ever wanna talk to me, you can. Love you!”

“Blood or no blood,” Megumi started. “There’s just something that keeps people from staying in my life. Something always goes wrong. People leave, people die . . . and I can’t shake the feeling that the bonds I’ve formed with all of you will just cause me more pain someday, ‘cause these sorta bonds always end up hurting me in the end. It’ll turn out how it always turns out. I’ll somehow end up all alone.”

Kento appeared in the foyer then.

“That’s the risk that comes with loving people. Especially with the kind of lives we live as sorcerers,” he looked at Megumi apologetically. “Sorry to intrude.”

“It’s fine.”

“Megumi,” Kento continued. “I can’t promise you that you won’t lose anyone else. That’s the cruel world we live in. But, I suggest you cherish the happy moments with the people you care for. There’s nothing worse than losing someone and having no memories to look back on with them, all because you shut them out, thinking it would make the inevitable easier. It only makes it worse. Trust me.”

A brief beat of silence followed Kento’s wise words. While Megumi puzzled over his words, repeating them in his head, Yuji approached the blonde-haired man and wrapped his arms around him.

“Yuji, why are you hugging me?”

“I’m creating a happy moment with my uncle.” Kento couldn’t help but smile. He hugged the boy he wholeheartedly now viewed as his nephew.

—♡ —

After a day of errands and relaxing fun, you and Satoru pulled into the driveway of your home. Outside, Megumi and Yuji were carrying empty boxes from the finished nursery to the recycling bin after eating snacks Kento prepared for them.

Upon seeing you, Satoru, and Maya emerge from the car, Yuji tossed his empty hand up. “Hey!”

Megumi waved silently.

“Hi, boys!” You waved back.

Just as you were putting your hand down, a wave of pain — a cramp-like pressure — shot through you. You hissed.

“You alright?” Satoru asked, shutting the car door after Maya climbed out of her seat.

“Yeah, just a small cramp. One of the little ones, probably.”

The three of you made your way into your home, all the while, Maya was rambling about her newest fixation after seeing the stars and moon decorations at your baby shower.

“ . . . and when the rockets go into-into space, the um, the people in the rockets see the planets too!”

“Yep, they sure can,” Satoru smiled down at her. “Do you know how many planets there are?”

“Nuh uh,”

“There are eight. Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune.”

“He’s wrong, Maya. There are nine. I won’t stand for any Pluto erasure, I don’t care what anyone says,” you called out, making your way into the living room. The living room was cleaner than you had left it. “Did we hire a maid?”

“No, I work for free, apparently,” Kento’s voice came from the hallway. When he stepped into the living room, you were quick to hug him. He knew quite well you would try to pay him, but he knew quite well he would also refuse to accept it.

“You did all this, Kento? Oh, thank you!”

Once you released him, Satoru took the chance to hug him as well.

“My turn, bring it in, bring it in,” Satoru grinned.

“The Gojo family likes to give out hugs, hm?” Kento said, and he was met with soft laughter.

Satoru noticed your eyebrows were pinched in discomfort.

“Come on, baby. You should sit down,” Satoru said, and he started to guide you towards one of the couches.

“Can someone bring me some water?” You asked.

“I’m on it. Do you need anything else? You look like you’re-”

“Oh!” Your sudden gasp of pure pain interrupted Kento. You doubled over, your hand on your stomach. “Oh god!”

“Baby? I need you to talk to me,” Satoru leaned over with you, his hand on your back. “What are you feeling?”

Your two boys rushed into the living room then.

Yuji started to say, “What’s wrong? Is she-”

You gave another shout of pain.

“Oh my god, she’s dying,” Yuji gripped his hair in pure panic.

“Yuji!” Megumi and Kento sharply called out.

“What’s wrong with mommy?” Maya, who tried to approach you until Yuji made her stop, gave a worried, little whine.

“They’re contractions,” Satoru said, his large hand rubbing your back. “Satoru,” you cried. When he looked at you, he saw it. Not the look of nervous excitement amidst the pain as the labor you had been preparing for finally started to occur, but he saw pure fear. “Satoru, they hurt more than they did with-with-”

Another shout of pain.

“It’s okay, it’ll be okay, I’m right here,” Satoru worked hard to keep his composure. He had to. He was someone who felt the urge to faint or cry when his poor wife had a cold, but right now, he needed to be strong for you. And, damn it all, he would be. “Megumi, get Maya. Yuji, grab the hospital bag. Then get in the SUV. I didn’t buy a seven-seater for nothing.”

“Oh my god, oh my god, she’s going into labor,” Yuji said, running off in search of the bag. He had been rehearsing this moment. It was not going as smoothly as it was during his practices.

“I’ll drive,” Kento offered.

“Is-Is-Is this normal? Is it . . . is it supposed to hurt more with twins?” Your questions fluttered from between your lips in between pained groans. Your panicked eyes sought out Satoru’s, but they were hidden behind his blindfold. He knew what you wanted. What you needed. He was quick to snatch the blindfold off, headaches be damned.

“I’m gonna carry you to the SUV, okay, sweetheart? Just hang in there. Everything will be alright. I’m right here.”

The car ride was filled with your groans and shouts of pain.

“We’re almost there, baby. You’re doing so well,” Satoru stroked his thumb across your cheek with the hand that wasn’t within your grasp.

“I’m squeezing your hand, I’m sorry,” you said, breathless.

“Don’t be, I want you to squeeze it. Look at me.” Satoru lifted your chin with his fingers. “Everything’s going to be fine. I’m not letting go of your hand, okay? I’m not letting go.”

—♡ —

The blinding white lights of the hospital only worsened your disoriented state. The nurses were scrambling, you were guided into a wheelchair, the painful contractions were intensifying, your family stared at you with concerned gazes — it was too much. Too much.

The doctor told you that your labor was progressing quite fast.

Throughout the intense delivery of the twins, the only thing that kept you grounded in reality, even as droplets of sweat accumulated across your forehead, screams of agony left your throat, and the doctor and nurses encouraged you to push, was your husband.

Satoru had positioned himself behind you in the hospital bed. You were in between his legs, your back against his chest — thank god, as his familiar scent and the sound of his heartbeat soothed you just as much as his calming words did — and you squeezed his hand until his pale skin was now a shade of red, but he didn’t complain. Not once.

“Give me another big push,” the doctor said with urgency, yet, in a calm, reassuring tone.

Another round of screams. Another round of pain. More sweat. Bright white lights.

But, as the back of your head hit Satoru’s chest out of pure exhaustion, you heard it.

A sound that created a wave of nostalgia, one that washed over you as you recalled your first experience with this, five years ago.

It was a cry.

“It’s a girl!” The masked doctor exclaimed.

“Baby . . . baby, it’s our princess,” Satoru brought your hand to his lips. He kissed your knuckles. “It’s our little girl! You’re so goddamn amazing, god, I love you, I love you. Do you see what you just did? That was all you, sweetheart.”

“Let’s work on getting the boy out of here, Mrs. Gojo. You’re doing great.”

It hurt — damn it, it fucking hurt.

“‘Toru!” You cried. Another round of screams. Another round of pain. More sweat. Bright white lights.

“I know, I know. I can’t even imagine, baby.” Satoru stroked the skin of your hand with his thumb. “Keep breathing. Keep squeezing my hand. I’m here for you.”

And with that, you pushed out the very last child, your baby boy. His soft cries filled the hospital room.

—♡ —

Satoru’s baby girl was so, so tiny. She rested in his arms. A tear drop softly splattered against her forehead, and only then did Satoru realize he had started to cry. But he didn’t bother wiping away the tears streaming down his face. It was pointless. Darting his teary blue eyes between the faces of his son and daughter melted his heart, seeing the features they copied from him and the love of his life created those tears, and they would stream endlessly right now.

“Hi, princess,” Satoru whispered to the small newborn, smiling as more tears fell. “It’s your daddy. We’re finally meeting, aren’t we? Wanna say hi to your mommy?”

The hospital room was dimly lit now, thank goodness. Your babies had been cleaned, wrapped in blankets, and at the moment, you were breastfeeding your son when Satoru walked over carefully.

“Did you see her eyes? She has my eyes,” you gave Satoru a tired smile. “I can’t believe it. The shape . . . everything.”

Satoru sat on the side of the hospital bed.

“She looks just like you. Every detail.” He paused, leaning over a bit to lovingly gaze down at his son. “Look at our prince’s tiny white hairs. He has my nose too. Don’t you, little guy? You’re just the cutest little prince, aren’t you?”

Then, Satoru’s loving gaze met your eyes. He leaned in — careful not to squish the two newborns in between your bodies — and he kissed you.

“I’m so proud of you,” he said, then gave you another quick kiss in between his words. “Are you ready for me to help you get cleaned up?”

“Yeah, that would be nice. I think I feel strong enough.”

—♡ —

“You’re okay!”

Your worried family members piled through the door of your hospital room, rushing to your side. Yuji was the first one to shout, followed by Megumi’s soft, but concerned tone.

“How do you feel?”

“Happy,” you reached out, squeezing both of their hands. “Tired, but happy.”

Maya started to crawl up your bed, and you welcomed your firstborn with open arms, holding the young girl against your chest.

Just then, your boys held up four big gift bags — holding two each.

“We stopped by the gift shop and bought everything in sight,” Yuji said. “You can look through it later since you’re tired.”

“You two have a couple of panic shoppers here,” Kento said, looking between you and Satoru, who was putting warm socks on your feet.

With a laugh, you said, “Thank you, boys.”

“You ready to meet your new siblings?” Satoru asked, nodding in the direction of the two bassinets at the front of your room.

The two boys rushed over. Maya only clung to you tighter.

Megumi and Yuji’s eyes widened in unison.

They could have sworn they were looking at the mini versions of you and Satoru.

It was quite humorous. Maya was a perfect mix. Fifty-fifty, as Yuji often described it. But the little girl in the bassinet before him was the spitting image of you, whereas Megumi was looking at a copy-and-paste of Satoru himself.

Carefully, Yuji scooped the baby girl out of the bassinet. “Hi there, remember me? I’m Yuji, the guy who spoke to you every day. I’m your older brother.” He paused, taking in her features. How astonishing. “Wow, you look just like our momma.”

“He won’t let go of my finger,” Megumi suddenly said.

He was standing over the baby boy’s bassinet and reached down to touch his tiny hand. But that tiny newborn gripped his finger with a force Megumi was certain a newborn shouldn’t have.

“I had a feeling you two would bond,” Satoru laughed. He then walked over with Maya, who wasn’t too in love with the idea of ending her snuggle session with you just yet, and he said, “Take a look, muffin.”

Yuji leaned down a bit with the small baby in his arms.

Maya raised her eyebrows. “Ooo!”

Kento walked over then. He adjusted his glasses as he stared down at the baby boy gripping Megumi’s finger.

“Oh, great. Another Satoru,” Kento said.

“In appearance alone,” you chimed in with a little laugh. “He’s a quiet one.”

Their boy looks like Satoru, but is as quiet as Megumi. The girl looks like her mother, but has tons of energy like Yuji. Hilarious, Kento thought.

Around fifteen minutes later, Satoru approached your bed, his phone screen illuminating his face.

“Alright, I just ordered some sushi for you. Yes, I got the right variety. Yes, I told them no wasabi. Yes, I got your favorite drink to go with it,” he said.

“I love you,” you smiled at him, but then, your face fell into a little frown.

“Honey, you look exhausted. Where’s your blindfold?”

It was true. His head was throbbing. Pounding as if someone was slamming a hammer against his skull. His overworked eyes were sore, and with the level of fatigue he was experiencing, he didn’t feel entirely too comfortable carrying one of his newborns right now.

But he snatched off that blindfold so you, his panicked wife, could look into his eyes and know that you weren’t going through any of this alone. So he didn’t mind the suffering.

Satoru simply ignored your question as he smiled, leaned across the bed, and pressed his lips against your soft cheek. “I love you more.”

—♡ —

THE AFTERMATH

EIGHT MONTHS LATER

Quite often, Megumi found himself sitting on the bench at the local park, a nonfiction book — typically about animals — resting in his hands. Normally, it was just him. Him and the gentle breeze that made the leaves of the surrounding trees dance. But lately, his little brother accompanied him.

The eight-month-old was glued to Megumi’s side from the second he was born. Perhaps, it was Megumi’s quiet nature and calming presence that the fellow quiet baby adored. It was no different than the way his hyper eight-month-old sister would giggle and babble when someone as excitable as Yuji was around.

Flipping the page of his book with his thumb, Megumi took a second to glance down at the head of the baby sitting on his lap.

“I wonder if you’ll become an animal guy too,” Megumi mumbled.

The baby looked up at the sound of his beloved brother’s voice. He pressed the bee-shaped toy against his lips, attempting to chew on it.

“Jegi?” The baby babbled.

Megumi smiled softly. “I have no idea what you’re saying, but okay.”

—♡ —

“Babababa . . .”

Satoru, who sat on the floor of the playroom, grinned as his baby girl slowly crawled closer to him.

“You’re coming closer to calling me dada every single day, aren’t you?” He grabbed her gently, pulling her onto his lap. “Wanna go see your mommy? Hm? Wanna see mommy? I wanna see your mommy.”

The kitchen was alive with the sound of a knife meeting your favorite wooden cutting board. Satoru entered to see you standing over the kitchen island, slicing potatoes.

Grabbing the arm of the baby he carried, he made his little girl wave.

“Say hi,” he cooed.

Your excitable baby girl babbled at the sight of you.

“Hi my little baby,” you waved at her.

“She’s going through diapers like crazy today,” Satoru said to you, then turned his attention back to the baby, stroking her cheek with his finger. “Someone doesn’t know how expensive diapers are, hm? You know how many curses I have to kill to afford them? Too many curses, sweetheart.”

“Oh, leave her alone,” you rolled your eyes, grinning.

A figure suddenly appeared inside the kitchen — you couldn’t help but jump a bit. Though you heard him coming — you recognized Yuji’s footsteps — but just as Megumi was starting to look more and more like his biological father with every passing day, Yuji had gotten taller over the last several months.

The sudden reminder of his height made you sneakily bite your inner cheek, as you remembered that both of your boys were close to turning eighteen, and you and Satoru had something special planned for their birthdays.

You couldn’t believe it. Around two-and-a-half years ago, you adopted them; two orphaned teenage sorcerers who needed a loving family. And now? They were almost adults.

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad,” Yuji greeted. “You guys mind if I take her to the park with me and Maya?”

“No, not at all. We’d appreciate it,” you said.

“Make sure you keep an eye on Muffin. Her latest growth spurt has made her a bit clumsy.” Satoru thought about Maya’s new elementary school class photo, one he sent to all of his friends. “Looks like my little muffin’s gonna be tall like me. Buttt, I don’t care. I’m gonna keep picking her up until she’s fifty-two.”

“You got it. I wanna introduce my, uh . . . friend . . . to some of my siblings.” Yuji smiled, his cheeks becoming a dark shade of pink. “And, um . . . to you guys as well. But I don’t think she’s ready for that. Too soon, ya know?”

You and Satoru exchanged a knowing grin with one another. You then cleared your throat, suppressing the urge to giggle out of pure excitement, and you sliced into another potato. “Well, just know that we would love to meet this friend of yours. She can come over for dinner anytime.”

“Great,” Yuji approached Satoru, taking the babbling baby into his arms. “See you guys later.”

The door opened and closed. After a beat of silence — silence you had grown quite unfamiliar with — you smiled widely at Satoru.

“Yuji might have a girlfriend! This is huge!” As you started to ramble, your husband made his way around the kitchen island, approaching you. “Oh, this is so exciting. I should bake her something whenever she comes over.”

“Yeah, yeah I agree,” The words that Satoru spoke were soft, barely above a whisper, as he closed the distance between you both. His sudden kiss, however, was anything but. He bit your bottom lip with the hunger of a starved man.

He pulled away, his lips hovering above yours.

“Are you even listening to me, sir?” You whispered against them.

“Sorta, kinda,” his warm breath grazed your cheek.

You playfully backed away from him, turning your back to your husband as you started to walk away. “If your answer isn’t yes, then no kisses for you.”

“Oh, don’t you dare.” His large hand wrapped around your wrist. He pulled you back towards him, your chest colliding with his, and he said, “alone time with you doesn’t come often. I’m taking advantage of it.”

His mouth was on you again. And his lips weren’t just kissing yours — no. He trailed his lips and tongue across the skin of your jaw and neck. His wandering hands roamed your body, exploring what was starting to become foreign territory to him after not being able to get any alone time with you. His hand gripped your ass, his lips found their way back up to yours, and he kissed you yet again, releasing a moan into your mouth as his tongue swirled around yours.

Satoru turned you around. Though he viewed his wife as a precious prize — the prize — he wasn’t exactly in the mood to handle you with gentle care right now.

Not when his dick was hardening against the fabric of his pants, begging for freedom and relief.

He used one hand to pull your hips back until your ass met his bulge. He used his other hand to push your back until you were leaning across the kitchen island, and he grabbed a fistful of your hair.

“In the kitchen, ‘Toru?” You said with false innocence. Oh, he could spot that bit of trickery within your voice. “That’s so . . . so unsanitary.”

“Downright nasty, isn’t it, baby?” He thrusted against you. The sheer force of his grind made your arm hit the potatoes on the kitchen island, and you could only watch helplessly as the starchy vegetables scattered onto the floor.

Satoru leaned across you until his chest was against your back. His grip on your hair tightened, the pace of his grinding quickened, and he ran his tongue across your right ear.

“Right there, right there,” he hungrily whispered. He pressed his clothed cock against you harder, your bodies rocking back and forth, back and forth. “Feel that? That’s where I need you, baby.”

“I need you somewhere too,” you breathlessly spoke. Every thrust from him was driving you crazy. You could feel him through your jeans, feel just how badly he needed you.

Satoru released his grip on your hair and let his hands fall to the button and zipper of your jeans, but you suddenly grabbed his hands, halting his advances.

He backed away from you. But, before any questions could flutter from between his wet lips, you turned around, facing him, and got down on your knees.

You ran your hands up his legs.

“My amazing, perfect husband is always showering me with love and affection, waiting on me hand and foot.” You looked up at Satoru with pleading eyes. “I want to show him how much I appreciate him.”

Satoru didn’t say a word. His blindfolded eyes never left yours as he unbuckled his belt.

It started off with a few, teasing swirls of your tongue around his tip, leaky with precum. But Satoru wasn’t exactly patient. He wasn’t in the mood to be toyed with, not when he wanted his cock somewhere inside of you. And that led to Satoru gripping your hair yet again and thrusting himself down your throat. He tossed his head back at the heavenly feeling, moaning your name like a prayer.

“You can still take all of me, right? Let’s see,” he said.

That was, in a way, your only form of a heads-up before he started to thrust in and out of your hot mouth at a quick pace. Spit dribbled from the corners of your mouth. His moans grew louder, louder, and louder — he was never a quiet man, except for when his brewing orgasm suddenly washed over him, taking his breath away and making him go silent as he shot his load down your awaiting throat, but he then inhaled sharply, and more moans of pure pleasure escaped him as he finished cumming.

Satoru pulled himself out of your mouth with a smirk, and you knew what that smirk meant.

It meant that, while he technically just finished, he wasn’t anywhere near finished.

—♡ —

Clothes were scattered along the kitchen floor, mixed with the knocked-over vegetables, cutting board, and decorative bowl of fruit.

That was the result of Satoru grabbing you off the floor, tossing you over the kitchen island, and fucking you until you were dizzy from the motion of his fast-paced thrusts.

“Give it to me one more time,” he would say after yet another orgasm, and another.

Now, after dragging your clothes back on, you were disinfecting the kitchen island and sipping on water, trying to rehydrate your weakened body, all the while, Satoru picked up the fallen fruits and vegetables.

“Someone lose their voice?” Satoru teased. “I’m glad we don’t have neighbors close by. I can only imagine how they would’ve reacted to all that moaning.”

“Well, I would have apologized and told them to forgive my husband and his whorish ways,” you snapped back with a small grin, wiping the kitchen island.

“I went easy on you this time, ya know. I could’ve kept going,” Satoru said, picking up the cutting board.

“Seriously? My legs hurt, my back hurts, my throat hurts, and I lost count of how many rounds we-” you cut yourself off with a sigh. “Your stamina is insane. Why’d you stop if you weren’t ready to?”

“Well,” with a teasing smirk, he paused. “Number one, Someone — not me, by the way — looked like they were on the verge of meeting their maker. Number two, I was hoping we could get out of the house during the last few hours of our free time.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Oh, really? We haven’t been to the movies in a while. Or . . . maybe . . .”

“Maybe you could show me what else your mouth can do. Day-time karaoke?”

“Day-time karaoke!” You laughed. “Though . . . I’m divorcing you for that bad joke.”

Satoru walked around the kitchen island. “Let’s go, we can finish cleaning when we come back,” he said, taking the cleaning supplies out of your hand.

“We can sing the song we sang during our first date. Remember?” You looked at him, smiling brightly. Sweet memories came back to you, warming your heart and soul.

“Of course I do,” with a smile that matched your own, he continued, “I almost blacked out from nervousness before we sang together, not after.”

“I can’t believe I used to drive you that crazy.”

“Excuse me? What do you mean used to?” His face frowned up with great offense — you would’ve thought you had raised your hand and slapped him across the cheek.

“Come on now, you’re not damn near fainting and stuttering around me like you used to do,” you said. “You’ve gotten used to being around me. Our love has changed from that puppy-like, crushing stage into something mature and wholesome, and that’s fine. It’s beautiful.”

“Wrong,” Satoru put the cleaning supplies down. “Maybe I don’t stutter anymore, but you still drive me crazy. I’ve just gotten better at hiding it.”

“Pretty words.”

“You don’t believe me?”

You shook your head as a way of saying no.

“Gimme your hand,” Satoru nodded down at your wrist. “Come on, give it here.”

You did as you were told despite your confusion. Your husband placed your hand upon his chest, and you felt it against your palm.

The fast-paced thumping of his heart.

“What the hell? Why is your heart beating so fast?” You asked, pulling your hand away.

“Pretty sure it’s because my extraordinary, beautiful, amazing, loving, super cute wife just smiled at me a minute ago.”

Oh.

You couldn’t help but wrap your arms around him. He didn’t waste a second before returning your hug.

“I love you. What did I do to deserve you?” You asked, taking in his comforting scent.

“I ask myself the same thing every morning. What did you do to deserve me?”

A laugh escaped from you as you pulled away from him. Shaking your head, you started to walk out of the kitchen. “Okay, you know what? I’m about to go get ready, and you can shower by yourself.”

And with that, your dear husband, the Satoru Gojo, the special-grade sorcerer who loved his amazing wife and five children more than anything, followed you down the hallway, shouting, “Wait, I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I bought a house with a shower big enough for two people for a reason!”

— NEXT PART.

What did you think? Please let me know!

🍼: @marvel-girl3 @goldenglow149 @luaqsv @sstoru @pinkfemdolly @satorusgummies @therealmrsgojo @leehriie @iminlovewqr0w @odessa-is-my-queen @melodycelos @stoneaf @dreamypirate @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @starlightanyaaa @arrozyfrijoles23

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kookooluvr · 1 month ago

Text

MADE OF HONOR | JJK (fic announcement)

you gained a lot from university; a law degree catching dust in your attic, countless arguments with your roommate about laundry schedules, and a best friend whose biggest fear in life is commitment. in essence, jungkook's world gets flipped upside down when you take a trip to london and he finally realizes his feelings for you...only to find out you've come back with a fiancé.

pairing: jungkook x (fem) reader x namjoon

genre: fluff, angst, smut, f2l au, love triangle au, bestfriend!jungkook, fuckboy!jungkook, baker!reader, photographer!namjoon

rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

w/c: tbc

warnings: tbc

a/n: my first one-shot woop woop !!!! i'm soooo excited to share this one with you guys because moh!jk is a menace and namjoon makes me swoon 😩😩 i didn't want to give too much away with the teaser so it's just jk and oc's meet cute (my namjoonie isn't in the picture yet). pleeease let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist and i hope you are as excited as i am !! love you cuties 🫶🏼

main masterlist jungkook moodboard oc moodboard

namjoon moodboard spotify playlist

[Teaser]

It's Halloween night on campus, which means three things: a really loud, obnoxious party filled with really loud, obnoxious people, drunk hookups that no one will remember in the morning, and you've locked yourself in your room to avoid all of the above.

The entire university is pulsating with the energy of drunk frat boys in capes, girls dressed in skimpy lingerie calling it their costume, and at least three professors who are far too old to be dressed up amongst the students. You, however, are in your true element: a large hoodie, fuzzy socks, a half-eaten Snickers bar on your nightstand, and a thick law textbook open in front of you.

Parties aren't your thing. You'd rather be sued than make small talk with a guy dressed as a ketchup bottle. While your roommate, Jieun, spent hours hot-gluing rhinestones onto her platform space boots for her "sexy astronaut" outfit, you politely declined all invitations and instead declared war on your midterm readings. The only spooky thing in your life right now is the growing realization that you don't actually want to be a lawyer, the thought that you'll probably die single, and knowing you'll be buried in student debt by the time you graduate.

And honestly? That's still more appealing than the campus party.

You take a break from studying around 2am and finally decide to turn off the light and get some rest.

Until the door of your dorm room creaks open.

You pause, blinking your eyes open in the darkness of your room. Maybe Jieun forgot her phone. Maybe she brought back a stray alien from the party. Either way, you don't move, not until the unmistakable dip of the mattress under your legs almost sends your soul flying from your body.

Someone just climbed into your bed.

Your eyes widen to the size of saucers, your heart racing in your chest. It's pitch black, the only light coming from the little slit under the door.

"Jieunieee," the voice whispers, smooth and far too seductive. "Are you ready for the best dick of your life?"

That's it.

You scream as loud as you can, springing straight up. You grab the bottle of Channel perfume on your nightstand and spray it directly into his eyes.

"AHHH—WHAT THE F—!"

The stranger falls out of your bed with a loud thud, hitting the floor dramatically like he's been shot in a Western.

"What the hell?!" he groans, writhing on the floor with a hand covering his eyes and the other holding his head. "You maced me!"

"That was perfume!" you yell, feeling your heart in your throat, the perfume clutched tightly in your hand, holding it out in case you have to spray him again. "And why are you in my bed, you psychopath?!"

"I was looking for Jieun!"

"You can't just crawl into beds like a raccoon in the night!"

"I thought this was her bed!"

"Do I sound like Jieun?!"

He blinks rapidly on the floor, his voice strained through his agony. "I don't know, it's dark and I was promised a sexy astronaut!"

You switch on the bedside lamp with the force of a woman ready to kill.

And there he is.

Black leather pants. Tight black shirt. Fake bruises and cuts on his face, presumably made with makeup. An eyebrow piercing. Messy hair. Ridiculously attractive even while clutching at his eyes like he's just been gassed in battle.

Your brain fills in the blanks before he even says it.

"You're Jeon Jungkook, aren't you?"

He lowers his hand just enough to smirk at you. "And you're ___. The infamous roommate l've heard so much about."

You sigh, flopping back against your headboard in disbelief. "Of course she's hooking up with you of all people."

Jungkook is a campus legend. The boy whose reputation includes at least two streaking incidents, three girls who dropped out of the university due to their heartbreak, and a tongue that's done unspeakable things according to the word on the street.

And now he's on your floor, still very much looking like the kind of man your mother warned you about even after being sprayed in the eyes with perfume.

He sits up, rubbing his eyes. "For the record, l've had a lot of entrances, but that was definitely my worst."

"You scared the crap out of me!" you exclaim, tossing your pillow at him. "Who just walks into a dorm and climbs into an unfamiliar bed?!"

"I didn't walk," he scoffs, catching the pillow with an insufferable grin. "I strode."

You glare at him.

He grins wider. "Come on, that was funny!"

"You have a concussion, don't you?"

He wipes his eyes with the heels of his palms, settling on the edge of your bed. "Honestly? If you weren't so terrifying, I'd be impressed."

"Excuse me?"

"You're terrifying," he deadpans. "You sprayed me in the eyes and insulted me all within five minutes. That's worse than most of my Tinder dates. Not by much, but still."

You fold your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow at him. "Maybe don't go crawling into beds with strangers."

"Technically, you're the stranger," he quips, pointing a finger at you. "And you've maced and verbally abused me. That's a lot for a first impression."

You sigh, rolling your eyes. "Unbelievable. Are you always this irritating?"

"I like to think of myself as…persistently charming," he smiles.

You give him a dry look, your eyes narrowing. "You're the human equivalent of an unsolicited dick pic."

"Oof," he winces, placing his hand over his heart. "Okay, that one hurt. But also...kinda hot that you're this mean."

You blink at him. "Do girls actually fall for this crap?"

"Usually," he shrugs.

"Well, congratulations," you scoff. "You've officially found the girl who's immune to your bullshit."

He holds up his hands in surrender, laughing softly. "Okay, you've made your point. I'm sorry I invaded your bed. I didn't mean to scare you like that. I apologize."

Your face softens ever so slightly, giving him a curt nod. "Thank you."

"But also," he adds, leaning back on his hands, "you're hilarious. And clearly not afraid to defend your space. We should be friends."

You stare at him. "What?"

"Friends," he repeats, like it's the most natural thing in the world. "You and me. I'm serious."

You narrow your eyes once more. "You literally came here to hook up with my roommate."

"Which clearly isn't happening anymore," he sighs, lounging on your bed like he's at the beach. "But now l've met you. And I like you."

You scoff. "You don't know me."

"I know you don't care about going to a hot party and hooking up on Halloween night, and would absolutely tase someone if you had the chance. Right?"

You pause. That...is not incorrect.

"I also know that girls like you usually avoid guys like me. Which is fair. But still.." He swings his legs off the bed, standing up. "I want to be friends."

"Why would we do that?" you ask, genuinely curious.

He grins. "Because you're the first girl who's actually told me I'm full of shit to my face."

You open your mouth, then close it again, and he takes that as a win.

"Anyway, I'll see you around," he smiles, walking toward the door. "If Jieun asks, tell her I tested positive for an STD or something."

You roll your eyes. "Get out!"

He's halfway out when he turns back and winks.

"Nice meeting you, ___."

"Likewise, Satan," you grumble, gesturing for him to shut the door.

He laughs, loud and boyish, and disappears down the hall. And just like that, your quiet Halloween night turned into something totally unexpected.

You met Jeon Jungkook. And he wants to be your friend.

God help you.

1K notes · View notes

heedeungism · 6 months ago

Text

𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨.

•°. *࿐ PAIRING ― riki nishimura x fem!reader •°. *࿐ SYNOPSIS ― in which riki is smitten with you and your sharp tongue. •°. *࿐ GENRE ― one-shot, ????-to-lovers, fake dating, angst, fluff, crack, rich kid au, highschool lacrosse au •°. *࿐ WORD COUNT ― 22k •°. *࿐ CONTENT WARNING(S) ― violence(one fight) and threats of it, lots of tension, mc is a horndog what's new, i meant to make this slow like the first part but im a weak woman, weed, mc is her own worst enemy, mc is stupid before she is smart <3, attempted unwanted touching, riki is the jealous type but in a green flag way, don’t ask where the teachers are, riki has bigger hands than mc, kissing(many a time), once i got the angst out of the way it turned into crack js •°. *࿐ EXTRA NOTES ― thank you all for being so kind and giving me such helpful feedback and love! shoutout to my hg @1ntaks for once again holding my hand and basically beta reading this for me, you're the best queen. •°. *࿐ SOUNDTRACK ― busy woman by sabrina carpenter, don’t smile by sabrina carpenter, big girls don’t cry by fergie, better than me by doja cat, diet pepsi by addison rae, what a girl wants by christina aguilera, positions by ariana grande, he could be the one by hannah montana, bmf by sza

part one.

AT THE BEGINNING OF FEBRUARY you realized how easy it was to get over Eunseok at the same moment that it sinks in that you can’t get over Riki.

Maybe it's the fact that he’s still friendly despite the ‘breakup’, or that he still makes sweet comments that feel too genuine to be taken as flirting anymore. He hasn’t changed much of his behavior at all since the end of January, actually.

The news of the short-lived relationship spread around school. Though it was clear that you both were still friends, most of the rumors were dispelled. However, some were still infuriatingly present.

Now, you’re not the type of person who gives a shit about what other people think of you—especially not a bunch of pubescent teenagers with so little going on in their own lives that they find entertainment in yours. But your patience is wearing thin. If you hear another freshman whisper about you not being over your cheating ex, you are going to go insane. (Despite your reputation, you are above throwing hands with 14 year-olds.)

“So you want something like this, right?” Julie taps on her phone screen from across from you, showing the nail inspiration photo you had sent her just last week. When you only nod, she tilts her head with a curious raise of her brows, “We can do something different, hon’.”

Quickly, you shake your head and straighten your posture in the chair across from her, “No, sorry. I just—I’m just thinking about shit. I still want a set like that.” You force a soft laugh, and she nods with a soft ‘okay’.

“So? Anything new?” She asks with a pretty smile as she plugs in her nail drill and turns on the dust collector.

You lay your hands onto the rest between the two of you, humming and then sighing, “I’m still single.”

Julie begins working at removing her work from three weeks ago with the drill, though the pink mask keeping her from inhaling the dust doesn’t hide her face of baffled confusion, “I thought you were dating that lacrosse guy, though.”

The sound of the drill and fan are like white noise to the both of you as you sigh and drop your head forward, “Didn’t work out.”

Julie gasps softly, clearly upset for you, “What’d he do?”

While you love that her first instinct was to ask what he did and not what you did, the latter is more fitting for the situation. “He was too perfect and I got scared?” You admit softly with a guilty shrug.

Julie pauses in her work and deadpans at you, “Ho.”

“I know!” You whine softly as she resumes, using your free hand to grab the chilled can of Dr Pepper she’d grabbed for you before your appointment started, sipping from the pink straw before you continue to whine, “I fucked up.”

“I never got to see a photo last time, either.” Julie recalls as she progresses to removing the hard-gel off your other hand, “You hadn’t picked anyone for your little plan, yet.”

Julie knowing about your genius plan to ruin Eunseok and Nayeon’s day, everyday, with your tall, hot, and sweet ‘boyfriend’ was inevitable. She had dropped the traitorous bitch as a client the moment you and Belle told her about it, equally as disgusted by Nayeon as the both of you. Not to mention, Belle always yapped her pretty head off during her appointments, so as previously stated, it was inevitable.

“You’re gonna hate me,” You say, grabbing your phone with your now dusty and bare fingers to quickly tap to a photo of Riki that Jake had sent you. He’s got his helmet tucked under his arm and seemed to be captured in a heated argument with another boy on the team. The first thing you noticed was his hands, though.

When she pauses to look at your screen, she looks at you again and sighs like a disappointed mother, shaking her head and turning the drill back on. You whine, “Don’t sigh at me, I’m in mourning.”

“I thought you said you weren’t worried about catching feelings.” She reminds you, and you roll your eyes.

“Bitch, look at him.” You sass, picking up your phone to show the still-lit screen before placing it facedown in your lap again, “and he was just so—sweet. And he liked when I was mean to him.”

“As he should.”

“—and his smile made me want to stick my head in an oven Sylvia Plath style.” You say with a soft pout on your lips, “It was so much so suddenly, and I freaked out.”

Julie turns off the drill and grabs the brush to clean off the dust from your hands as she nods slightly to what you’re saying, “And Eunseok was so recent.”

“—And Eunseok was so recent!” You repeat in vehement agreement, groaning up at the ceiling as you slump slightly, “Why do boys ruin everything?”

You spend the next few hours of your nail appointment ranting about everything. Riki, your ex, your ex best friend, your dad (who had texted you a long message after you left him that you promptly responded to with a ‘that doesn’t look like an apology so im not reading that’).

mommy dearest 🩷: can you pick up some groceries for me? just a few things

The text from your mom as you swipe your card on Julie’s reader is paired with a chime you recognize as your bank app. Your new nails tap on your screen as you open the notification, grinning at the sight of a hefty transfer of funds into your account.

The small list your mother sends doesn’t come close to costing the amount she sent you to pay for it, so you decide to stop at Sephora while you’re out too.

You choose the highest percentage to tip and sign her phone screen with your knuckle before bidding her a happy farewell and exiting the salon. The drive to the strip center is barely ten minutes long, your BMW filled with Christina Aguilera and the trip slightly delayed by your admiration of your new nails at every red light.

When you get into the Sephora, which you decided to visit first since your mom’s list included produce, you b-line to the skincare section.

You’re debating between oil cleansers when you’re tapped on the shoulder.

The woman before you looks around your mother’s age, a bit shorter than you but with a beautiful smile on her face. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but are you Y/n?”

You blink, caught off guard, but nod.

Her grin widens. “I’m Riki’s mom!”

Your stomach drops. Every instinct screams at you to panic, but instead, you paint a pretty smile on your face, the kind your mother taught you to perfect at charity galas. “Oh my god, hi!”

Before you can react, she pulls you into a hug, warm and tight, smelling faintly of lavender and vanilla. You reciprocate, though your arms are stiff and hesitant.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” she gushes, pulling back to hold you at arm’s length. Her eyes, as sharp and bright as Riki’s, scan you with something between approval and curiosity. “You’re just as lovely as he said.”

“Thank you,” you manage, your voice light despite the whirlwind in your chest at the sudden and information that Riki talks about you at home. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“I can’t believe I ran into you like this!” she says, her excitement bubbling over. “You’re like a doll, honey. The photos he’s shown me don’t do you justice.”

Your brain short-circuits at the word photos. Plural.

“Oh?” you manage, keeping your smile intact even as your heart feels like it’s trying to escape the confines of your chest.

“Of course! He’s always talking about you,” she continues, as if she didn’t just drop a bomb on you in the middle of Sephora. “He showed me the cutest one of you two at the bowling alley—said it was his favorite night in a long time.”

Your breath catches, but you quickly cover it with a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s so sweet of him.”

“It is, isn’t it?” She beams like she’s talking about a national treasure instead of her son. “He’s always been so shy when it comes to girls, but with you, it’s different. I can tell you mean a lot to him.”

The words land like a stone in your chest, heavy and impossible to ignore. You can’t tell if she’s trying to hint at something or if she’s just being a proud mom, but either way, you suddenly feel very out of your depth.

“That’s nice to hear,” you say lightly, though your throat feels tight. “He’s a great guy.”

She places a hand on your arm, her touch gentle but firm. “You’re good for him, you know. He’s happier these days, more confident.”

Your mind flashes to Riki’s easy smiles, the way he leans into you during conversations, the soft look in his eyes when he thinks you’re not paying attention. You swallow hard.

“Thank you, Mrs. Nishimura,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel . “That really means a lot.”

Her smile softens, and she gives your arm a little squeeze. “Oh, call me Rin, honey. And if you ever want to come over for dinner, just let me know. I’d love to have you.”

“Dinner sounds lovely,” you say with a polite smile, already running on autopilot. “I’ll have to check with Riki, but I’m sure he’d love that too.”

“Oh, good! I’ll talk to him about it tonight,” Rin says brightly, her excitement only adding to the internal chaos brewing in your chest. “You two are so sweet together—I can’t believe he didn’t tell me you were this gorgeous in person.”

You blink, momentarily stunned, and force out a soft laugh. “That’s really kind of you to say.”

“I mean it.” She gives you an approving once-over before leaning in conspiratorially. “You know, he’s usually so tight-lipped about his personal life. I had to drag it out of him that you two were dating in the first place.”

The air leaves your lungs like you’ve been punched. He hadn’t told her.

“He—uh—didn’t mention that we’re…” you start, the words catching in your throat.

“Together?” she finishes for you with a knowing smile. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t embarrass him too much about it. I just want him to be happy, and it’s so obvious you make him happy.”

You feel your face flush, your carefully constructed composure threatening to crack. But instead of correcting her, you nod, your smile tighter now. “That’s really sweet of you to say.”

She reaches out and pats your arm warmly. “It was so nice meeting you, sweetheart. I’ll let you get back to your shopping. Tell Riki I said hi, okay?”

“I will,” you promise, your voice light despite the storm in your head.

As soon as she disappears down another aisle, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Reaching for the oil cleansers again, you try to steady yourself, replaying her words over and over.

He didn’t tell her.

A part of you is…warm with the information. The other part wants to puke your guts out.

You stare blankly at the oil cleansers in front of you, your grip tightening around the bottle in your hand. The woman’s words replay in your mind like a broken record, each one sharper than the last.

“He’s happier these days, more confident.”

“It’s so obvious you make him happy.”

“He didn’t tell me you were this gorgeous in person.”

Your chest tightens, a mix of guilt and something softer—but no less overwhelming—clawing its way up your throat. The whole point of fake dating was to not make things messy. Yet here you are, feeling like a lead character in a rom-com whose life is falling apart. Right now would be an amazing time for Matthew McConaughey to come out and sweep you off your feet.

(You realize with borderline humiliating speed that you would much prefer if Riki swept you off your feet. Seriously, there must be something wrong with you.)

The bottle trembles slightly in your hand, and you force yourself to set it back on the shelf with a shaky exhale. You’re not the kind of girl who lets this sort of thing get to her. You’re confident, decisive, in control. Except when it comes to him.

The thought makes you pause, your fingers brushing absently over your nails as the memory of his smile creeps in—the one he reserved just for you, warm and easy and dangerous.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, grabbing the Sulwhasoo cleanser you were debating spending so much on and beginning to mindlessly fill the black Sephora tote as you walk through the aisles. Real therapy has nothing on retail therapy considering you know what your problems are and how to fix them. Paying someone to tell you those things seems counterproductive when you can make yourself feel better by treating yourself.

By all accounts, it’s been a good day for you. Getting out of the school parking lot was exceptionally easy despite the traffic you encounter more often than not. You got your nails done and love how they turned out. You’re currently splurging at Sephora. And now you have reason to believe Riki doesn’t secretly hate you for breaking his heart.

riki 🙈: just got out of practice

riki 🙈: are you coming to the game tomorrow?

You look at your phone as you tap your card on the reader and accept the large black and white striped bag from the girl at the counter. Thanking her with a smile before beginning to make your way out to your car again. When you settle into the driver’s seat, the heat turns on as you place the bag into the passenger seat.

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, nails tapping against your case as your phone automatically hooks up to the bluetooth, ‘After Hours’ by The Weeknd beginning to play. “Oh, shut up.” You sigh as you pause the music and finally muster up the right response.

pretty girl 🪩: depends on how nice you are to me tomorrow

riki 🙈: i’ll bring you a gift rn

pretty girl 🪩: im not home

As soon as the text is marked as Read, your screen is replaced by his caller ID, a photo of him at age ten in a Michael Jackson costume lighting up your screen. You can’t help but chuckle before pressing the green button, reaching to turn the volume up as you ask with a playfully suspicious tone, “Can I help you?”

“Mhm, where are you?” His deep voice and hum makes you bite your fist.

You begin pulling out of the parking lot to make it across the street to the grocery store, “Getting groceries, why?”

“I wanna see you.”

Lord have mercy—

“You sure you don’t just miss Gus?“ You hesitate to mention the revelations made by his very kind mother in Sephora, but decide to hold off.

“Oh, I do miss Gus, but I miss his mom more.”

Oh, you hate the soft laughter that leaves your mouth the moment you hear it, “I won’t be long at the store, it’s just a few things.”

There’s a shuffle on the other side, then he says, “What store?”

“Riki, it’s literally like four things.” You laugh at his shameless eagerness, “I’ll text you when I’m home.”

He chuckles softly before humming again, “Okay, bye pretty.”

“Bye.” A beat passes and ‘What a Girl Wants’ by Christina Aguilera blares through the speakers so loud you jump, “Jesus Christ.”

By the time you pull into the grocery store parking lot, you’ve replayed his voice in your head at least five times. I wanna see you. It wasn’t just what he said, but the way he said it—soft, easy, like he wasn’t asking for anything out of the ordinary. Like it was natural for him to want to be around you, and for you to want the same. You’re...friends.

You curse the thought away as you grab your keys and step into the cold evening air, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder. You don’t need to be thinking about Riki Nishimura and his stupid, perfect face and voice the whole time.

The grocery run is quick—milk, eggs, a few vegetables, and a bag of Gus’s favorite treats because you can’t resist—and you’re back in your car in record time. You text Riki that you're on the way home and find yourself smiling when he loves the message. It drops a second later when you realize what you’re doing and curse again, tossing your phone into the cup holder like it’s on fire and covering your face to self-reflect.

When you pull into the driveway of your home, it isn’t hard to spot Riki’s black Jeep parked at the curb. What is hard is hiding the grin that forms on your lips as you park your car and get out to grab the groceries in your trunk. The lacrosse player is already exiting his own vehicle and jogging over to help you.

“You didn’t have to come,” you say as he reaches for the bag of vegetables in your hands, but there’s no bite to your words.

“You said you’d text me when you were home,” he replies, his voice light and teasing as he takes the other bags with ease. “I figured I’d save you the trouble.”

You shake your head, grabbing your Sephora bag and locking your car. “So damn impatient.”

“Only when it comes to you.” His response is so casual, so effortless, it knocks the air from your lungs. You glance at him, but he’s already halfway up the path, waiting for you at the door like he hadn’t just said something that made your knees weak.

When you catch up, you unlock the door with the code and nudge it open with your foot, paising once you’re inside to shut it behind him. You kick off your shoes and pass Riki to get to the kitchen, placing your Sephora bag on one of the island’s chairs and watching him place the few grocery bags on the counter.

“Gus~” You call out as you begin to unpack the paper bags, and there’s a soft warbled meow in response in the direction of your room. The plump tuxedo cat appears around the corner, rubbing his body against the wall with another soft cry for attention that has Riki cooing and lowering himself to the ground to oblige him.

Once you’ve got groceries put away, you watch the 6’ something lacrosse player pet your cat with gentle scratches under his chin that he leans into with slow blinks, “Are you happy?”

Your softly giggled question has Riki smiling up at you, “So happy.”

With a soft huff of amusement, you grab your Sephora bag and walk in the direction of your room, choosing not to glance behind you to see if he’s following. Just act natural, bitch.

You leave your door open as you enter your room, thanking the lord that the cleaning lady had visited while you were out and your room isn’t as dirty as you left it this morning. Walking into your bathroom to start putting away your new skincare, you ignore the sound of him entering your room.

“You have a lot of perfume.” You hear him comment, glancing over your shoulder to see him admiring the organized collection on your open vanity.

“Yeah, I...have a problem” You say with a soft laugh of slight embarrassment at your habit of buying yourself anything pretty or relatively cutesy. “I have more in my closet.”

Riki whistles lowly, seemingly a bit impressed, “Which one’s your favorite?”

With a hum of thought, you step out of your bathroom to walk to your closet. You don’t mind the open door as you enter, reaching the island in the center working double as storage and where you keep your perfumes. Riki follows just to the doorway, leaning against it as his eyes move from you to the expanse of your walk-in closet. The floor-to-ceiling shelves in the back displaying heels and boots of different luxury brands, the pretty runner rug beneath your feet, it all screams you.

You’re plucking your favorite bottle from the display when his eyes land on the corner of something flat and white hidden behind a woven hamper. The easy smile on your face drops the moment you see him pull it out from its hiding spot, a boyish grin on his face. “You sneaky fuck.”

He laughs at your immediate cursing, holding the white board out of your reach as you hasten towards him to take it from him, “Pros and Cons?”

“Oh my god.” You give up on taking it from him, hands moving to try and cover his eyes, “Riki!”

“It’s about me, pretty girl.” he argues playfully, still laughing while trying to dodge your hands, “C’mon, just a peek!”

“Boys aren’t allowed to peek—Riki!” You fight laughter as his arm hooks around your head, his hand covering your face as he begins to read out the words you wish you had erased when you had the chance.

“‘Nickname kinda dumb’, you think my nicknames dumb?” He asks in an offended tone, laughter seeping into his words.

“That wasn’t me, that was Jongseob—“

“Cut his hair—Why is cutting my hair a con?” He asks incredulously, finally letting you push his hand away from your face to look down at you. Your back is still half-pressed to his chest, and the moment you can look up at him your heart skips like it’s playing hopscotch in your chest.

You catch the glance his eyes take down below your nose and find yourself pulling away quickly, grabbing the whiteboard from him to haphazardly use your sleeve to wipe the marker off, ignoring his laughed ‘hey!’ and sighing in relief when you erase enough for the rest of its contents to look like random pink lines across its surface.

When you spin around with a playfully pointed finger to curse him out, your words catch in your throat at the look in his eyes.

How a look could be both heavy and so soft, you do not know, but it's the best way you can describe Riki’s gaze.

“Wh—“ You stammer with hesitation, face heating up as his soft smile turns into a smirk of amusement, “Stop looking at me like that.”

“How am I looking at you?” He questions in a light tone, almost soft. If you didn’t know better you’d think him genuine in his innocence, but the slight twitch of the corner of his lips and the way his eyes flit to yours gives it away.

“Riki.”

His name leaving your lips draws his gaze away from them, and his smirk turns into one more wry. “I left your gift in my car.”

Your chest clenches painfully as he turns to exit your closet, your lips parting yet no words leaving them as he walks out. You follow after him, abandoning your perfume on the closest surface, “Riki, wait—“

“It’s okay—” he starts, turning just in time to stop you from crashing into him. His hands find your forearms instinctively, steadying you, but the sudden proximity freezes you both in place.

You blink up at him, startled, your breath hitching at the closeness. His fingers are warm through the fabric of your sweater, his touch gentle, like he’s afraid to hold on too tight.

“I—” You start to say something, anything, but your voice falters when you meet his gaze. There’s something there, something unspoken and unbearably soft that makes your chest ache.

Your words catch in your throat when he gently steps back, his hands slipping away as though he’s suddenly aware of the space—or lack thereof—between you. “It’s fine,” he says, a faint smile tugging at his lips, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. His voice is soft, but there’s a distance in it that wasn’t there before, and it only makes the knot in your chest tighten. “I’ll go grab it.”

You take a step forward before you can stop yourself, “Riki, I didn’t mean—”

“Really, don’t worry about it.” His voice is light, too light, as he cuts you off with a small wave of his hand. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

You hesitate, watching as he turns toward the hallway, his movements just a little too deliberate. His usual ease is gone, replaced by something quieter, more careful.

Your heart sinks. Is he upset with you? He doesn’t seem angry, but there’s a tension in the way he carries himself that wasn’t there before.

“I wasn’t trying to make things weird,” you blurt out, desperate to bridge the gap forming between you.

He pauses mid-step, his back still to you. For a moment, it seems like he might say something, but instead, he exhales quietly and turns just enough to glance over his shoulder.

“You didn’t,” he says, his tone softer now, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression—regret? Frustration? “It’s not you. I just… I need a second. That’s all.”

His mother’s words ring in your head again, “It’s so obvious you make him happy.”

Yet, you feel like the opposite is all you can see. You ask him to be your fake boyfriend to make your ex mad, not even considering his feelings. You tell him you can’t date him despite him treating you with more respect and care than Eunseok ever did. You let him kiss you. You kissed back.

Clearly, you have royally fucked up a few times now.

Confronting him about not telling his mother felt like it would only make things worse between the two of you. Maybe, it’d be better for him to hear it from his mother instead of you.

Your stomach twists, guilt gnawing at you even though his words tell you otherwise. You nod, unsure what else to say, and he offers a faint, almost apologetic smile before disappearing down the hall.

“And then what?” Belle questions with a vehemence that startles you slightly. Eunchae, Hiyyih, and Jongseob are all listening intently from their normal spots in your room, your oldest friend of the four standing with her hands on her hips.

When you had informed the group chat you were staying home the next day, you definitely did not expect the four to show up to your house after piling into an Uber. One look at your tear-streaked face was enough for them to ask the questions that brought you to now.

You stammer slightly, “He—He came back with the gift and made up an excuse to leave.”

“You let him leave?” Belle asks incredulously, and you shrink under her gaze, “Bitch.”

“I don’t know, okay!” You say with your face in your hands, frustrated tears burning your eyes again as you groan, “It’s all so complicated.”

Jongseob raises his hand, waiting for Belle to motion for him to speak before he asks, “Do you like him? Also, is this a bad time to say I have a joint in my bag?”

Eunchae punches his arm, and your hands slide off your face, mind too preoccupied by your current dilemma to even insult the only boy in the friend group for his lack of ability to read the room as usual. Hiyyih leans forward to let the youngest reach over her to get to him, “That was a good question until you ruined it.”

”Do you like him, though?” Eunchae asks once Jongseob’s arm is surely to bruise and his hands are up in surrender.

You look up from your hands, “I don’t know—“

“You’re pissing me off.” Belle sighs, palm moving to her forehead, and while you know she means well. “You like him.”

“I can’t.” You argue, voice shaking as you fight tears. Eunchae moves from her bean bag to sit next to you. “All that shit with Eunseok was barely a month ago—“

“Who gives a shit about Eunseok anymore?” Belle snaps, throwing her hands up in frustration, “Just because you dated that asshole for two years doesn’t mean it’ll take that long for you to move on.”

“It still feels like I’m using him.” You finally let the tears fall, and her frustration seems to dissipate. She sighs softly, kneeling in front of your sitting form at the edge of your bed.

Her hands move to cover yours, “Do you still have feelings for Eunseok?” The face you make answers her question and she adds, “Do you still think of Riki as a way to get back at him?”

“Of course not.“

“Then you aren’t using him.” She finishes. “He went into this knowing your plan, and you said he even told you it wasn’t you that was the problem.”

You shake your head, tears falling as you blink them away, “He looked upset—“

“Then that’s his problem.” She argues again, “It’s his job to communicate how he feels if he likes you.”

“He does communicate. I’m the issue!” You cry pitifully, “I don’t want him to think I’m not over Eunseok because—I’m still so angry.”

“He cheated on you with your best friend, you don’t have to forgive him to be able to move on to a healthy relationship.” She states.

“But it feels—“ You can’t find words for why it feels wrong to want to date Riki, because the thought of it makes your heart race, “I don’t know! I’ve known him for barely a month and I just—“

“You like him and feel like it’s not real because it happened too fast?” She reads you like a damn book, but you’re almost thankful for it.

“Yes!” You cry, “And he deserves better than that.”

“So, you like Riki?” She repeats her question, her tone matching yours.

You find yourself answering before you can even think, “Yes!”

Your stomach drops as Belle stands like her work here is done.

It isn’t you realizing you like Riki that has your stomach filling with dread and guilt, it's the fact that you like him more than you have ever liked anyone.

You liked Eunseok, even told him you loved him, but that seed hadn’t grown in your chest no matter how many times it left your mouth in the form of ‘I love you.’

Yet, you imagine yourself with Riki—loving him—and it all sounds so…easy. The mundanity you dreaded having to live with Eunseok sounded like a dream with Riki. Falling in love with him sounded like something you wouldn’t mind experiencing.

Which, all things considered, is fucking terrifying to you.

Hiyyih, who had been silently watching the interaction, pats the shoulder of the boy beside her, “I think she’s gonna need that joint now, Seob.”

The shaggy-haired producer straightens up, nodding and quickly reaching for his bag to pull the baggy from the front pocket.

Belle moves toward your closet, “Manchae, Hiyyih, help her wipe her face while I find her an outfit for the game tonight.”

Your eyes widen, and you shake your head in a panicked way that makes Belle grab your face in her hands, uncaring of the fact she’s squishing your cheeks, “Do you want Riki to be your boyfriend, yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“Then you are going to this game, and you are going to look hot.” She walks you through it like she’s talking to a child, “And when he scores the winning home run, you’re going to run onto that field and jump him, got it?”

Jongseob raises his hand again, though doesn't wait to be called on as he interjects, “Home runs are baseball—“

“That isn't the point, dipshit.” Eunchae sasses before turning her attention back to you, “Can I ask what the gift he got you was?”

You nod as Belle releases your face, sniffling softly as you hold up your hand to showcase the charm bracelet on your wrist. Two charms hang from it, your birthstone and a tiny lacrosse stick. “He said he got it before…everything happened.”

“He bought you a charm bracelet after a week of knowing you?” Jongseob asks in a suspicious tone, and when the three girls besides you shoot him a dirty look, he holds his hands up in surrender, “Sorry—it’s just I think I’ve…connected some dots.”

“You haven’t connected shit.” Eunchae says, before promptly adding, “I just wanted to say that, you can continue.”

Jongseob shoots her an annoyed look, before looking at you and beginning, “Well, I was talking to Soul the other day—y’know the one that goes to music club with me— and he said he and Riki were friends in Freshman year.”

His hesitant pause has you looking at him and saying, “What does that mean to me?”

He continues, “He mentioned him having a huge crush on a girl then—“

“Why would I want to know this, Seob?” You question with exasperation.

“Let me finish!” He insists, and you sigh, motioning for him to land the damn plane, “I did some digging—aka asking his teammates about it—and while most of them didn’t know or wouldn’t tell me, Jake kind of insinuated it was you.”

You blink, “How did he insinuate it was me?”

“Well, I asked him what he thought about your breakup and he got all weepy about it. Said he was rooting for you guys to be endgame.” Typical Jake. “Then, I mentioned you guys not knowing each other for long and it sounded like he almost said that Riki’s been into you for years.”

The four of you blink at the boy’s retelling of events, and Belle is the first to snap out of her surprise, “And why didn’t you tell us this when you found out?”

“You guys never let me talk. Plus, that seemed like the last thing she wanted to hear.” He argues, then motions to you, and none of the girls in the room can really argue back. He doesn’t seem all that bothered about the truth of his own statement, though, as he holds up the bagged joint once more. “Now, are we smoking this or not?”

Parking your car has never left you with such a dreadful feeling in your gut, which Jongseob swore a hit of his shitty joint would ease, yet all it did was jumble your thoughts more.

The temperature sensor reads a biting 30°F, and as you zip up the thick teddy puffer jacket you shiver with pure nerves. “Fuck.”

Flipping down the sun visor, you check your reflection in its mirror. The warm light reflects off the gloss on your lips, which you fuss over with the pad of your finger even though it’s as perfect as it was when you applied it.

Stalling. You’re stalling.

With a deep breath, you snap the visor shut and cut the engine, grabbing your purse and phone before stepping into the biting cold. The frigid air slashes through the layers of your outfit, your jacket doing little to stop the chill. You already regret picking the cuter option over something more practical, but you’d made your bed. Now you had to lie in it.

Ain't that the truth.

The field is already alive with movement and muted chatter. Teams are warming up, their voices cutting through the chilly air as balls thud against lacrosse sticks and cleats crunch on frosted grass. You can’t see Riki yet, but the sight of the players in their jerseys stirs the knot in your chest.

Decelis Demons v. YG Pirates

As you near the bleachers, a familiar voice calling your name stops you in your tracks.

“Over here!”

You turn, spotting Riki’s mom waving at you with a warm smile, flanked by two young girls bundled in matching puffer jackets. His sisters. The younger one is tugging impatiently at her scarf, while the older stands with her arms crossed, looking vaguely unimpressed by the entire ordeal.

“Mrs. Nishimura, hi!” you manage once you’ve climbed the bleachers to join her side, hoping your smile doesn’t betray the whirlwind of emotions brewing beneath the surface.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she says, her voice as kind as you remember. “Riki didn’t mention anything, but I figured you’d be here for him.”

Your face heats at her words, but you force a nod, gripping the strap of your purse tighter and attempting to ignore the cold nipping at your fingers. “Of course, even if it's colder than a Yeti’s ass out here.”

You almost regret your colorful language before the older girl snorts softly, “Preach.”

Mrs. Nishimura chuckles, “It is freezing,” she agrees. “I told Riki he should’ve picked an indoor sport, but you know how stubborn he is.” She jests, and then proceeds to add, “Oh, and these are my daughters, Maki and Runa

You smile at the two of them, Maki’s a bit more subdued but Runa’s bright as she waves. At the mention of Riki, your eyes scan the field for a glimpse of his number. The players are still warming up, running drills and shouting plays back and forth.

And then you see him.

Riki stands near the goalpost, casually balancing his stick across his shoulders as he chats with a teammate. Even in the midst of the pregame chaos, he moves with the same effortless confidence that always draws attention, his tall frame impossible to miss.

The sight of him stirs something unfamiliar and electric in your chest. It’s not the usual comfort you’ve come to associate with him—it’s sharper, more restless, like an itch you can’t quite get to.

You tear your gaze away from him when you hear your name called once again, finding Gaeul quickly climbing the steps of the bleachers to get to you, her free gloved hand catching your arm happily, “I was hoping you’d be here!”

You smile, part of you relieved that she isn’t acting differently despite everything, and your eyes fall on the poster board in her other hand, “Is that for Jay?”

She follows your gaze and nods, unrolling it to reveal ‘Go Jay!’ with a big 19 under it, which you assume is his jersey number. The dark red sweatshirt under her puffer reads the same number as well. “Cute, right?”

“Very cute.” You reply with a soft laugh, smoothing a crease from the corner of the poster board as you add, “I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“He better,” Gaeul huffs in a mock seriousness, “M’freezing my ass off for him.”

Mrs. Nishimura, who seems to have been listening in from her spot beside you, chimes in with a knowing smile, “He still insists you come to every game?”

You momentary confusion is quickly shaken off as you remind yourself that Gaeul and Jay have been dating since sophomore year, of course Riki’s mom knows her, and the girl in question nods fondly, “He says I’m his good luck charm—“ She gasps, and you blink, “—I forgot to kiss him before I left earlier!”

Your brief panic induced by her gasp subsides as you giggle softly, “Oh, no!”

She playfully smacks your arm and grabs it, “You’re coming with me for that.”

Your laughter doesn’t subside, only grows, as she motions to the Nishimura’s that you’ll ‘be right back’ and begins tugging you along down the bleachers, “Where are we going?”

“To kiss my man.” She answers, but pauses in her step to look at you and clarify, “I’m kissing him, you…can kiss Riki.”

“I will not be doing that, but I respect the effort.”

She groans melodramatically as the both of you continue walking down the bleachers, “Aww, c’mon, you guys were so cute together!”

You thank the lord that it’s too loud for Rin and her daughters to hear the girl from this distance, both for your sake and Riki’s, but laugh softly, “I don’t think kissing him a week after breaking his heart is the right move to get him back.”

Gaeul pauses on the last step to look at you with an unhinged jaw as soon as you realize your mistake, opening your mouth to deny before the accusations leave her pink lips, “You want him back?”

Her words are shrill with excitement and you have the sudden urge to shrink into nothingness as you hover a cold shivering hand over her mouth and avoid the gazes of those around you both, “Bitch, shut up!”

She flattens her lips in an attempt to compose herself but fails to muffle the excited squeal and bounce of her gait as she tugs you down the side steps of the bleachers to get to the field.

The lacrosse field feels bigger up close, the expanse of frosted grass sprawling out under the big lights on either side of it. Gaeul marches ahead with purpose, her poster now tucked under her arm as she scans for Jay. You lag behind slightly, your thoughts still buzzing from the last few minutes.

“Gaeul, slow down,” you mutter, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself as the cold nips at your ears.

She ignores you, her focus locked on a cluster of players by the bench. You spot Jay among them, laughing at something one of his teammates says. Gaeul picks up her pace, her excitement palpable, leaving you to follow at a more hesitant shuffle.

You scan the group of players, not recognizing any of them as Riki. When you do find him, you exhale heavily at the sight of him deep in conversation with Jungkook, the coach clearly getting on his ass for something.

“Hey there,” a voice calls out, smooth and laced with a confidence that plants a murky feeling in your gut. You glance up to see a guy in a YG Pirates jersey standing in front of you, his helmet tucked under his arm and a cocky grin on his face. 32 is bold and dark green on his chest.

“Lost, sweetheart?” he asks, his tone dripping with mock concern.

You take a step back instinctively, your eyes narrowing. “Do I know you?”

He raises a brow, his grin widening as if you’ve said something amusing. “Feisty, huh? Just my type.”

Your stomach twists at his boldness, irritation bubbling under your skin. You glance over his shoulder, hoping to spot Gaeul, but she’s already halfway to Jay, oblivious to your predicament. “Ew,” you blanch curtly, trying to sidestep him, but he shifts to block your path again.

“C’mon, don’t be like that,” he presses, leaning in slightly. “I’m just trying to be friendly. What’s your name?”

Before you can muster a surely bitchy reply—or a curse—a presence appears behind you.

“I don’t think this is your side of the field,” a familiar voice cuts in, light yet edged with authority. You glance up to see Heeseung standing at your side now, his lacrosse stick casually balanced over his shoulder, his expression calm but his gaze sharp. “Can’t you tell by the colors, dude?”

The opposing player stiffens slightly, his grin faltering as he sizes up Heeseung. “Just talkin’, man,” he mutters, his tone defensive now.

Heeseung doesn’t flinch, his smile remaining intact as he tilts his head slightly. “Right. And now you’re done.”

The player hesitates for a moment before shrugging and backing away, muttering something under his breath as he turns and jogs off. Once he’s gone, Heeseung turns to you, his easy smile returning. “You good?”

You refuse to utter ‘that was hot,’ so you settle for a, “Yeah. Thanks for that, though.”

Heeseung shakes his head, “Nah, you had that handled.”

You barely miss a beat with your response, “Yeah, but it was sweet of you.”

He shrugs with his hand up and that same grin, “What can I say?”

You make a face, “Not that.“

He goes to defend himself, but Gaeul appears with smeared lipgloss and a pretty grin to happily say, “Coach is kicking us off the field.”

“Joyful.” You say with a playfully stiff smile that has Heeseung whining. A soft giggle from you has his frown turning into a grin again and he shoots you a salute.

“I’ll tell Riki you wished him good luck, ma’am.”

“Don’t get concussed, say that too.” You call back as Gaeul tugs you back toward the bleachers, poster under her arm creased. She’s beaming, and you giggle at her glowing smile, “I think I know what you and Jay got up to while I was harassed.”

Her smile drops as she gasps with concern, “Harassed? What happened?”

“It’s not that serious.” You quickly assure her, “Heeseung kinda scared him off, he was a guy on the YG team.”

“Ew.” She makes a face as you both arrive at the bleachers, and you nod.

“That’s what I said.”

As you both arrive back to your seats, and you gasp and happily accept a hot chocolate Rin had thoughtfully gotten for you with a sweet side hug. God you hope Riki still wants you and you can keep this saint of a woman in your life.

As if on cue, the referee blows a sharp whistle, and the players jog to their respective side of the field. Riki is dismissed by Jungkook and pulls his helmet from under his arm as the other members of the team crowd around the coach, his head turning just enough to scan the bleachers.

Your heart skips as his gaze locks onto yours for a fleeting moment.

He doesn’t smile, not exactly—but his expression softens, his eyes warming like he’s relieved to see you there. The corner of his mouth twitches just enough to feel like a secret, like something meant only for you.

And then he pulls his helmet over his head and focuses on Jungkook’s words, it almost feels like a shock to your system but the lingering warmth in your chest makes it hard to feel the cold anymore.

You watch the team huddle, Jungkook’s game face amusing enough to you that you snicker softly before your attention falls back to Riki. Heeseung, who if your memory serves you right is 01, catches Riki’s shoulder in a brotherly way.

Your brows furrow as you see Riki’s head tilt slightly at what Heeseung says, glancing in your direction and then the opposing teams, and you assume his eyes search for a jersey that reads 32.

The players move onto the field with another whistle, and you watch with dread as two opposing jerseys approach the center of the field. 10 and 32.

Now, you know very little about lacrosse despite it being your school’s biggest sport and your brother playing it, but you know that Riki is a midfielder. You know this through his excited play-by-plays of practice to you on the phone whenever he was finally out, as well as the basic knowledge of how a lacrosse game starts. Two midfielders wrestling for the ball.

It couldn’t be called wrestling, however. Riki swipes it barely millisecond after the ref blows his whistle, tossing the ball to 05.

You gasp softly as his shoulder slams into 32s chest hard enough to send him stumbling back, but his body moves quickly toward the opposing defense and away from the startled enemy. If you didn’t know any better you’d assume he was only doing so to keep him off Jake’s back. “Geez, what did you feed him?”

You ask Rin softly, eyes trained on her son and your brain attempting to wrap itself around the difference in his body language and…aggression on-field, when he had barely risen above a loud speaking volume in your presence. She chuckles, “Would you believe me if I said his diet largely consisted of taiyaki and ramen growing up?”

“No.” You awe at her words, eyes still on him but flitting to meet hers for a brief second, “That’s just unfair.”

“Tell me about it,” The elder of his sisters huffs, “I ate my vegetables and have glasses an inch thick, but he gets to eat sweets all his life and has perfect vision.”

“That’s your fathers genetics, not mine.” Rin clarifies, offering you an explanation like it’s second nature already, “That man can’t see something coming straight at his face until it’s already hit him.”

“My brother has horrible vision, too.” You snicker softly, your eyes rarely leaving Riki but only doing so to look between the three Nishimuras, “Refused to wear contacts, even for lacrosse.” You motion in the general direction of the field, and the older woman seems intrigued.

“Your brother plays?”

You shake your head with a soft laugh at your brother’s expense, “Not since highschool, and he was benched most games because he couldn’t see the ball,” your words have Rin laughing and Maki snorting, “plus he generally sucked. He really only joined because his friend was on the team.”

Jake scores a goal and the crowd around you goes wild with cheers, mainly higher in pitch. You let out a supportive cheer and immediately act like you didn’t when his helmeted head turns your way. You’re almost positive a shit-eating grin has formed behind his helmet.

The game continues, the scoreboard leaning toward Decelis’ victory as the first two quarters come to a close and half-time ensues.

“No.” You reject Gaeul’s suggestion almost as soon as it leaves her mouth.

“Aww, c’mon!” She whines, tugging your arm closest to her, “His face would be so funny!”

“He’s wearing a helmet, you can’t see his face. And it’s small enough for you to hold up by yourself.” You point at the poster-board in his hands, which she had happily held up for a good portion of the game until her arms got tired.

“But my arms are gonna fall off.” She groans melodramatically, “Please?”

“Buy me another cocoa and I’ll think about it.”

As half-time comes to a close, your right arm is screaming for relief while you hold your side of the poster up and nurse a cup of steaming cocoa in the other hand. Gaeul shamelessly screams in support of her boyfriend, who you see hunch over slightly like he’s holding back laughter of amusement.

Your hand feels like it’s about to fall off, and you curse yourself for refusing the mittens Eunchae had offered in favor of showing off your new nails. ‘They’re too pretty to cover up,’ you had whined, yet now you wouldn’t be surprised if your fingers started breaking off like a vampire’s from Twilight.

The scoreboard reads heavily in the home team’s favor, and you pray to every deity that the game finally ends for your arm’s sake (and your crippling anxiety). Though, watching Riki slice through YG’s defense and score points like they're nothing doesn’t look like it’ll be getting old for you anytime soon.

“You’re drooling.” Gaeul teases as you suck in a sharp breath at the sight of Riki once again shoulder 32 off balance, hard enough for him to fall onto his ass this time. Tensions are high as the time counts down, though part of you’s hoping this never ends.

“I don’t drool.” You retort in a soft grumble, yet you rub the side of your wrist over the corners of your mouth self-consciously. “I’m a fucking lady.”

“Right…” Gaeul agrees with playful doubt in her tone that’s punctuated by giggles as you playfully shove her shoulder.

The final whistle slices through the winter air as Riki launches the ball into the goal, accompanied by an uproar of cheers and groans from the crowd. Decelis has won, 12-7, the scoreboard glowing with the decisive win. The players pour onto the field, some celebrating, others trudging off in defeat. Your eyes dart instinctively toward Riki, helmet under his arm, hair damp with sweat as he exchanges fist bumps and quick words with his teammates. The way his expression softens to a grin when Jake slings an arm around his shoulders makes your stomach twist.

You clutch your empty cocoa cup, suddenly desperate to find a reason to approach him. Before you can muster up a plan, the chaos swallows him—players crowding, parents flooding in from the sidelines, and Gaeul’s excited tug on your sleeve pulling you back to the moment.

“Let’s go find Jay!” she beams, and you immediately look toward Rin, Maki, and Runa.

The woman smiles warmly and pats your shoulder, “We always wait in the parking lot for him. You two can have a moment.”

Gaeul is dragging you down the bleachers the moment you softly thank the woman. Your heart thrums as you scan the chaos for Riki, but he’s nowhere to be found. Gaeul bounces ahead, her attention locked on her boyfriend.

Her hand slips from your arm as you’re both swept into the excitement, and her curls disappear in the crowd.

The field feels like a warzone, buzzing with shouts, laughter, and the rhythmic stomp of cleats against frozen grass. You’re jostled in every direction, bodies pressing and colliding as parents swarm to congratulate their kids, and the players themselves disappear into the fray. Your fingers curl around the half-empty cocoa cup as if it might ground you, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Where is he?

You catch glimpses of Riki’s teammates—Jake’s unmistakable blonde head bobbing as he jokes with Heeseung, Sunghoon hoisted onto someone’s shoulders—but Riki remains elusive, swallowed by the tide of bodies.

“Riki!” His name slips out, barely audible over the noise, and you feel a flush creep up your neck. What are you even doing? Someone brushes past you, hard enough to make you stumble. “Watch it,” you mutter, turning to see a player in a YG jersey, helmet off and grin too familiar.

32.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just gives you a once-over that makes your skin crawl. His shoulder brushes yours again as he angles toward you, his smirk sharper now. “Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he drawls, voice low enough that it’s almost lost in the noise.

You make a face of disdain, like speaking to him both disgusts you and is beneath you, “Is that supposed to be cute?”

“C’mon,” He says, tone dripping with what you assume is his attempt at charm, “Don’t be like that. You’ve been watchin’ me the whole game.”

“I don’t even know you.” You respond with the same look on your face that reads you’d rather be anywhere else than where you are, listening to him.

He steps closer, undeterred by your tone and clear disgust, “That can be remedied,” His voice is low, and you see his hand move from his side to reach for your waist.

Your anger takes over your motor control, and the half-empty, long chilled cocoa in your hand splatters over the front of his jersey, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

The cocoa splashes onto his jersey in a satisfying arc, the dark liquid seeping into the white fabric. His grin falters for a moment, replaced by a stunned look that quickly twists into irritation. “Are you fucking serious?” he snaps, brushing at the stain, but it’s a futile effort.

“Yeah, I’m fucking serious,” You retort, mirroring his tone, “Who the fuck told you that you could fucking touch me?”

The players around you have started to notice the commotion, a few stopping to watch as Number 32 bites back, “You’re not even worth half of what that bitch offered me.”

If what boiled within you was anger, then what it morphs into at the player’s statement must be seething fury, “Excuse me?”

“What’s goin’ on here?” A hand clasps over your shoulder but the voice calms any volatile reaction brewing in your gut, Jungkook stepping between you and the YG player.

Jungkook’s presence immediately shifts the energy around you. His broad frame looms between you and Number 32, the way his body blocks out the other player like a wall of stone, calm yet unyielding. The cocky grin fades from the YG player’s face as he holds up his hands in mock surrender, shooting a glare at Jungkook.

Jungkook doesn’t even glance at the YG player, his focus entirely on you as he steps closer, his gaze softening slightly when he sees the tension in your shoulders and the shift in your jaw. “You okay?” he asks, his voice surprisingly gentle in the midst of the chaos.

You nod, even though the heat of anger still lingers in your chest. “I’m fine,” you say, but your voice shakes just enough that Jungkook catches it.

His eyes flick briefly to the YG player, who’s clearly not in the mood to test Jungkook’s patience any further. “Walk with me,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. You want to protest, to stay and search for Riki, but something about the way Jungkook stands there—tall, unshakable—tells you it’s not worth resisting.

He guides you through the crowd and off the field with his hands on your shoulders. When the two of you arrive at the edge of the field where the bleachers drop off and the parking lot comes into view, he releases you. “Do I need to go talk to that kid’s coach? Or parents?”

“No, I think the shit-colored stain on his jersey says enough.” You retort swiftly, the implications of his words stick with you, though. ‘You’re not even worth half of what that bitch offered me.’

It isn’t as if you woke up yesterday, you know he’s talking about Nayeon. Whether it be some kind of intuition or you’re just that fucking familiar with her thought process from years of what you had thought was friendship, you know it.

“Hey.” Jungkook’s gruff but somewhat gentle call snaps you out of your stewing, and you blink at him, “Don’t do anything I’m gonna hear about, okay?”

Your immature response is interrupted by the loud cheers and chatter morphing into shouts and hollers of a more alarmed tone that has the both of you looking in the direction of the field. Jungkook doesn't seem eager to let you involve yourself in whatever it is that’s going down on the field, you know this because he’s shooing you off toward your car in a dismissive but authoritative tone.

If you cared at all about anything except beating Nayeon’s face in at the moment you would be protesting and following after him as he jogs toward the commotion, but you don’t. Instead, you walk to your car, toss your Prada bag into the passenger seat as it begins to warm up, and plot.

Watching your friend group’s grins fall while learning that you did not, in fact, kiss Riki after the game but left without even speaking to him in a fit of blind rage was not how you wanted to start your weekend. You blame their soured moods for the fact that all four of them were avidly against your plan to beat Nayeon’s face in the next time you see her, but begrudgingly decided to not jump to conclusions.

The only proof you have that Nayeon was the one to sic that cretin on you may be his words, which aren’t worth much, but you refuse to believe anything else.

Monday arrives with not a singular text or call from Riki, and while Belle has already talked you off of the metaphorical ledge about it, you feel the urge to disappear off the face of the Earth every time you imagine seeing him again after leaving the game he asked you to attend without so much as a word.

Part of you figures the silence on his end is payback, or him deciding to finally let his alleged crush on you go. The other part of you really hopes he was just busy.

Jake is…silent in your second period. Not that you’d mind the silence on any other day, but it’s definitely not normal. Well, he’s silent until he catches sight of the charm bracelet on your wrist as it clinks softly on the desk. His grin is back in seconds and he takes his phone out.

“Want a picture?” You offer sarcastically. When Jake eagerly nods and holds his phone up for the picture, you shoot it a mock smile and manicured middle finger as your charm bracelet catches the light above.

With giddy giggles, Jake takes the photo and practically bounces in his seat in joy as he taps his thumbs on his screen hastily. You’re rolling your eyes and looking down at your worksheet when he asks, “Wanna know who I’m texting?”

“If I wanted to know I’d ask.” You respond swiftly, tapping the eraser-end of your pencil on the desk absentmindedly.

“It’s Riki.” He states with a smugness that pisses you off.

Looking up from the paper, you raise your brows, “Okay?”

“He needed proof,” He adds on with his arms crossed as he leans back in his seat, “Wanna know why?”

“I feel like you’re gonna tell me anyway.”

He’s still smirking as he proves you right, “He thinks you hate him.”

You blink, annoyed nonchalance pushed aside by genuine confusion, “Why would he think that?”

Jake shrugs, though his face seems anything but clueless and you hate that he knows more than you do, “Maybe ‘cause you left the game without saying anything to him.”

“Jungkook made me get off the field.”

“You could’ve waited with his family in the parking lot.”

“Well, I didn’t.” You snap, growing frustrated with the conversation despite it being your own damn fault, “Why are you telling me this, Jake?”

“‘Cause he’s my friend and he’s been miserable.”

“Then he should talk to me.” You retort with a sigh, guilt filling your gut despite your defensive words, and he tilts his head with a nod of agreement, “If I hated him he’d know. I don’t exactly keep that shit a secret.”

Jake, who had bore witness to your fight with Jaclyn Delvacchio in junior year, hums, “Well, can you do us all a favor and talk to him, please?”

“We have fifth period, I’m not gonna ignore him for an hour when he sits next to me.” You roll your eyes and focus back down at your worksheet.

By the time the bell rings, you’re halfway between plotting your own demise and debating if you should actually try to talk to Riki. The idea makes your stomach twist. What if Jake was wrong, and Riki doesn’t want to hear from you? What if your silence solidified something in him—pushed him away for good?

But then you remember how he smiled at you that day in the hallway, the soft tug of his lips like he couldn’t stop himself, and how his eyes lit up when you agreed to come to the bowling date. You remember the way his voice faltered ever-so-slightly when he asked you, like he was bracing himself for rejection but couldn’t bear not to try.

The thought makes your stomach hurt and your chest heavy, and you realize something that makes you want to kick yourself: you don’t want to lose that. You don’t want to lose him.

Yet, you so easily brushed him aside in your list of priorities to stew in your anger about someone who shouldn’t even be a thought in your mind at this point.

You screwed up. Again.

At this point, you feel like you’re winning the losing game. Not only do you hate losing, but you hate the feeling in your chest and gut that makes you want to go home and rot until Riki forgets you ever existed. Belle’s voice screams in your head to talk to him, to make the effort to speak to him and throw away your pride.

So, instead of staying in your old Latin teacher’s class for fourth period grading papers, you persuade her to let you spend your fourth period ‘at lunch with your friends’.

Your friends all share the same lunch period; sixth, when you’ve already gone home. So you lied, yes.

But Riki has fourth period lunch.

You slip through the cafeteria doors, the clang of trays and the murmur of conversation fading as you scan the room for him. The place is packed, and your heart beats louder than the chatter around you. It’s ridiculous—Riki isn’t hard to find. But your anxiety builds anyway, sending a slight tremble through your hands.

You spot him by the window, his profile framed by sunlight, his usual quiet demeanor marking him as an island in the chaos of the cafeteria. His friends surround him, but they’re not your focus. Your eyes zero in on him, his long sleeves pulled up to his elbows, his hair messy and covering his forehead like he didn’t feel like styling it this morning, the rings on his hands that glint in the cafeteria light.

But before you can make your way over, the sound of a voice you loathe cuts through the air, sharper than glass.

“A couple hundred bucks and he was practically my dog.” Nayeon muses at the two girls you barely recognize that sit across from her at a table not far from you, “Sucks that he failed, though. Would have spent my money on someone else.”

“So you…had him hit on her?” The girl on the left asks, a bit confused as she exchanges a look with the girl beside her.

Nayeon seems eager to relay the details, “I told him she liked playing hard to get,” She shrugs disinterested, yet you see a sliver of the smirk on her face from your angle, “made him all the more eager to knock her down a peg.”

The two girls seem peeved by what she says, like any sane person would be, but anything either wants to say dies on their tongue as they catch sight of you. “Girl…”

One trails off as you begin your approach, the same lightness in your gut that has your vision clouded with seething fury.

She looks over her shoulder just enough for you to see her smirk drop into wide-eyed fear.

Your hand catches the back of her head, slamming the side of her face into the table with little care for the eyes that immediately find you, “Sorry, I didn’t hear you, bitch. What was that?” There’s ‘ooo’s and ‘oh shit’s from the wuickly forming crowd as you pull her up by her hair, launching the flailing girl onto the ground. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

She scrambles off the ground, immediately getting in your face as she hisses, “You don’t deserve him.”

“Oh, fuck you.” You curse as your hand meets her face, and she shrieks as her head snaps to side.

Nayeon recoils for a moment, eyes wide with shock, but the anger on her face quickly replaces any hesitation. "You think I'm scared of you?" She spits, moving toward you with a snarl. She may not have expected this, but now that it's happening, she seems desperate to prove herself.

Grabbing her by the shoulders, you shove her into one of the metal chairs, the clattering sound of it screeching across the floor as she stumbles backward. The two girls hasten to get out of the way, faces a mix of fear and ‘oh shit’.

Nayeon picks herself up with blind fury guiding her actions, hands flying out as she lunges forward to shove you back. Your hands grasp her hair again, and the crowd surrounding the scene roars.

Her nails claw at your wrist as you yank her forward. She’s small, but her anger makes her stronger than she has any right to be. The fight is a mess of hair pulling and shoving, curses from you and shrieks from her.

You shove her hard into the table again, the force sending a tray of half-eaten food crashing to the floor, and the crowd goes wild, hooting and cheering. The heat in your chest ignites with every movement. The adrenaline rush is undeniable.

Nayeon's attempts to push you back only seem to fuel your anger further. Her breath is ragged, and you can practically taste the bitterness she's been carrying since the moment you stepped into her world. Every movement of hers is desperate, like she's trying to claw her way back to a victory she's long since lost.

"Get the fuck off me!" she yells, her voice barely audible over the chaos. But you don't listen. You slam her against the chair again, hard enough that she falls onto her ass, eyes wide with disbelief. Nayeon's face contorts in pure anger as you approach again, her hands flying up in a futile attempt to strike you. Her nails scratch at your arms, but the pain barely registers.

But then, someone grabs your waist, lifting you off the ground effortlessly. The world tilts as you're pulled off of Nayeon, feet leaving the ground. For the split second that you’re struggling against them, thinking it’s one of her friends or a teacher, you curse at them too.

Then the cologne hits your nose and the voice hits your ears, “Alright, that’s enough, pretty girl.”

Your heart stutters in your chest as Riki’s voice cuts through the frenzy, low and soft in your ear, but with a sharp edge of firmness that you’ve never heard from him before. His grip on you doesn’t waver, and despite the anger still coursing through your veins, you freeze for a second, thrown off by the ease he had pulling you off of that traitorous bitch—who’s being held back by Jake and Jungwon.

“Skank!” Nayeon shrieks, clawing at Jake and Jungwon’s arms that keep her from lunging at you again.

Any calm that Riki’s presence brought you is washed away, but he pulls you back by the waist as you move to have a go at Nayeon again. His arms wrapping around you to keep your arms at your sides as you bite back, “Says you, bitch.”

“Easy, easy,” He eases, your back hitting his chest as your jerky and angry movements force him to pick you up again, “Cool it, baby. You got her good.”

“Get her out of here before the teachers get here,” Heeseung orders in a hushed tone as the other members of the lacrosse team grab at phones and shove the crowd back.

“I’m not—hey!” Your defiant statement is interrupted by the arm around your waist tightening and your feet lifting off the floor once more. “Riki!”

“I know, I know.” Riki’s hold is firm as you struggle weakly against him, his voice deep and low like he’s easing a wild animal, his touch warm. You can’t bring yourself to fight back the way you did with Nayeon as he walks you out of the cafeteria building. His presence, the warmth of his chest against your back, it all has your defense mechanisms easing up and your anger softening to a low simmer.

When he finally sets you back down, the cool chill of the air eased only by the sunlight hitting the two of you, you turn to face him with a charged glare, “I can walk.”

He holds his hands up in good faith, or maybe an attempt to calm you down, “I know, baby.”

“And she deserved that.”

“I know, baby.”

The way he repeats himself so softly, how he’s letting you take out the remnants of your anger on him, it only makes the ache in your chest worsen. You exhale sharply, “Stop that.”

“Okay.” He says, voice soft but no pain or hurt to be detected in his voice, only in his eyes.

Your own sting almost automatically with both frustration and anger at yourself and no one else, “No, not—“ Taking a deep breath, your hands move to your face, “This is all wrong.”

“What is?” You try not to notice how he doesn’t attach ‘pretty girl’ or ‘baby’ to the end of his question. You fail.

“Everything.” You mutter, exhaling another soft, “Fuck.”

“You’re bleeding.” He points out, his hands pulling yours from your face to examine the scratches up your arms.

“Nails are intact, though.” You mumble softly, trying to make yourself feel better. Riki looks at you in slight disapproval, brows furrowing, and you add, “I’m okay.”

He sighs, shaking his head, “There’s a first-aid kit in the locker room, let me clean you up.”

“Ew, I’m not going into the boys locker room.” You reject his offer with an obstinance that would usually amuse him, yet he shows a sliver of frustration in his body language. “And I told you, I’m fine.”

“Okay, you can either walk or I can carry you.”

“As if.”

Your challenge is met with him raising his eyebrows and lunging for you a second later. You flinch and swat at his hands, “Okay, fine!” He pulls back again with a ‘that’s what i thought’ look, “I’ll walk.” you add with a defiant ‘hmph’ as you walk past him.

He doesn’t press the issue, following you towards the athletics building and holding the door open for you to enter first, to your utter fury of course. Stupid boys. Stupid emotions.

When you find the boys locker room, you pause as he pushes the door open, “I’m not going in there.”

He sighs with a nod like he expected as such, “I’ll be right back, stay here.”

You sigh and cross your arms, rolling your eyes and leaning back against the wall across the locker room entrance.

Riki returns with a first aid kit and his hoodie, “Let’s go to the bleachers, no one’s got practice today.” You assume the hoodie is for you, and you’re proved correct when he tosses it into your face and snickers when you curse at him. “C’mon.”

You begrudgingly walk with him out of the athletics building to the school field not a far walk from the entrance.

You hear the bell ring from where you sit on the bleachers minutes later as your chilled fingers are tended to by the lacrosse player, “You’ll be late, you know.”

“We’ll both be. It’s fifth period now.” He states as he delicately cleans the raw skin streaking up your wrist with an alcohol wipe.

“Ow.” You mumble, and he tsks with a growing smile.

“Don’t be a baby.” He teases, and you mock his words in a higher pitched voice back to him.

“Fuck you.”

He snickers softly, gently rotating your hand in his to clean the visible lines tainting the delicate flesh, “Baby.”

His statement isn’t the beckon or fond coo you wish it’d be, but it causes flutters in your gut all the same. You mock him again and he huffs softly in amusement, refraining from continuing the back and forth to focus on your scratched up wrists and forearms.

As he moves to your right hand, his touch lingers on the charm bracelet hanging off your wrist as he dabs at the skin. The metal chain catches the sunlight, twinkling faintly against your wrist as Riki pauses. His thumb brushes over one of the charms absentmindedly before he speaks, voice softer than you expected. “You’re wearing it.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” you reply, trying to sound casual despite the way your pulse stutters. His touch, even as fleeting as it is, sends a warm shiver through you.

“I just…” he trails off, dark eyes flicking up to meet yours briefly, his gaze filled with something tender. “I wasn’t sure if it was your style.”

“Why’s that?” You ask with a slight furrow of your brows, and he snickers softly.

“I’m sure it’s not the luxury you’re accustomed to.”

“Everything I wear isn’t expensive. I’m not a snob.” You huff in slight offense, though he finds it amusing.

“Never said you were a snob, princess.” He clarifies, discarding the alcohol wipe to grab the ointment from the kit, “Nothing wrong with being spoiled.”

“I’m not—“ you go to argue, but the amusement on his face has the words dying on your tongue as you look away from him, “You’re such an ass.”

“Aww, I’m wounded.” He pouts softly, before it turns into that pretty smile again and he laughs softly, “It looks good on you.”

It takes a half-second for you to remember he’s talking about the bracelet, and your instinctive reply comes in the form of a weak, “Fuck off.”

His head falls forward as he laughs at your weakly aggressive statement. His touch is still gentle as he continues, hands unbelievably warm around yours. How unfair.

“Your hands are freezing.” He states softly, tube of ointment placed aside in favor of engulfing your hands in his. You watch him rub at them, your nails clicking against his rings with every movement until they catch his attention, “These are nice.”

“I know.”

He huffs in amusement, biting his bottom lip before he says, “‘Course you do.”

The tension between the two of you shifts, delicate and tenuous, like a thread stretched too tight. Riki’s touch is warm and steady, and you hate how easy it would be to let yourself relax into it. His thumbs keep brushing over your knuckles, slow and deliberate, and your chest tightens with every pass.

You clear your throat, trying to focus anywhere but his hands, but when you look up, his gaze is already on you. It’s not intense, exactly. Not piercing or overwhelming. Just…soft. Patient, even. The kind of look that has your fight or flight instincts kicking in to protect the

“What?” you snap, defensive and unsure, your voice sharper than you mean for it to be. You regret it instantly when his brow furrows slightly, though his hands don’t pull away.

“Nothing,” he replies softly, his voice steady. “Just glad you’re okay.”

The simplicity of it almost knocks the wind out of you. You blink, trying to find a reply that won’t give you away, but the words stick in your throat. All you can manage is a mumbled, “I told you, I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” he says, his tone carrying a gentleness that makes you ache. “But I worry about you anyway.”

You don’t know what to do with that—how to handle the sincerity in his voice or the way his touch lingers like he’s afraid to let go. It feels like too much and not enough all at once.

“You shouldn’t,” you mutter, trying to pull your hands back, but he holds them lightly, just enough to keep you there without forcing you.

“Can’t really help it, pretty girl.” His lips curve into a faint smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Especially when you’re getting into fights.”

Your stomach twists, a cocktail of guilt and frustration bubbling to the surface. You want to tell him it wasn’t just a fight. That it was Nayeon, that she deserved it, that you were defending yourself in more ways than one. But that isn’t the truth, is it? Not really.

“I—” You start, then stop, swallowing down the lump rising in your throat. “I don’t—” Your voice wavers, and you hate it. “Riki, I can’t—I’m not good at this.”

“At what?” his hands grasp yours tighter as he leans forward with his gaze so…so attentive.

“This.” You motion vaguely between the two of you, trying to not cry in front of him. You’re failing horribly. “Us. You. Me. God, fuck.”

“Talk to me, pretty girl.” He pleas softly, and your chest feels as warm as your hands are in his.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” You exhale, head dropping back in an attempt to keep your frustrated tears from falling, “And I keep fucking up everything good in my life, and I just—“

His neck cranes slightly to meet your gaze as you avert it to his hands around yours, waiting for you to continue. Listening.

You take a deep breath, “I like you, I really do,” his thumbs slow to a stop against your knuckles, but you don’t look at him, “and you’re so—perfect and I’m not—“

“Don’t say that—“

“I’m not.” You insist, and one of his hands moves to your cheek as you continue, thumb gently wiping away a stray tear, “I’m…messy and mean-“

“I don’t care about that.” He argues gently, but you’re not done.

“-and I can’t even handle my own shit in a mature way so why should I be able to give you anything better—“

You don’t get to finish as his lips press against yours, cutting off your spiraling words with a kiss so sudden and deliberate it steals every thought from your head.

His hand on your cheek tilts your head up toward him, his other remains holding yours. It’s not a hesitant kiss. There’s nothing unsure or tentative about it, not like the first one he gave you. He isn’t suffocating you, or doing anything more than moving his lips against yours like it’s all he’s wanted to do for years but knows to take his time savoring it instead of rushing in with teeth and tongue.

All you know is that you’re leaning into him, your anger, frustration, and self-doubt melting away under the weight of his touch. It’s a good kiss—better than good. It’s consuming, overwhelming, and entirely too much, yet you feel like more wouldn’t be all that bad.

When he pulls back it isn’t far, his forehead resting against yours. You’re breathless, your lips tingling in the aftermath and brain foggier than you’d like to admit. His nose brushes against your as he says, “I don’t care about any of that,” his voice is low and hoarse, “I just want you.”

You exhale shakily, feeling his words hit you lips, “Riki—“

“I’ll wait.” He promises softly, a hint of desperation in his words that has something in your gut fluttering, “However long it takes for you to be ready, I’ll wait.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you shake your head weakly, looking down at your lap. “That’s not fair to you.”

“I don’t care about fair, pretty girl.” He responds with a slight smile, hand moving from your cheek to tilt your chin up and make you look at him. His gaze flits between your eyes and lingers below your nose, a pattern that mirrors your own. “I can wait.”

His words are soft, spoken like an oath as his eyes find your lips again and decide to stay there a while.

“Why?” You ask, barely a whisper.

Riki lifts his gaze to look you in the eyes, a soft smile on his lips as he says, “‘Cause I like you more.”

You roll your eyes, “Is it a competition?”

He hums low, as if apprehensive, “Not much of one.” Your jaw drops slightly as if offended and he laughs softly, “I mean, I have you completely outmatched, pretty girl.”

“Oh, yeah?” You challenge with a slight laugh, “How so?”

He shifts closer as he hums again in thought, “Well, you’ve liked me for how long? A few weeks?” The question is more of a statement, and he seems unbothered by the short time-span with the smile on his face, “Yeah, I’ve got you beat.”

“You didn’t know me until recently, so it doesn’t count.” You argue with defiance, and he raises his brows.

“Are you invalidating my feelings for you right now?” He asks in a mock-offended tone, hand moving to his chest.

You scoff with playful annoyance, looking away from him briefly before your gaze finds him all over again, like a moth to a flame, “How long?”

His smile turns shier, and he chuckles awkwardly, “Nah, it’s not a competition. You’re right.”

“Nuh-uh, you started it,” You laugh, shoving his sturdy chest weakly, “C’mon, I already know. I just wanna hear it.”

Your smug words paired with the shrug you give have his eyes narrowing, “You know?”

You nod, “Jake ratted you out.”

Riki’s eyes widen slightly and he groans, head dropping forward in embarrassment, “I’m gonna kill him.”

Riki lifts his head, still chuckling under his breath as he finally relents, “Alright, fine.” His eyes meet yours again, warm and steady, even as a blush creeps across his cheeks and ears. “Since freshman year. Happy now?”

Despite you being the one to force it out of him, you hold back the urge to giggle and turn away from him. “Very.” You answer with a slightly blissful grin on your face.

“You gonna hold that over my head?” He asks playfully, leaning closer like he wants to kiss you again.

You fight every impulse telling you to close the distance yourself, but let your eyes move between his eyes and smirking lips freely, “I might.”

“Yeah?” He jests softly.

You hum, deciding to be a little mean. “I could also hold over your head that your mom still thinks we’re dating.”

His eyes shut and the hand creeping towards yours again freezes. His head falls forward and you panic for a moment thinking you went too far before you realize his shoulders are shaking and you can hear soft wheezing. “You’re mean.”

His muffled whine makes you snicker gleefully, and you add, “She said I’m good for you.”

You don’t realize the joy behind those words until he raises his head with a teasing but genuine (and flirty) grin on his face as he asks, “You’re happy about that, huh baby?”

You find yourself teasing him back instead of getting hostile at his flirty tone, probably due to the boost he gave your ego, “Mmm, not as happy as you seem to be with me as your girlfriend. According to your mom, anyway.”

Before he can reply, a familiar voice cuts through the moment.

“Nishimura.”

Both of you whip your heads toward the source of the sound. Standing at the bottom of the bleachers with his arms crossed and an exasperated expression is Jungkook. He’s wearing a hoodie and joggers, looking like he just came from the gym with his curls in a bun, but his sharp eyes land squarely on Riki first, then shift to you.

“What the hell are you two doing up there?” Jungkook asks, though there’s no real heat in his tone.

Riki straightens up, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Just…taking care of something, Coach.”

Jungkook’s brows rise, and he gestures toward the field. “And why aren’t you in class?”

“I—uh—” Riki stammers before Jungkook waves a hand dismissively.

“Save it. I don’t need the whole story. Just get your ass to class before I have you running suicides until next week.” His gaze softens slightly as it flicks to you. “And you? ”

You shrink a little under his stare, mumbling, “I wasn’t feeling well.”

Jungkook lets out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You—” He shakes his head before gesturing toward the parking lot. “Go home, kid. And no more fights, please—or distracting my team.”

“Alright, alright,” you mumble as you stand. You glance at Riki, who’s already grinning like this whole thing is hilarious, and shoot him a glare. “Stop smiling, you ass.”

Riki just snickers, his grin growing wider as he stands. “I’ll walk you to your car, pretty girl.”

Jungkook shakes his head, muttering something about teenagers and their hormones. “She can walk herself, get to class.”

Any complaint Riki wants to make is silenced by the pointed finger Jungkook sends him, and he sighs. Your cheeks burn as he leans down to press a kiss to one of them with a soft, “See you later, pretty girl.”

Riki averts his eyes from Jungkook’s judgmental gaze as his star midfielder jogs down the bleacher steps, offering a respectful bow of his head as he passes.

Jungkook then looks over at you, and you’re already arguing, “I have to get my bag from my locker.”

He deadpans, clearly unimpressed as he says, “Ask one of your friends to get it for you.”

Unable to argue with his reasoning, you let out a soft huff and begin patting your pockets for your phone. A relieved sigh escapes your gloss-smudged lips when your fingers brush against the device through a layer of fabric. Silently, you thank whichever of your spirit guides prompted you to button your back pocket before entering the cafeteria.

You suddenly remember another reason to stay a bit longer, “My keys are in my bag!”

Jungkook sighs, “If I see you in the halls in 10 minutes you’re getting banned from my field.”

You grin, bouncing down the steps with a happy, “Thanks, Coach Jeon.”

He makes a face of disgust, hand gently pushing the side of your head as you walk by, “Get out of here.”

It’s almost laughable how quickly the situation disappears, like it never happened. No one snitches—not one person. Even the crowd of students who saw everything miraculously forget when teachers start asking questions. It’s the lacrosse team who spins the story, their collective loyalty so seamless you almost believe they rehearsed it. Nayeon threw the first punch, they all swear. You didn’t fight back. You defended yourself.

The only video evidence of the fight are clips of Nayeon lunging for you and blurry photos, another thing you’re sure the lacrosse team took care of, so the school really have nothing to go off of. By the time the dust settles, it’s like the cafeteria incident is just another school rumor, one of those things everyone knows happened yet every retelling of events sounds skewed in some way.

Your mother hadn’t been informed by the school of the issue, thankfully, but you had endured a scathing voicemail from your father about the ‘stunt’ you pulled with Eunseok’s ‘bright and good’ girlfriend while eating Chinese takeout with Belle Tuesday night. She sat there munching on an eggroll and snatching small pieces of your sweet-fire chicken while your father’s angry ramble drew on and on for a few long minutes before he ended it with a, ‘call me back.’ The laughing fit you and Belle had over that one has become a bit of an inside joke now.

Thursday evening finds you in the kitchen of your home following your Aunt’s slutty brownie recipe with Riki on FaceTime propped up against the egg carton. “Butter, butter, butter…” You mumble to yourself as you reach for the ingredient, making a face as some of the softened dairy gets on your thumb. Riki, who had been silently observing you through the screen, snickers softly. You send a pointed look to the camera, “Don’t laugh at me.”

“M’not, you're just cute.”

“Fuck you.” You lose the fight against the smile forming on your face as you unfold the waxy wrapping of the butter and tip it into the mixing bowl, “I’m always cute.”

He only hums low with that same smirk on his face as he rests his chin on his arm, watching you switch on the mixer and grab a brownie pan from the cabinet beside the stove. A beat passes and he asks, “You don’t have to, you know?”

You glance away from pressing your knuckles into the cookie dough to flatten it along the bottom of the greased pan, “I know, but I don’t want your friends to have anything over me.”

Your joke is received with a soft laugh, “I wouldn’t let them hold it over you.”

“While I would like to see that, this is much easier.” You dismiss as you move to the sink to wash your hands and grab the pack of oreos. “Plus, Jungkook loves slutty brownies so maybe he’ll take the stick out of his ass if he gets one.”

Riki snorts softly on the other end, his bangs messily covering his forehead and eyes, “It’s game day, I don’t think the stick will come out.”

You hum in defeat, shrugging slightly as you begin to place the layer of oreos into the pan, “A sweet treat for good graces then.”

Once you finish the layer of oreos, pour the brownie batter over it, and stick it in the oven, you sigh loudly. Fanning yourself and pulling your hair off your neck as you move toward your phone to grab it. “Jesus Christ, it’s hot.”

“It’s 30° outside.”

“I’m not outside, I’m inside.” You sass with a ‘duh’ look on your face as you hold the phone angled up at your face as you walk toward the living room. “And how dare you try to contradict me.”

“Sorry, pretty girl. It won’t happen again.” He responds after a light chuckle.

You feign another roll of your eyes as you fail to fight the smile growing on your lips once again. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

The next morning, you arrive at school earlier than you’d like—especially with how fucking cold it is. Still, you look cute and feel it too, with a new lip gloss on your lips and a pair of pearls on your ears to match the ones on your eyes.

Exiting your car, you hasten your trek to the field. The bags rustle at your sides as you chant a soft tune of “I’m so fucking cold” under your breath. Your hands are, once again, not protected by gloves as you so vehemently refuse to cover up Julie’s masterpiece. She was very pleased that her hard work stayed intact during the fight, but recommended you treat your hands with care if you want them to last as long as they usually do.

Jungkook notices your approach, tipped off by the high-pitched shiver that escapes your lips as you finally arrive on the field—a sound that doesn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the team either. They seem to all slowly get distracted by your figure’s approach, eyes drawn to either the bags at your sides or cute way you’re walking in the cold.

“What are you doing?” Jungkook snaps in annoyance, his tone almost dismissive.

“Jesus Christ, this violates the Geneva Conventions in some way, I'm sure.” You huff softly, holding up the bags as you arrive at his side, “I made slutty brownies.”

Jungkook’s frown softens as the team parrots your words hopefully, and he then barks, “Single file, maggots.”

You’re almost too cold to enjoy the spectacle the team provides racing to get first in line, yet keeping a respectful distance ahead of you. You snicker softly as you set the bags down, bending with a shiver to grab them to pass out before the one in front of the line protests.

“You’re cold?” Kai asks with worry from the front of the line, and the one behind him, Taehyun, steps out of line with his arms held out.

“I’ll pass them out, you need to warm up.” He fusses with a slight scolding tone, “There are hot-packs over there.” He cocks his head toward the bleachers as he takes your place in front of the bags.

You’re left standing there in confusion as Taehyun takes over your current job, walking towards the bleachers in search of the stated hotpacks before a warm object is pressed to your cheek and you startle.

Riki snickers softly as you look at him in disgust before realizing it’s him, and your face softens to an eyeroll with a soft ‘fuck off’ muttered under your breath. You move to grab the hotpack from him, but he cheekily holds it out of your reach with a boyish giggle.

The look you give him has him flattening his lips to hold back a grin as he silently hands the heat pack to you with a muttered apology.

“Why aren’t you in line?” You question, and he has that same smirk on his face.

He shrugs, “Wanted to talk to my girl first.” You give him a look and he groans, “Can’t you just let me indulge for a second?”

“Patience is a virtue, Riki.” You muse as you cross your arms to tuck your hands away with a hotpack in each hand. “Plus, you said you’d wait.”

“And I will—I am.” He confirms with a shake of his head and a lighthearted grin, “But you could be a little more forgiving, pretty girl.”

“I don’t believe in forgiveness.” You retort with a shrug and a pretty smile.

“Niki!” Jake calls out from the line a few yards away, he’s a few players behind with a grin on his face as he says, “Don’t worry about getting in line, I’ll get you one!”

“Yeah, keep talkin’ to your girlfriend~.” Sunghoon teases, causing most of the team to snicker or whistle.

Riki’s ears go red, but when you point it out with a giggle, his hand immediately shoots to one of the red appendages and he shakes his head, “It’s the cold.”

“Niki, our shy boy!” Heeseung coos from the line, and the rest are all too eager to join in.

“Wow, Niki, you're so cute!”

“Niki, kiss her!”

“It’s giving Romeo!”

Riki groans softly, hands covering his face from your vision as you laugh, a warmth blooming in your chest that eases the chill in your bones. “I’m gonna kill them.”

He’s about to say something else when Taki takes a bite of the brownie in his hand and grunts something sounding like “oh yeah” with his words garbled by the mouthful he’s chewing.

You watch the scene unfold with amusement, leaning back on your heels as the team collectively loses their minds over a baked good. Taki, still mid-chew, looks like he’s having a near-spiritual experience, while Jungkook shouts something about chewing with his mouth closed.

Riki uses the distraction to lower his hands from his face, a grin breaking through his earlier embarrassment as he watches you watching them. His voice cuts through the chaos, low and teasing: “You seem happy.”

Your gaze moves to him, “Is that an issue?”

“Not at all.” He responds smoothly, “You look good when you’re happy.”

“I always look good.” You retort out of habit.

He seems to have expected it, nodding along in agreement before he asks, “So, if I asked you to wear my jersey instead of whatever cute shirt you were gonna wear tonight, would you?”

“Look good? Yes.” You answer with a light, teasing tone, “Agree? Mmm, maybe.”

“You’re killing me, baby.”

“Sweet names will get you nowhere.”

“So, you like it when I call you that?” He asks, stepping closer with a cheeky grin.

You remain defiant, arms crossed as you instinctively lean away from him with a laugh, “I never said that.”

“You didn’t deny it either.” He retorts swiftly, his head tilting and his eyes moving over your face with a smugness that pisses you off.

“No, I didn’t.” You agree, and his eyes narrow slightly at the almost flirty smile on your lips as you turn away from him to make your way back to Taehyun.

You fight the giddy feeling in your chest as you feel his gaze on you, deciding against sparing a glance back as you hear the crunch of his steps following after you.

As always, you’re right. Riki’s spare jersey looks adorable on you.

“He’s gonna die.” Gaeul practically squeals at the sight of you. It’s a bit warmer than the morning had been when you arrive at the opposing school’s stadium, the long sleeved fleece-lined undershirt protecting you from the chilled breeze. “Bitch, your ass looks fantastic.”

A grin brightens your face and laugh leaves your glossy lips as she fawns over your look, “Right?” You turn slightly to give her a better view of your behind purely out of excitement, because yeah, your ass looks good in these jeans.

“It’s smiling at me,” She gasps, smacking your butt lightly with a laugh before hooking her arm with yours and beginning to tug you along. “I didn’t know if you’d come tonight with everything that happened last game.”

“Why?” You ask a bit cluelessly, before remembering the event clearer and shaking your head, “Oh, that weird guy? No, I’m fine.”

She hums with a slight frown as the two of you get to the concessions, “I’m so sorry for leaving you in all the chaos, I didn’t realize you weren’t behind me until I got to Jay.”

Sensing the remorse behind her words, you find yourself quickly saying, “Don’t feel bad, I’m okay.”

“Ugh, I need your number! That’s been eating me alive all week!” She huffs softly as the line moves up, “I tried to find you at school but you kept evading me.”

“You couldn’t ask Belle? Don’t you two share a class?” You question with a slight tilt of your head and her jaw slacks.

“Why did I not think of that?” She mutters to herself as you both reach the front of the line and she orders herself a soft pretzel before looking over at you, “My treat, an apology.”

You aren’t one to reject free food when offered, so you look at the concession worker and say, “A Dr Pepper and another soft pretzel, please.”

Gaeul pays and a worker in the back pulls out two warm pretzels as another grabs the familiar maroon bottle from a cooler. She starts speaking again the moment the food and drinks are in your hands.

“Food isn’t allowed on the field, but I already gave Jay a kiss before he went on the bus.”

Her smile is suggestive, and you make a face that has her whining, “C’mon, I’ll hold your food while you go—“ She shimmies her shoulders and purses her lips into a kissy face that has you letting out a shrill ‘ew, stop!’

“That’s deplorable.” Your words contradict the laughter seeping into your speech, “I am not going down there.”

“Boring.” She groans, but her face brightens suddenly and she waves ahead. When you follow her gaze and find Mrs Nishimura approaching, you internally freak out until she smiles at you and you remember how lovely of a woman she is.

A lovely woman who seems to zero in on the jersey you wear the moment she’s within arms reach, “Oh, don’t you look darling!”

She pulls you into a warm hug and you accept it keenly, “Thank you! Are Maki and Runa with you?”

Your question comes as she pulls away, keeping you at arms-length as she shakes her head, “No, they stayed home with their father, neither wanted to make the trip.”

The trip being about an hour long car ride to the other side of town, which is fair. Feels shorter when you’re driving, though. You got through SZA’s new album on the way, too.

The three of you make it to the bleachers, finding a spot to watch the game as the ref whistles and the teams start to huddle. The board reads:

STARSHIP ALIENS v. DECELIS DEMONS

You sporadically tear pieces off of your soft pretzel as your eyes follow Riki the entire game, catching his eye at multiple points and having to act like you don’t see he’s got a shit-eating grin on his face under that face-guard.

The Demon’s win 12-8 long past sunset, a chill nipping your nose and the empty paper your pretzel came in crumbled into a ball in your hand. Rin sends you the same look as the last game before retreating toward the parking lot.

The moment you step foot on the field after releasing Gaeul’s arm, Jake appears in your view with a big grin, “Didja see the weaving I did? I looked cool, right?”

You debate breaking it to the boy that you may have entirely forgotten he was even on the team, too focused on his teammate to even notice him.

“I don’t think she was watching you.” Heeseung appears with his helmet off and his sweat-drenched hair sticking to his forehead. He moves to throw an arm around your shoulder and you quickly dodge with an ‘eugh’.

“You’re sweaty and you stink.” You grumble with a grimace on your face, and Heeseung seems ready to complain before he grins again at something behind you and a second later arms engulf you from behind.

“You’re cute from the back too, pretty girl.” Riki muses into your ear, lifting you up held against his chest with his arms wrapped around you.

“Riki, you sweaty bastard, let me go!” You whine, struggling against him as he lets your feet touch the ground again.

He giggles boyishly as he obeys, and as you turn to give him a piece of your mind you find the curses dying on your tongue at the grin on his face.

His smile is wide and unapologetically smug, the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes your chest feel like your heart is trying to claw its way out. His helmet dangles loosely in his hand now, his hair a damp mess but somehow still looking good.

“You can’t just pick people up like that,” you say, trying to sound annoyed but betraying yourself when your lips twitch upward. “It’s rude.”

He leans forward slightly, closing the gap between you as if he can’t keep himself away. “Oh? You didn’t like it?”

You roll your eyes, stepping back to put some space between you, but Riki matches your movement with an exaggerated pout, clearly enjoying himself. Before you can fire back with something probably aggressive or mean, another voice cuts in.

“Alright, Romeo, stop flirting and help us pack up,” Jungwon calls, dragging the duffel bags of gear toward the bus. He tosses a water bottle at Riki, who catches it without really looking.

“I’ll see you in a minute,” Riki says softly, his grin softening into something warmer that sends an entirely different kind of shiver through you. He leans down and kisses your cheek before jogging off to join his teammates.

Holy fuck.

Your heart is racing in your chest like an old woman whose heart is about to give out, and your long sleeve undershirt is suddenly too damn hot.

You barely manage to pull yourself together before Gaeul pops up next to you, a knowing smirk spread across her face as she loops her arm around yours. “He kissed you~,” she sing-songs, her tone just low enough not to draw attention, but her amusement is blatant.

“Fuck off,” you mumble, pressing a hand to your cheek like it’ll somehow stop the warmth there from spreading like the grin in your face. You hope the shadows cast by the stadium lights are enough to hide your flustered state.

Gaeul doesn’t let up as the two of you wander toward the edge of the field, her giggles like little daggers stabbing at your already tattered dignity. “He picked you up. And got touchy.”

“I’m aware,” You huff, “I experienced it.”

“I mean, I don’t think you get how big a deal this is,” she practically rambles, “Riki’s never been this…confident!”

“Oh?” You question with your brows furrowed slightly.

She nods with an eager hum, “Riki’s shy! At least he was when I first met him.” Everything up to this point hadn’t pointed you in that direction regarding Riki’s personality, too familiar with the smug smiles and nonchalance, “I mean, he’s like a different person now that you’re around.”

“That’s…good, right?” You question hesitantly, “I mean, he wasn’t weird or anything, right?”

Your voice must have failed to convey the jesting tone you intended because Gaeul quickly begins to backtrack as you approach the bus. Jungkook is at the driver's seat of the bus while some of the team boards it with their duffles hanging from their shoulders and others are loading the luggage compartment with gear, free of their shoulder pads and helmets.

Even without the padding, Riki’s back is broad, jersey hanging off muscle. You can barely see Jake past him, who's on the other side of the compartment helping organize it.

You forget about any questions on your tongue when the shorter male cheekily points out your approach from behind and he looks over his shoulder for you with the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen.

Beautiful bastard.

He wastes no time in loading the equipment bag in his hands into the compartment before stepping away from the bus, jogging toward you with that grin. Gaeul begins to pull away with a grin, but leans in to speak quietly enough for him to not hear, “I’ll give you guys a second.”

She shoots a wink at you as she and Riki pass each other, a soft snicker leaving you as she calls out happily for Jay, who’s just stepped off the bus.

Riki slows as he reaches you, his smile turning slightly sheepish now that it’s just the two of you. He lifts a hand to scratch the back of his neck, his other hand gripping the hem of his jersey. “You’re not mad about earlier, right?”

You ignore the fact his movements cause the jersey to ride up, revealing a sliver of his abdomen that makes you feel like a Victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time.

“I haven’t decided yet.” You respond with a nonchalant shrug and a thoughtful tilt of your head.

He chuckles softly, his hand dropping from his nape as he steps closer with the same magnetism as before, like he doesn’t want to be too far, “C’mon, I was happy you’re here.”

“And you just had to pick me up?”

His laugh is warm and full, the sound washing over you and melting away any annoyance you could have pretended to feel. “Yes.” he says with a nod, his eyes crinkling at the corners again as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

This time, you roll your eyes and half-fight the smile naturally growing on your face, “Fine, but that’s your first strike.”

His brows raise in curiosity, his grin turning to a smirk as he asks, “First strike? How many do I get?”

“Three. Duh.” You sass, and he seems to find that just as amusing as your very serious strike system, though you find it kinda hot that he didn’t question the logic behind it. (The answer: if Sheldon Cooper can have a strike system, so can you.)

“And what happens after three?” He asks, leaning closer with intrigue and that stupid smile.

“Let’s hope you never find out.” You retort, having an idea of what to say but not sure if ‘flogging’ is too far. (You know Belle would laugh, though.)

“Nishimura!” Jungkook barks from the open doors of the bus. The last of the team is filing onto the bus, probably eager to get home. “Stop lollygagging and get on the damn bus.”

You snort softly at the word choice, but find that you aren’t safe from the Coach’s annoyance, “You too, go home. Don’t make me tell them about Shadow.”

The gasp that leaves your lips is one of pure betrayal. The audacity. The nerve. “You—”

He raises his brows in a ‘do it, i dare you’ way and your lips fall shut.

Riki is unable to move past the Shadow thing. “Shadow? Like the Hedgehog?”

“No, like my cat.” You snap sarcastically, “Get on that damn bus.”

Your gaze moves to the vehicle in question, and you find the eyes of the Decelis lacrosse team trained on you and Riki. Through an open window, you hear a voice you think is Kai’s saying, “I thought her cat’s name was Gus.”

“Baby, you have to tell me now.” He laughs breathlessly, like he’s not sure whether to let it out or keep it in for your sake.

“It will never leave my mouth, and I swore him—“ Your words shift from defiant to angry as your finger shoots out to point at the tattooed man impatiently waiting at the bus’ door, “—to secrecy!”

Your words are full of betrayal as you vehemently continue with your manicured finger still pointed, “You took the Unbreakable Vow!

“You were eight.” The Coach retorts. “You used a Crayola marker. It was pink.”

You want to argue, but hold yourself back for everyone’s sake as you look back at a heavily amused Riki and say, “Get on the bus.”

“I’m not letting this go.” He warns with pure joy on his face and a laugh in his voice as he begins to slowly walk back.

You simply shake your head and cross your arms defiantly, “I’m not gonna tell you.”

He only tilts his head with ‘really?’ look, too smug for his own good, the bastard.

Jay and Gaeul appear, her lipgloss smudged on his lips and messy on her own. Jungkook notices them with a disgusted frown and chilling glare. Jay mutters a ‘sorry Coach’ after kissing Gaeul goodbye, and she happily begins to approach your side.

Riki takes the brief moment of time to circle back and ask you quickly, “Are you free tomorrow? Or tonight?”

You blink, mindful of Gaeul’s approach but finding his impulsivity endearing, nodding instead of saying something you’ll cringe at later.

His grin stretches wide, lighting up his face like you’ve just made his entire night. “Cool. I’ll text you,” he says casually, though there’s a spark of excitement in his voice that betrays him. Before you can respond, he jogs back toward the bus, shooting you one last look over his shoulder as he climbs the steps.

Gaeul sidles up to you, her arm sliding through yours with practiced ease, the grin on her face telling you she heard the exchange, “Ready to go?”

You’re thankful she doesn’t tease you again, nodding as the both of you begin to walk toward the visitor parking.

With your back turned, you don’t see one of the slightly ajar windows sliding open more, or the boy that pops his head out of it until he calls out, “Hey!”

You stop mid-step, glancing back over your shoulder to find Riki leaning halfway out the window, his hair messy and damp but looking entirely too perfect for someone who just played an entire game.

You raise a brow in silent question.

“You look good in my jersey!” he calls out, his tone playful but tinged with something softer—something that makes your heart skip.

Your cheeks heat instantly, and you can’t fight the smile breaking across your face. Gaeul snorts next to you, gripping your arm like she’s about to combust.

“I know!” you shout back, doing your best to sound casual, though the warmth in your voice betrays you.

His grin widens, impossibly charming, and he shoots you a two-fingered salute before disappearing back into the bus as the vehicle begins to roll away. Gaeul finally releases her pent-up laughter, practically bouncing on her toes.

“You know?” she echoes, mimicking your response and clutching her stomach. “Girl, you’re gonna kill him one day with that play.”

You start walking toward the parking lot again, tugging her along to keep her from lingering. “I wasn’t playing anything,” you say, though the warmth in your cheeks tells a different story. “I do look good in his jersey. That’s just reality.”

“Sure, sure,” she teases, bumping her shoulder into yours. “But you could’ve just said thank you. Or blushed. Like a normal person.”

“Showing that he affects me is embarrassing.” You grumble softly, “I’ll die before I boost a man’s ego like that.”

(Though, you did cry in front of him about how much you like him, so maybe that argument isn’t valid anymore.)

She cackles at that, nearly stumbling over her own feet as you reach your car. “But, seriously, I’ve never seen him like that. He’s so…” Her voice trails off as she unlocks her own car a few spaces down, but the twinkle in her eye says enough.

“So what?” you press, opening your car door but pausing before you get in.

Gaeul grins knowingly, pointing at you with her keys. “So gone for you.”

You spend the next minute acting like the thought of him being ‘gone’ for you, as Gaeul put it, doesn’t make you want to squeal into a pillow and kick your feet, and when the two of you part ways that feeling remains.

The hour drive home feels longer with Riki on your mind, but maybe it’s the fact you aren’t sure if seeing him again tonight is the best idea.

Something you’ve realized about yourself since meeting Riki is that you suck at impulse control. You preach self-control yet the moment he’s around you—or even mentioned—you find yourself wanting to act on every impulse the chemicals in your brain fire.

When you get home, pulling into the garage as your parents were once again out of town, you read a text Riki had sent not ten minutes prior.

A beat passes before he responds and you huff in disbelief.

The response comes in the form of a phone call. His contact photo lights up your screen, and you huff softly in amusement before pressing the answer button and bringing it to your ear as you get out of your car, “Yes?”

“Both?” His voice comes through, playful yet tinged with something warmer. You can hear the muffled chatter of his teammates in the background, he must not be home yet. “You’re really not making this easy for me, you know.”

“You asked,” you counter with a soft laugh, locking your car and slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I just gave you the answer.”

“Yeah? Which door should I be knocking on? Front or back?”

“You’re not seriously coming tonight, stupid,” you say, though the idea isn’t unappealing. You reach the door, cursing softly at how loud the garage is as it closes. Your hand wraps around the door handle.

“Why not?”

“Riki,” you start with a laugh, entering your home and flipping on the light.

“What? You said both,” he teases. You can hear the grin in his voice, and you roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “Besides, Coach is gonna drop us off at the field to grab our cars anyway. It’s not like I’m going out of my way or anything.”

You hesitate, caught between the thrill of seeing him tonight and the logic of how tired he must be after the game. “Are you sure you don't wanna go to bed?”

“Not really,” he says softly, a bit more serious now, warm. “I’d rather see you.”

Your stomach flips, the sincerity in his voice knocking the wind out of you. “You’re annoying, you know that?”

“And you love it,” he shoots back, but there’s a gentleness there that makes you smile despite yourself.

“You better shower before you get here,” You say after a beat, and you swear you hear a whispered ‘yes’ before adding, “Don’t need your stench stinking up my house.”

“Yes ma’am.” He chuckles on the other end, a sound that comes through your phone beautifully. “Just don’t fall asleep before I get there.”

“Yeah, yeah, just text me when you’re on the way.” You walk toward the kitchen, dropping your purse on the counter and unzipping it to grab the eyedrops as you say, “Also, do you have a curfew?”

“Why? You tryna keep me for longer, pretty girl?” His teasing words are unfortunately true, but you refuse to admit it.

“Well, it’s already almost 10:00.” You dodge his question as you unscrew the tiny bottle in your hands, “I didn’t know if your mom would want you home sooner rather than later.”

“Nah, she’s fine with it.” He assures you, and then a beat passes and he asks, “What about yours?”

“They’re out of town, so it doesn't really matter.” You shrug, “So to answer your question, the front door is fine.”

You hear shuffling on the other end, a car door opening and closing, “So, you don’t mind if I stay a while?”

You can hear the smile in his words, and with a bite of your nail you say, “I’ll kick you out when I get sick of you.”

He laughs softly on the other end, “I’ll stay till you kick me out, then.”

You exchange a few more words before he hangs up to drive, and you have a window of time to panic(and clean up).

After a five minute debate with yourself about taking off or keeping on your makeup, you decide the former is the better option with how late it is and your track record of falling asleep without doing so.

(You also make a promise to yourself that if you fall asleep in front of Riki, death is the only option.)

So, when you get the text that he's arrived and you open the door with a bare face, you half-expect him to comment on it. You had FaceTimed him late enough for the boy to bear witness to your nighttime routine on multiple occasions, but he’d never shown any reaction to it.

The only reaction you get is the same boyish smile as always, the warmth behind his eyes making your heart lurch in your chest.

“Hey,” he greets softly, hands stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie as he steps inside. He smells like some mélange of citrus and musk, his body wash and cologne you assume, and it makes your head feel funny.

“Hey.” You respond with a light huff of amusement as you step aside for him to enter, closing the door behind him, “I see you showered.”

His damp hair covers his forehead, the same messy style he has everytime he takes off his helmet and sweat saturates each lock, yet a bit frizzy like he towel-dried it before he left.

He chuckles, head shaking lightly in amusement as he lets you lead him toward the kitchen, “I listen.”

His words are playfully defensive, the boyish smile on his face and the way he cranes his neck slightly makes you laugh, “You better.” He hums, dropping himself onto one of the barstools at the kitchen island, eyes flickering over the space as you move to grab yourself a drink. “You want anything?”

“Whatever you have.” He shrugs, so you grab two Dr Pepper cans from the fridge and move back to the island.

Riki watches you pull two straws from the drawer in amusement, his elbows on the counter as you pop open the cans with practiced ease and an unhurried leisure. You catch his eyes with a raise of your brow that has him smirking slightly and saying, “Just watchin’.”

“I’d prefer you didn't stare.”

“Can’t help it.”

You roll your eyes at him, but put the straw in and hold the can out toward him anyway. When he takes it with that almost besotted look in his eyes and his fingers brush yours, you find yourself turning away from him the moment it’s out of your hand, “Are you hungry?”

Riki shakes his head, tapping his fingers against the can before taking a sip. “Nah, we stopped for food after the game.”

You nod, opening the pantry to browse and distract yourself, but it does nothing to drown out the weight of his gaze. This was a horrible idea. When you glance at him, he’s still watching you, straw between his lips, eyes holding something unreadable.

“Stop it.”

Riki obediently averts his gaze, turning in his stool until he’s no longer facing you—though he playfully overachieves, turning his back to you completely. You can’t help but poorly conceal a laugh at his actions, which prompts him to look back over his shoulder for your smile.

You act like you don’t catch the way his gaze follows you, ignoring the way it forms a knot in your gut. “C’mon, let’s sit in the living room.”

He follows without hesitation, the soft thud of his socks against the floor trailing after you. You settle into the couch, tucking your legs beneath you, and he drops down beside you like he belongs there.

He does it so easily—makes himself at home in your space, in your presence. It should annoy you. Maybe it does, but not for the reasons you wish it did.

Riki sets his drink on the coffee table, stretching an arm across the back of the couch. He doesn’t touch you, but he could. If you shifted even slightly, if he reached just a little further.

You pretend not to notice.

You scroll through the options absentmindedly, hyperaware of Riki’s presence beside you—the way his fingers drum idly against the couch cushion, the way his head tilts slightly in your direction when you stop on a show.

“This good?” You ask, your voice quieter than intended.

“Yeah,” he says softly. You get the feeling he doesn’t really care what’s on.

You settle into the silence, the soft hum of the TV filling the space between you. For a moment, it’s almost comfortable, normal. But the stillness makes your mind race, and it’s impossible not to notice how close he is. You shift slightly, your side brushing against his as you settle deeper into the cushions, and the air feels thicker somehow, heavier.

You steal a glance at him, his eyes fixed on the screen, but there’s a subtle tension in his posture that wasn’t there before. His shoulders are a little tighter, his jaw a little more set, like he’s holding something back.

Like a ray of sunshine on a rainy day, Gus appears around the corner with a sweet trill and takes the attention of both of you away from the movie(and each other).

Riki perks up immediately, his gaze shifting from the screen to the small ball of fur trotting toward the couch. “Oh, hey, buddy,” he greets softly, leaning forward slightly as Gus hops onto the cushions with practiced ease.

You watch with amusement as he settles in Riki’s lap, loafing contentedly and blinking slowly at you from his spot. Unable to bear it, you shift slightly closer to the boy beside you to reach your cat more comfortably, muttering a soft and fond, “Traitor.”

The midfielder laughs softly, ringed fingers gently scratching the tomcat on his head near your own, “He loves me.”

“He’s a lovey cat.” You retort, and though your words are true, you’ve never seen him lay in anyone’s lap this fast, much less a boy. He was never too fond of Eunseok, and doesn’t really care much for Jongseob, yet seeks out affection from Riki every time he comes over. “He likes warm laps.”

“Maybe he just has good taste.”

“Or maybe he’s a cat.” You retort, shifting again in your seat to make sure you’re not too close. He comments this time.

“Am I making you nervous?” He asks teasingly, voice low.

“Excuse me?” You ask with a judgemental confusion on your face.

He seems undeterred, only motivated by the tone you give him, “You keep fidgeting, baby.”

“What did I say about calling me that?” You lightly smack his side, and he winces playfully.

“My bad,” he concedes, hands lifting from Gus momentarily in mock-surrender, “it won’t happen again.”

“Don’t lie.”

He chuckles, “It’ll happen again.”

A noise begins to play from the other room, and Gus immediately launches himself from Riki’s lap to run off. You laugh softly at Riki’s slight pout, the boy dramatically reaching after the feline longingly, “That was his automatic feeder.”

“Damn.” He sighs, his hands falling back to his sides on the sofa. The tip of his thumb brushes your knee accidentally, and the tension in the air shifts once more.

Both of you seem to zero in on the simple contact, accidental and barely-there yet electric in a way you’d never experienced such minute touches. The tip of his thumb turns into the pad of it, a gentle tracing of circular patterns on your knee. Then, his knuckles join, as if testing the waters.

When you glance at him he's already looking at you, his eyes dark with something unreadable, something intense that makes your stomach flip and your chest explode with warmth. Like an itch, one you know how to quell but the side of your brain dealing with critical thinking tells you it’s probably a bad idea.

His palm flattening against your knee is enough for you to disregard the advice of your logical brain and act on the only impulse your brain can fire at the moment.

Riki’s other hand moves to your cheek when you’re close enough, long fingers tangling into the hair behind your ear as his thumb brushes your cheekbone. His head tilts to the side, nose brushing yours as he shakes it lightly. He doesn’t use the hand on your cheek to push you away or tease you further, any playfulness gone and replaced by a warmth and desire that makes your chest fill with butterflies.

Your breaths mix, the sound of the TV drowned out by the sheer madness of him. He looks like the last thing he wants to do is pull away, like it’s a struggle to not close the short distance between your lips and his—to not cross any lines. Then, his forehead presses to yours gently and he says, “We don’t have to. I can wait.”

His words are soft, nearly whispered, yet his deep voice makes them heavier on your gut than you’d ever admit. You find yourself speaking in a mirrored tone, “I don’t want you to wait anymore.”

His eyes widen just slightly, and his lips part, just barely, his gaze dropping to your mouth. His thumb continues its delicate path across your cheekbone, his fingers flexing in your hair as if anchoring himself to this moment. You can feel the warmth of his breath mingling with yours, the proximity making your heart race.

“I want you to know,” he begins, his voice a low rumble, “I’m not going anywhere. I meant what I said about waiting…I won’t rush you.”

You take a deep breath through your nose, his words a tender weight against your chest. But it doesn’t change what you’re feeling now or how close he is. How easy it would be to just close the gap and kiss him, to let all the tension and uncertainty dissolve with the space between your lips.

“I know.” You say with a slight smile.

Before you can second-guess yourself, your lips find his in a soft and brief kiss.

Riki’s intentions seem to differ from your own as you move to pull away, the hand on your cheek sliding into your hair as his lips chase yours to pull you back in. There’s no hesitation behind it like before, his lips moving against yours with a building urgency that you can’t help but reciprocate.

You gasp softly against his mouth when the hand on your knee glides up your thigh, fingers pressing into skin and pulling you closer almost desperately. He tilts your head just enough to deepen the kiss, a low sound from his chest setting your blood aflame as you maneuver into his lap.

His hands move as your knees settle on either side of his hips, warm palms splaying over the curve of your waist and fingers digging into flesh to feel you as close as possible. It’s too much, yet somehow not enough.

Your fingers thread into his slightly damp hair, another deep sound escaping his intoxicating lips that has your stomach flipping. His breath is warm against your skin, his lips brushing yours again and again, each kiss deeper than the last. You can feel the way his heart beats beneath your palm, just as fast as yours, and it makes something tighten in your chest.

Riki tilts his head slightly, his nose brushing against your cheek as he exhales softly, his grip on your waist shifting as his hands trail up your spine. He pulls you impossibly closer, a restrained urgency in the way he holds you. He's patient—always—but there's something in the way his fingers press into your skin, in the way his lips part just enough for his breath to mix with yours, that tells you he's feeling this just as intensely as you are.

Pulling away feels like the worst idea in the world, but your lungs ache and something in the back of your mind tells you this is all too soon, too fast. The sound that the disconnect of your lips with Riki’s makes sends a thrill up your spine that the look in his eyes only exacerbates.

His forehead is warm against your own as your breaths mix and his hands slide back down to your waist. His lips ghost yours as you pant softly against him, his head tilting and his nose brushing over your cheek as his lips find the skin there, then your jaw, and your pulse point. You can feel the chastity of his kisses, the type that’s so gentle you’re not sure if you actually felt his lips on you or you just want them there enough to trick your mind into believing it.

“God, pretty girl.” He sighs, burying his nose into your neck to stop himself from kissing you more.

“Riki,” you murmur, unsure of what you want to say, only knowing that you don’t want him to move away just yet.

He hums against your skin, his breath warm, sending a shiver down your spine. “Yeah?”

You hesitate, then exhale softly. “Nothing.”

He chuckles, low and knowing, before pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, but there’s something tender in the way they study you, like he’s trying to commit this moment to memory.

His thumb brushes absentmindedly over your waist, his touch light, reverent. “You good?”

You nod, though your heart is hammering in your chest. “Are you?”

He tilts his head slightly, as if considering, then grins—small and lopsided. “Yeah.”

His gaze drops to your lips again, lingering for a beat too long before he exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “I should go before I do something stupid.”

The admission has your stomach flipping once more, but you find yourself huffing softly in amusement, “Yeah, you should.”

The moment your hands move to his shoulders and you attempt to dismount his lap, his arms wrap around your waist and his nose returns to its home buried in your neck, “Mmm, in a minute.”

A laugh escapes you, breathy and light, as your fingers absentmindedly trace the line of his shoulder blades. “You just said you should go.”

“I should,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your skin. “Doesn’t mean I want to.”

You hum softly, deciding against teasing him and instead settling into the security of his embrace. You feel him smile against your skin, slowly pulling his face from the junction between your neck and shoulder.

Then, his hands move, one sliding up your spine while the other lifts to cup your jaw, and he kisses your cheek. Soft. Chaste.

“Okay,” he murmurs, still so close. “Now I’ll go.”

You don’t stop him this time when he loosens his hold, when he gently shifts you off his lap. You don’t say anything as he stands, raking a hand through his already-messy hair(courtesy of your hands, of course), or when he stretches and his hoodie rides up. When he looks down at you, you almost shrink under his gaze before he smiles that warm way you love and he leans forward to grab your hand in his.

You let his fingers slide between your own, your eyes on him as he tugs you gently and prompts you to get off the couch to step closer to him with a soft huff of amusement, “I thought you were going?”

His hand in yours slips out in favor of joining the other on either side of your jaw, thumbs gently brushing your cheeks fondly as he mirthfully smirks down at you. You have no choice but to tilt your head back to look at him at this proximity, and he doesn’t seem all that eager to widen it.

“I am.” His muttered confirmation is contradicted by the way his lips find yours again, soft yet eager, no longer hesitant to join them as often as he’d like with your prior statement. When he pulls away and you chase his kiss, he hums with amusement in his grin, nose nudging yours. “How am I supposed to leave if you keep making me want to kiss you, huh?”

“I didn’t even do anything.” You defend yourself with a soft laugh.

“Mm, you don’t have to.” He groans softly, eyes shutting as he presses his forehead to yours and sighs, “You’re mine now, right?”

The bluntness of his question has your heart skipping but you hum as if apprehensive, “Maybe. You didn’t ask.”

His eyes open and he looks at you with playful disbelief and a whole lot of amusement, “You want me to ask you out, pretty girl?”

“I never said that,” You retort reflexively, ignoring the way his eyebrows quirk up in challenge and entertainment, “But I might be yours if you ask nicely.”

“Nicely. Right….” He nods in mock understanding, and when he leans in to kiss you again, you meet him halfway. “Will you…” He starts with his voice soft and deep in all the best ways as he pulls away between kisses to continue, “be…my girl?”

He pulls away just enough to see your face as you recover from the dizzying way his lips find yours, and your words are softer than you intended as you breathlessly reply, “I’ll have to think about it.”

His shoulders shake with soft laughter as he shakes his head and mutters, “shut up,” under his breath before he closes the distance once more.

𝒇𝒊𝒏.

©heedeungism : do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission.

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ijustmissyouraccenths · 15 days ago

Text

Trouble

✨ summary: where harry’s a soft TikTok streamer and y/n happens to find his stream.

📝 word count: 11K

⚠️ content warning: smut

💌 support my work

Y/N stumbled through the door a little after ten, dropping her keys in the catchall with a tired clatter. Her feet were killing her. Her back hurt. Her brain felt like it was still stuck at work, replaying petty customer complaints and the awkward half-laugh she’d given her manager when he made that borderline gross joke.

She didn’t even bother with dinner. Just kicked off her shoes, peeled off her jeans, and crawled under the throw blanket on the couch with her phone. This was her routine on nights like this: half an hour of mindless TikTok before she convinced herself to brush her teeth and go to bed.

Half an hour usually turned into an hour. Or two.

She scrolled past dancing girls, recipes she’d never make, a video essay about why romcoms were secretly feminist, a guy cutting soap. It was all noise.

Then, almost by accident, she landed on a live.

The caption just said: “insomnia brain rot. talk to me.”

Only twelve people were watching. She hovered there for a second. Was it weird to pop into something so small?

But then the guy on screen — who looked about her age, maybe a little older, with messy brown hair pulled back by a ridiculous pink clip — laughed at something in the chat. It was a quiet, raspy sort of laugh that made something in her chest warm up.

He was lounging sideways on a couch, one socked foot tucked under the other knee, wearing an old band tee that had definitely seen better days. His accent was British, soft and a bit lazy, words sliding together like he couldn’t be bothered to crisp them up.

“Alright, next question,” he was saying, scrolling through comments. “Worst cereal of all time. And if any of you say Frosted Flakes, we’re gonna have a problem. Those are elite, don’t start.”

Y/N snorted, surprising herself. God, she must be tired.

On impulse, she typed:

bran flakes. taste like depression.

She almost clicked away before he’d see it, suddenly embarrassed. But then his eyes darted down, and he read it out loud, smiling.

“‘Bran flakes taste like depression,’” he repeated, trying not to laugh. “Oh that’s brilliant. You’re right, actually. Like chewing on your last shred of hope.”

He squinted at the username. “Who’s that, then? That’s a new one, innit? Welcome, love.”

A weird flutter went through her stomach.

Love.

He probably called everyone that. Still.

“Alright then,” he went on, still smiling to himself as he scrolled, “let’s hear more hot takes. Is honey nut overrated? I think it might be.”

Y/N settled deeper under her blanket, phone a little closer to her face, feeling the tight coil in her chest start to loosen for the first time all day.

She hadn’t planned to watch for more than a minute. But then he started talking about his day — how he’d tried to bake banana bread and burned the bottom, how he thought his upstairs neighbor had a pet goat (it was just a big dog apparently), how he couldn’t sleep lately because his brain wouldn’t shut up.

He kept scratching at the corner of his jaw when he was nervous. Made these little faces when he was reading comments. And when he laughed, really laughed, it was like he forgot the camera was there.

There were only fourteen people in the chat now. It felt… cozy. Like stumbling into someone’s living room at 2 a.m.

She didn’t even realize how long she’d been there until her phone buzzed with a low battery warning.

Y/N smiled, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Maybe she’d stay a little longer.

Y/N didn’t really mean to become a regular. It just sort of happened.

Every couple nights she’d check if he was live, and more often than not, he was. Always in that same sagging couch, always with that dumb pink clip holding his hair back, sometimes in glasses that made him look unfairly soft.

She’d plop down on her own couch in pajamas with a mug of tea, and it was like hanging out in someone’s living room. Well, his living room. Which had absolutely tragic curtains and a plant he frequently apologized to for nearly killing.

The chat was tiny. Never more than twenty people. A few usernames she recognized now, all of them forming this loose, late-night club of insomniacs and weirdos.

He’d started calling her “BranFlakes” sometimes, because of that first comment. Or just “trouble,” with this grin that made her toes curl under the blanket.

One night, he was leaning back against a pillow, phone balanced on his chest, scrolling through comments.

“So what’s everyone been up to today? Anyone do something interesting? Anyone commit light arson? Emotional or otherwise?”

Y/N smirked, typed, Define interesting. I didn’t get fired for flipping off a customer, so that’s my personal win.

He laughed — that soft, lazy sound that never failed to warm her up. “BranFlakes is in rare form tonight. Didn’t get fired, that’s the bar, huh? Love that for you.”

What about you? she sent. Burn anything down? Confess your sins.

He squinted at the screen, did that little half-smile. “Uh, I absolutely did. Tried to fix a leaky tap in the kitchen. Made it worse. Nearly flooded the place. Landlord’s gonna love that email tomorrow.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, smiling. You’re useless.

“Oh, properly useless,” he agreed solemnly. Then his eyes flicked to the comments again. “Alright, your turn. What actually happened today? You sound more bitey than usual.”

Her stomach twisted a little. She didn’t usually get personal in the chat. It was mostly dumb jokes, snark, flirting that didn’t mean anything.

But he was looking right into the camera, waiting. Like he actually cared.

She sighed, typed, Just had a shit day. Work was hell. People suck. That’s it. I’ll live.

His face softened. He bit his bottom lip, drummed his fingers on his chest like he was trying to think of what to say.

“M’sorry, trouble,” he said finally, voice low and sincere in a way that surprised her. “People dosuck. Proper tossers, most of ‘em. But you don’t, alright? Just thought I should point that out.”

Y/N blinked at the screen. Her throat felt tight in that annoying way that meant if she opened her mouth, she’d probably make an embarrassing noise.

Thanks, she sent. You’re less useless than usual.

That got a grin out of him. “Oi, I’ll take it. Practically a love letter from you.”

A few minutes later, he’d moved on to reading someone else’s comment, but then paused, squinting at the screen again. “Hey — BranFlakes, do us a favor, yeah? Go get some water. Or a biscuit. Or something. You look knackered.”

She made a face at her phone. You can’t SEE me.

“I can sense you, alright? Psychic link. Don’t question it.”

Y/N laughed out loud, shaking her head, but set her phone down and padded into the kitchen for a glass of water anyway. When she came back, he was grinning like he knew he’d won.

“Good girl,” he teased, voice dropping just enough to make her stomach do a little flip.

Shut up, she typed, cheeks hot.

“Don’t think I will.”

When he finally ended the live, she got a DM almost immediately.

h: get some sleep, trouble. tomorrow will be less shit. promise.

She stared at it for a second, smiling like an idiot, then sent back,

y/n: no promises but i’ll try. don’t flood the kitchen again.

He sent a photo back. Just him with his face half-buried in his pillow, hair a mess, eyes soft and sleepy.

h: s’night then.

Y/N bit her lip so hard it almost hurt.

God, she was so gone. Over a boy she’d never even seen outside this little square on her phone. Over someone who didn’t even know what she looked like.

But she couldn’t stop. Didn’t even want to try.

Y/N hadn’t planned on it going this far.

It was supposed to be harmless. A little escape from the drudge of work and the ache of coming home to an empty apartment. But somehow it became the best part of her day.

They texted constantly now. Not just memes or stupid TikToks — though there were plenty of those — but long rambly messages about everything and nothing. About how she hated olives, how his favorite weather was the five minutes right before it rained, how sometimes he wondered if he was wasting his life talking to a phone screen at 2 a.m.

One night he sent her a voice note. Just a sleepy, “Hope your day was better, trouble,” all warm and raspy and impossibly close.

She played it about fifteen times.

Eventually she started sending voice notes back, her voice small and shy at first. He’d tease her — “didn’t know you were so posh” or “god, your laugh’s unreal, you know that?” — and it made her feel stupidly giddy.

It also made her softer. Less snark, more honesty slipping through in little cracks.

One night she was curled up on the couch in an old hoodie, hair damp from a shower, phone pressed to her ear listening to him. He was rambling about the neighbor’s dog again.

“So it’s official — it’s not a goat. Just a dog with… goatish tendencies. Barks like it’s got a personal vendetta against me, though.”

She laughed, tucked her knees tighter to her chest. “Maybe it does. Maybe you give off suspicious energy.”

“Oh, I’m definitely suspicious. But c’mon, who doesn’t want to bark at me a little?”

She rolled her eyes, grinning. “Can’t argue with that.”

Then it got quiet. Not awkward — just easy, comfortable. She could hear him breathing, a little sigh as he shifted around wherever he was.

He spoke again, softer this time. “You sound tired. Long day?”

“Yeah,” she admitted. “Just work. Same old. I did have a customer yell at me because his sandwich was apparently ‘threatening.’ So that was new.”

Harry snorted. “Did it have a knife? Or just a bad attitude?”

“Bad attitude. Definitely. Lettuce was giving him a dirty look.”

“Cheeky lettuce.”

She let out a soft little huff, hugging her knees. “But it’s better now. Talking to you always makes it… less shit.”

There was a pause, then a quiet little, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Her voice cracked around it, and she didn’t care.

“Same here, trouble. Don’t think you realize how much.”

They sat in that for a second, hearts thudding on either end of the line.

Then she blurted, “Do you wanna see me? Like actually see me? I mean, I could video call, or send a pic or something. You’ve never asked, but…”

His voice came back gentle, almost shy. “I’ve thought about it, loads of times. What you look like. If you’d be smiling when you text me, or rolling your eyes. But… I kinda like not knowing.”

“You like the mystery?” she teased, but it was so soft it was almost tender.

“Yeah, actually. Like… it makes me pay more attention to everything else. The way you say stuff. The weird shit you notice. Your laugh.”

Her heart felt too full, pressing up tight against her ribs. “You’re such a sap.”

“Oh, fully. Can’t even deny it.” He laughed under his breath, then went quiet again. “Don’t worry, though. When I finally see you, it’ll be worth the wait. Bet you’ll ruin me completely.”

Her breath caught.

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she just whispered, “Okay.”

He let out a little sigh, like it settled something in him. “G’night, love. Dream of suspicious sandwiches.”

“G’night, Harry.”

When she hung up, her face hurt from smiling. Her phone buzzed one last time.

h: and send me more voice notes tomorrow. m’addicted to your voice.

She squealed into her pillow like a teenager, then typed back with shaky hands.

y/n: only if you promise to keep telling me about your goat dog.

h: deal.

She fell asleep with her phone clutched to her chest, feeling like maybe — just maybe — she wasn’t so alone after all.

She was sprawled on her bed one evening, phone in hand, absently scrolling through photos of cats in funny hats, when Harry’s name popped up on her screen.

Incoming call.

Her stomach flipped. It always did, stupidly, like she was sixteen again. She answered with a half-smile already pulling at her mouth.

“Hey, trouble,” he drawled.

“Hey yourself. What’s up?”

He was rustling around on the other end. She could hear a cupboard door creak, then the distant sound of pouring water. Probably making one of his endless cups of tea.

“So… I’ve got a question. Might be a bit mad.”

“Coming from you, that’s not exactly shocking.”

He let out a soft laugh. “Fair. But listen — there’s this tiny con, kinda a meetup for streamers and random internet people. Not like a big Comic-Con thing. More awkward dudes in graphic tees and cheap coffee. It’s next month, just over in Georgia. I’ve got a little panel spot somehow, talking about building ‘authentic communities’ which is a joke ‘cause it’s me and, like, twenty people on TikTok.”

She grinned into her pillow. “I think your little community’s pretty damn authentic. Bunch of cereal snobs and insomniacs.”

“Exactly. My people.” He paused. She could practically hear him chewing his lip. “Anyway… was thinkin’ you could come? Meet me there? Only if you want. I know it’s a drive and all, but…”

Y/N’s heart was thudding so hard it felt like her chest might crack open.

“You want me to come to a convention?” she teased lightly, trying to keep her voice from squeaking.

“I want you to come see me,” he corrected, softer. “I wanna finally see you. And — alright, selfish — I wanna be the first to see your face. Not through a camera. Just… you, standing there, lookin’ all smug. Maybe roll your eyes at me in real life.”

Her throat was so tight it hurt. She rolled over onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “That’s… really sweet.”

“Don’t make it weird,” he groaned, but he was laughing, nervous.

“You’re the one making it weird! Asking me to drive to another state to meet a boy I met on TikTok. What if you’re secretly a swamp goblin?”

“Babe, I’ve told you I’m a swamp goblin. At least three times. Full disclosure, I get cranky if I don’t have snacks.”

She laughed, pressing her fist to her mouth. “It’s just— it’s kind of a big deal. I mean, what if you’re disappointed?”

Harry went quiet for a second, then his voice came through low and certain. “Won’t be. S’not possible.”

She felt tears prick at the backs of her eyes, completely out of nowhere. God, she was pathetic.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll come.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She could hear the grin in his voice when he let out a breathless little, “Fuck. Can’t wait.”

“So what exactly does one wear to a nerd convention?” she asked, forcing a playful lilt back into her voice.

“Dunno. Something cute. Or come in a full Chewbacca suit, I’ll still fancy you.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Hey.” His voice dropped. “Just bring yourself. Promise?”

She swallowed hard. “Promise.”

“Good girl,” he muttered, and it was so low and fond it made her toes curl.

Later that night, she lay awake staring at her ceiling fan, heart pounding, phone clutched to her chest. She was really going to do this. Really going to cross state lines to meet a boy with floppy hair and a voice that made her stomach flutter.

Harry sent one last text before she drifted off.

h: m’counting the days already. try not to crash your car. i’d like to kiss you eventually.

He wanted to kiss her. She buried her burning face in her pillow, grinning like an idiot.

y/n: not planning on dying before you buy me a shit con coffee.

h: romantic. sleep tight, trouble.

She did. Better than she had in weeks.

Y/N started packing three days before she even had to leave. It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous.

Her bed was a disaster — jeans, crop tops, cardigans, shoes she’d never realistically wear to a sweaty convention hall. Her cat sat in the middle of it all, judging her with bored yellow eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered, holding up two shirts. “Which one says ‘I might like you enough to kiss you but also I’m not desperate’?”

The cat blinked slowly, unimpressed.

She flopped down next to it, groaning. Her phone buzzed, and immediately her pulse jumped. It was embarrassing how fast she grabbed it.

h: tell me ur packing. otherwise i’ll come kidnap you myself.

She snorted, thumbs flying.

y/n: packing. but it’s not going well. i have no idea what to wear.

h: wear clothes. preferably.

y/n: you’re SO helpful.

h: m’just sayin, you’d look good in literally anything.

y/n: how do you know that?? you’ve never even SEEN me.

h: gut feeling. also ur voice is fit, so the rest of you must be too.

She made a strangled little noise and buried her face in a sweater.

y/n: stop. i’m already freaking out.

h: why?

y/n: idk. what if it’s weird? or awkward? what if you don’t like me once i’m standing right in front of you?

There was a pause. Three dots blinking. Then his reply came through.

h: listen to me carefully. i already like you. annoyingly so. it’s not gonna change because i see ur cute face in person.

She just stared at it for a long time, her heart doing stupid acrobatics in her chest.

y/n: you’re sappy.

h: i am. you’re stuck with it.

She typed back, her throat tight.

y/n: fine. but if i show up and you bolt i’m keeping your plant.

h: rude. that plant is family.

y/n: he told me he hates you actually.

h: he’s a liar and he needs water.

She laughed out loud. God, how did he make her feel so light?

h: pack something comfy for after. like when i inevitably drag you out for greasy food and keep you up all night talking.

Her cheeks burned.

y/n: okay. i will.

h: good girl.

She nearly dropped her phone.

The rest of the night she kept pulling clothes off hangers, putting them back, debating if she needed to shave literally everything. Her stomach was in knots, but in the best, most electric way.

The next morning, she texted him a picture of her suitcase.

y/n: packed. mostly. leaving tomorrow morning.

h: look at you bein all responsible.

y/n: i’m terrified.

h: i’m not. m’just excited.

She bit her lip, smiling like a fool.

y/n: what if i’m not what you pictured?

h: then i’ll change the picture. easy.

She didn’t know how to reply to that, so she didn’t.

Later that night, curled up in bed with her phone on her chest, he sent her a voice note. His voice was low, tired, a little scratchy.

“Hey. You’re probably asleep already. Just wanted to say… drive safe, yeah? Don’t rush. I’ll be there whenever you get in. And… I can’t wait to see you, trouble. S’gonna be worth it. Promise.”

She listened to it three times before she could finally close her eyes.

Tomorrow, she’d get in her car and drive across state lines for a boy she’d never met, whose voice already felt like home.

Y/N pulled into the hotel parking lot with her heart hammering so hard it felt like it might crack a rib.

The drive had been three hours of jittery adrenaline and overthinking every possible scenario. What if he didn’t like her? What if she said something weird? What if he didn’t even show up?

The hotel was surprisingly nice — not some grimy chain, but modern, with big glass windows and a little fountain out front. She checked in, mumbling her name to the woman at the desk, clutching her phone like a lifeline.

The room was clean, a little cold, with an aggressively cheerful painting of sunflowers on the wall. She tossed her suitcase on the bed and sat on the edge, hands clasped together so tight her knuckles hurt.

Her phone buzzed.

h: just got here. room’s tiny. i look like a giant tryin to get dressed in this mirror.

She snorted, a breathy laugh escaping her. Her hands were still shaking when she typed back.

y/n: i’m here too. hiding in my room. trying not to hyperventilate.

h: don’t hyperventilate. m’too selfish, i really wanna see you alive and breathing.

y/n: same.

h: my panel’s in like 30. after, meet me at the hotel cafe? it’s right off the lobby.

y/n: okay. i’ll be there.

h: sweet girl.

Her stomach flipped. She threw her phone on the bed and covered her face with both hands.

“Jesus Christ, get it together,” she muttered.

She paced the tiny space, chugged half a bottle of water, fixed her hair for the tenth time, wiped her clammy palms on her jeans. Finally she decided to go watch his panel — maybe seeing him from a distance first would make it less terrifying.

The convention space was downstairs, tucked behind a couple big double doors. She slipped inside quietly, heart racing. It was a small room, maybe fifty chairs, half-full. Harry was already on stage, perched on a tall stool with a mic in one hand, a bottle of water in the other.

She stopped dead in the aisle.

God.

He was in a thin dark tee that clung to his shoulders, hair pulled back in that same dumb clip, a silver ring flashing on his thumb when he gestured. He was laughing at something the moderator said, head tipping back, eyes crinkling.

She just stood there like an idiot, hugging her arms to her chest, watching him talk about “building safe corners of the internet” and how people deserved spaces where they could be weird without judgment.

He had no idea she was there.

No idea that the girl who’d been teasing him about cereal and goat-dogs and sending him nervous little voice notes was right in front of him, trying not to melt into the carpet.

When it ended, there was polite applause. Harry thanked everyone, flashed that grin that made her knees weak, then stepped down and disappeared through a side door.

Y/N slipped out with the rest of the crowd, heart in her throat, and made her way to the hotel cafe. It was early afternoon, empty except for a barista behind the counter and a young guy in a hoodie reading something on his phone.

She picked a corner table by the window, set her bag on the seat beside her, and stared out at the fountain.

Her phone buzzed.

h: done. headed that way.

She sucked in a sharp breath. Her hands were clammy again. She wiped them on her jeans.

y/n: already here. trying not to pass out.

h: don’t. m’serious. i need you alive for at least ten more minutes.

She barked out a laugh that startled the barista.

Then another text came through.

h: also. you better still let me be the one to find you.

y/n: bossy.

h: i know. sit tight.

She curled up in her chair, arms wrapped around her middle, foot bouncing under the table. Every time the door opened, her heart lurched into her throat.

The guy across the cafe glanced up, gave her a polite nod. She tried to smile back, probably looked manic.

Her phone buzzed again.

h: where exactly are you?

y/n: corner table. window.

h: m’bout to ruin your life.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

When the door opened again, she knew. Couldn’t see him yet, but every nerve in her body lit up like it was hardwired to him.

Her heart was thundering. Actually thundering. She could feel it in her throat, her fingertips, her ears. Every nerve felt raw, hyperaware.

She kept fidgeting, smoothing her hands down her thighs, twisting the little ring on her middle finger. The young guy across the cafe gave her another awkward glance, probably wondering why she looked like she was about to jump out of her skin.

This is so stupid, she thought. It’s just Harry. You’ve talked to him every single day for months. He knows your favorite snack, your weird intrusive thoughts, the exact sound you make when you snort-laugh. This is Harry.

But it wasn’t just Harry. It was him. In real life. Not a voice on the phone or a little face on her screen, but flesh and blood and warm hands and — god — probably so much taller than she expected.

Her stomach did a wild flip.

The door to the cafe swung open again. She didn’t even have to look. It was like her entire body just knew.

She forced herself to lift her head anyway.

And there he was.

Standing in the doorway, scanning the room with wide, eager eyes. Hair perfectly imperfect with a curl placed perfectly across his forehead, wearing the dark tee from the panel, jeans ripped at the knee, arms full of tattoos, and phone clutched in one hand like he’d been texting her the entire walk over.

When his gaze landed on her, it was like the floor dropped out from under her.

His whole face transformed — eyes going wide, mouth parting, then breaking into the most ridiculous, glorious grin she’d ever seen.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathed, mostly to himself. Then louder, “There you are.”

She couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. Just sat there staring at him like a deer in headlights, heart doing cartwheels in her chest.

“Not gonna stand up and greet me, then?” he teased, voice warm and bright and so painfully Harryit made her eyes sting.

She let out a helpless little laugh, pushed her chair back, and stood. Her legs felt like jelly.

Harry crossed the tiny room in three long strides. He stopped right in front of her, close enough that she could see the little bump on his nose, the tiny freckle on his jaw. His eyes were so green.

“Hi,” she managed, voice embarrassingly breathless.

He stared at her like he was trying to memorize every single inch of her face. Then his mouth curved into this soft, disbelieving smile.

“Hi, trouble.”

She laughed again, a shaky sound that was more nerves than humor. “You’re real.”

“Yeah. S’lookin that way.” His voice dropped a little, rough at the edges. “Can I — ?”

She didn’t even wait for him to finish. Just nodded, too overwhelmed to trust her own mouth.

He let out this tiny relieved laugh, then cupped her face in both hands, warm palms bracketing her cheeks, thumbs brushing under her eyes.

“Oh, fuck me, you’re gorgeous,” he murmured. Then he was leaning down, pressing his forehead to hers, breath shallow.

She couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop trembling. Her hands found his wrists, holding on tight.

“You’re taller than I thought,” she whispered, which made him huff out a laugh against her skin.

“You’re shorter than I thought. Tiny little menace.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

She did. Pushed up on her toes and kissed him, soft and a little clumsy at first.

Harry made this wrecked sound, one hand sliding into her hair, the other dropping to her waist to haul her closer. His mouth moved over hers like he’d been waiting forever, savoring it, chasing every tiny shift of her lips.

When they finally pulled back, breathless and grinning like idiots, he rested his forehead against hers again.

“Worth the wait,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” she said, voice catching. “Worth every damn second.”

They didn’t move for a second, still tangled up in each other’s breath, Harry’s hands cradling her jaw like he was afraid she might vanish if he let go.

Then he seemed to realize they were standing dead center in a mostly empty cafe, making out like horny teenagers. He let out a slightly embarrassed little laugh, dropped his hands from her face, but kept one warm palm resting on her hip like he couldn’t stand not to touch her.

“Alright,” he breathed, eyes still dancing all over her face. “Sit with me before I drag you back upstairs and absolutely traumatize the room next door.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m that easy,” she teased, trying to sound breezy even though her voice came out a bit wobbly.

“Oh, I’m counting on you being that easy,” he shot back, grin going crooked. Then he tugged gently at her waist. “C’mon, trouble.”

They settled back at her little corner table. Harry immediately scooted his chair so close their knees bumped, like he couldn’t help it. His leg pressed into hers under the table, warm and solid, grounding her in the best way.

“You’re staring,” she said after a minute, cheeks hot.

He didn’t even pretend to deny it. Just leaned back, smirked, eyes raking over her face. “Yeah. Been picturing this forever. Sort of unfair how much better it is in person.”

“Stop. You’re going to make me combust.”

“Mm, fine. For now.” He nudged her ankle with his foot. “Order something. We’ll do this proper, yeah? Coffee and awkward small talk before I tell you again how pretty you are.”

She let out a shaky laugh, flagging down the barista. Harry ordered something complicated and way too sweet. She ordered a simple latte because her hands were still trembling and she was terrified she’d spill anything else.

When the barista left, Harry leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin resting on his hands. “So. Be honest. Am I taller than you thought?”

“Only a little. I mean, I knew you had to be tall with that tragic camera angle you always use. Could never see half your face.”

“Oi, it’s artsy! Mysterious!”

“It’s lazy. You’re lazy.”

He grinned, eyes sparkling. “Maybe. But you still fell for me, so joke’s on you.”

She rolled her eyes, but under the table, she slid her foot along his calf. His eyes went molten.

“Y’know, when I first saw you across the room…” he started, then trailed off, swallowing hard. “Christ. My heart actually stopped. I thought, that’s her. That’s my girl.”

Her own heart lurched painfully, and she reached across the table without thinking, catching his hand. He squeezed back immediately, thumb stroking over her knuckles.

“And you,” she said softly, trying to steady her voice. “You’re somehow exactly what I pictured and also nothing like it. It’s weird.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I dunno. You’re just… more. Louder. Warmer. More real.”

His smile went soft, almost shy. “M’glad. Was worried maybe you’d take one look and run for the hills.”

“You’re an idiot if you think that.”

He squeezed her hand again, brought it up to press a warm kiss against her knuckles. “Well. Lucky for me, you seem to like idiots.”

She laughed, but it cracked into something breathless.

Their drinks came, and they pretended to care about them, but neither let go of the other’s hand for more than a second.

“You’re still staring,” she whispered at one point, cheeks aching from smiling.

“Yeah. Not plannin’ to stop anytime soon, either.”

“Good.”

Harry’s knee bounced against hers, eyes flicking down to her mouth before dragging back up. “After this, wanna go somewhere quieter? Walk around outside maybe? Or— I dunno. I’m not ready to let you go back to your room yet. Might actually die.”

She squeezed his fingers, heart tripping all over itself. “Yeah. I’d like that. Really.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said again, laughing through it. “God, you’re such a sap.”

“Hopeless. Absolutely ruined by you.”

They stayed like that a while longer, hands twined on the table, feet tangled under it, Harry stealing these small, soft looks at her that made her want to crawl into his lap and never move.

It was like all the months of voice notes and texts and teasing had collapsed into this tiny sunlit moment, just the two of them, finally real.

They finished their coffee in slow, distracted sips, talking about absolutely nothing and everything, fingers tangled so tight it was like neither of them trusted the moment enough to let go.

When Harry finally stood, he didn’t even wait for her to gather her bag properly. Just laced their hands together and tugged her up with this boyish, impatient grin.

“C’mon. If we stay here any longer, I’m gonna climb over the table and get us both banned from the hotel.”

She snorted, cheeks going hot. “That’s one way to start off our weekend.”

“Mm, not quite the meet-cute I had in mind, but tempting,” he teased, pushing open the glass door and guiding her into the lobby.

They stepped outside into the afternoon sun. It was warm and bright, the fountain burbling nearby. Harry didn’t let go of her hand once, thumb brushing lazy little circles over her knuckles like he couldn’t help it.

“Feels weird, doesn’t it?” she said after a minute, heart still tap dancing against her ribs.

“What does?”

“This. Being… together. In real life.”

Harry smiled, soft and a little crooked. “Yeah. But good weird. Like I’ve been walking around waiting for something to happen, and it’s just… this. You. Finally here.”

She ducked her head, biting back a grin. “Stop. You’re gonna make me cry and I just put mascara on.”

He laughed, then pulled her gently toward the little path that circled the hotel grounds. It was quiet, dotted with benches and tiny blooming shrubs, just enough to feel like they had a bit of privacy.

“So,” she said, bumping her shoulder into his. “What was your first thought when you actually saw me sitting there?”

“That’s trouble,” he answered instantly, then shot her a playful look. “But also… fuck me, she’s pretty. Too pretty. Like I was gonna have a heart attack before I even got over there.”

She covered her face with her free hand, groaning. “God, why are you so good at this? You’re supposed to be awkward and weird and make me feel better about my life choices.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m plenty awkward,” Harry said with a grin. “I just hide it well. I’m currently terrified you’re gonna realize you’ve made a tragic mistake and run off with the barista instead.”

“Not likely,” she shot back, but her voice cracked, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “You’re stuck with me, sorry.”

“Good. I like being stuck with you.”

They walked a little further, hands still twined, arms bumping. Harry kept sneaking these little glances at her like he couldn’t help it — eyes darting to her mouth, her hair, her shoulders.

At one point, he stopped dead, tugged her gently so she stumbled into him.

“What?” she laughed, palms flattening against his chest. God, he was warm. Solid.

Harry just stared down at her for a long second, jaw working. Then he let out a low, helpless sort of noise, dropped their joined hands so he could cup her face again.

“Sorry,” he breathed. “Can’t — I just—”

Then he was kissing her.

It was different than in the cafe — slower, deeper, almost reverent. Like he was trying to memorize exactly how she tasted, the way she sighed into his mouth, how her hands fisted in his shirt to drag him impossibly closer.

When they finally broke apart, both gasping a little, he rested his forehead on hers and let out a soft laugh.

“You’re gonna wreck me, trouble. Completely ruin me for anyone else.”

Her heart squeezed so tight it hurt. She slid her hands up to his jaw, thumb tracing the edge of his smile.

“Good,” she whispered. “That’s the plan.”

Harry laughed again, kissed her once more — quick and sweet — then grabbed her hand and started walking backwards, pulling her along.

“C’mon. Wanna show you the pathetic little vendor hall. Gotta prove I’m a real internet loser.”

“You already proved that months ago,” she teased, bumping into him.

“Oi. Rude.”

“True, though.”

He laughed, pulled her closer by the hand. “Yeah, yeah. Keep talking. I’ll find more creative ways to shut you up later.”

Her stomach flipped deliciously.

They wandered off together like that, hands tangled, hearts a tangled mess of nerves and giddy relief, already half in love with this new reality where he was real and right there, close enough to touch.

They spent the next hour wandering through the vendor hall, which was exactly as tragic and adorable as Harry had promised.

Tiny tables crammed with stickers, enamel pins, homemade candles, nerdy T-shirts and art prints. A tired looking DJ was spinning some synthy pop in the corner, while groups of awkward twenty-somethings milled around with plastic badge holders swinging from their necks.

Harry didn’t let go of her hand once. Every time she reached for something on a table, he was right there, shoulder brushing hers, thumb stroking lazily over her knuckles.

At one booth, he picked up a truly awful little plushie — a lopsided frog wearing a tiny felt wizard hat.

“Oh my god,” she laughed. “That’s hideous.”

“That’s exactly why I want it.” He flipped the tag over, winced at the price, then smirked at her. “Actually… I think you need it.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Too late.” He handed it to the vendor, pulled out his wallet, then shoved the hideous thing at her with a proud grin.

“Harry.” She tried to scowl but couldn’t stop smiling.

“S’for when I inevitably piss you off. You can punch his little face instead of mine.”

“You’re such a goof.”

He leaned in, brushed a quick kiss over her temple. “Yeah. Your goof, though.”

They drifted through a few more tables, Harry buying them both a cheap iced tea that tasted vaguely like metal, stopping every few feet to look at something he’d insist was “cool” even though it very much was not.

Eventually the crowd started thinning out, people heading back to their rooms or out to the parking lot. The music faded. Someone was rolling up a giant poster banner in the corner.

Harry glanced around, then at her, his thumb still brushing that same soothing line across the back of her hand.

“S’getting late, huh?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. Her heart was starting that stupid frantic beat again, the one that made it hard to get a full breath.

He gave her hand a little squeeze. “I’ll walk you up. Make sure no stray goat-dogs get you.”

She laughed, nudged his shoulder. “So thoughtful.”

They rode the elevator up in a comfortable, slightly charged silence, shoulders brushing, Harry’s free hand in his pocket. At her door, he rocked back on his heels, still holding her hand.

“Well…”

“Well,” she echoed. God, she was suddenly so nervous. Her heart felt like it was rattling against her ribs.

He lifted their joined hands, pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles, then her wrist, then lower, to the inside of her palm.

“Night, trouble.”

She stood there frozen for half a second, then blurted out, “Wait.”

Harry stopped immediately, brows lifting. “Yeah?”

She bit her lip, heat crawling up her neck, then tried to laugh it off. “Do you… um. Do you maybe wanna come in? To my room? Just — I dunno. I’m not really ready for tonight to be over yet.”

His eyes went so soft she thought she might melt right there. Then he let out a quiet, slightly relieved laugh, thumb brushing her cheek.

“Fuck. I was gonna ask if you’d come back to mine, but didn’t wanna be that bloke, y’know? Didn’t want you to think I was just—”

She cut him off with a smile. “Harry. It’s me. You’re allowed to want to keep hanging out.”

His grin turned a little crooked. “Good. ‘Cause I really fuckin’ do.”

She fumbled her key card, nearly dropped it twice because her hands were shaking, and Harry just laughed quietly, resting a hand on the small of her back.

When the door finally swung open, he followed her inside, shutting it behind them with a soft click.

His hands found her waist almost immediately, pulling her close until their noses brushed.

“Hi again,” he murmured, voice low and a little breathless.

She laughed, slid her hands up his chest. “Hi.”

“Still can’t believe you’re real,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers.

“You keep saying that,” she teased, voice wobbly.

He just kissed her, slow and deep, like he was determined to prove it over and over.

They stood there for a minute by the door, still half tangled up in each other, her hands pressed flat to his chest, his breath warm on her lips.

Harry’s thumbs stroked soft little circles at her waist, his forehead resting against hers. When he pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes were dark, heavy-lidded, mouth curved in a lazy, wrecked sort of smile.

“Y’know,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “I was trying really hard to be a gentleman.”

She bit her lip, heart stuttering. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He ducked his head, mouth brushing her jaw, then lower, nuzzling just under her ear. “Was gonna come up here, tuck you into bed all polite-like, go back to my room and die quietly.”

She let out a breathless little laugh, tilting her head to give him more room. “That sounds tragic.”

“It would’ve been,” he agreed, his mouth hot against her throat. “But now I’m here, and you’re letting me do this, and I’m absolutely fucked.”

That pulled a small, shaky sound from her chest.

She pulled back, just enough to see his face, and slid her hands up around his neck. Her thumbs brushed over the little curls at his nape, soft and sweaty from the day.

“Good,” she whispered. “I want you a little fucked up over me.”

His laugh was low, breathless, hands tightening at her hips. “That’s evil.”

She leaned up on her toes, kissed him.

It was meant to be quick. Just a soft press of her mouth to his. But the second she did it, Harry let out this quiet, desperate noise, his hands slipping lower, fingers digging into her hips to drag her closer.

The kiss went messy fast — all teeth and soft gasps, her hands sliding up into his hair, tugging at the little pink clip until it fell to the floor with a soft clatter. His hair spilled out around her fingers, wild and sweaty, and she fisted it tight, tugging just to feel him shudder.

“Christ,” he breathed against her mouth, voice cracking. “Keep doin’ that and I’m gonna lose it.”

“Yeah?” she whispered, lips ghosting over his jaw. “What if that’s what I want?”

Harry groaned, backed her up until her knees hit the bed. They tumbled onto it together, her on her back with Harry half on top of her, weight pressing her into the mattress in the best possible way.

His mouth was everywhere — her jaw, her neck, the little sensitive spot just under her ear that made her gasp.

“You’re dangerous,” he muttered, breath hot against her skin. “Look at you, all sweet and soft, lettin’ me in your room, and now you’re gonna ruin me.”

She laughed, breathless, hips arching up into his. “Maybe that’s the plan.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes dark and a little wild, hair a mess around his face.

“Yeah?” he rasped. “Want me to lose my fuckin’ mind over you?”

She nodded, swallowed hard, then slid her hands under the hem of his shirt, pushing it up. His skin was hot under her palms, muscles jumping under her touch.

“Take it off,” she whispered.

Harry let out a rough little laugh, sat up just enough to yank the shirt over his head. He tossed it somewhere behind him, then dropped back down, hands bracing on either side of her head.

“Happy?” he teased, but his voice was wrecked.

“Yeah,” she breathed, hands splaying over his warm, bare shoulders. “Now kiss me again.”

He did. Hard.

And when she shifted under him, legs parting to let him settle between, Harry let out the filthiest little groan against her mouth, hips pressing down into hers like he couldn’t help it.

“Fuck,” he gasped, pulling back just enough to look at her, eyes dark and blown. “Tell me if you want me to stop, yeah? Please. I need you to tell me.”

She smiled up at him, heart a wild, happy mess, and slid her hands back into his hair.

“I’ll tell you,” she promised, voice low. “But right now I want everything.”

Harry just stared at her for a second, like she’d just said the most perfect thing in the world. Then he dipped his head, kissed her again, and everything else fell away.

Harry kissed her like he’d been waiting a lifetime — deep and hot and almost clumsy with how badly he wanted it. His hands roamed everywhere, up under her shirt, over her sides, gripping her hips so tight it was like he thought she might slip away.

But then she did something that had his breath stalling out completely. She pushed at his shoulder, gentle at first, then more insistent.

“Lay back,” she whispered.

His eyes flew open, dark and wide. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, biting her lip, sliding her hands down his chest. “Want you under me.”

Harry let out this absolutely wrecked little laugh, voice cracking as he flopped back onto the pillows. “Jesus Christ. Gonna be the death of me, trouble.”

She swung a leg over him, settling her knees on either side of his hips. The second her weight sank down, Harry’s head tipped back, a groan ripping out of him. His hands immediately found her thighs, squeezing, thumbs stroking up to the crease of her hips.

“Fuck,” he muttered, breath shallow. “Look at you. You’re gonna make me embarrass myself.”

She leaned over him, bracing her hands on either side of his head, her hair slipping down to brush his cheeks. “That’s the point.”

“Oh, you’re evil,” he breathed, voice breaking on a laugh.

Then she started to move. Just a slow, testing roll of her hips, grinding down into him. The sound that tore out of Harry’s throat was obscene, his fingers digging into her thighs like he might bruise them.

“Trouble—” he gasped. “Fuck, don’t stop, please—”

She kept moving, finding a rhythm that had her own breath coming short and hot. The friction was maddening, sending little sparks dancing up her spine.

Then she dipped lower, mouth brushing his ear.

“You’re so easy for me,” she whispered, biting down gently on his earlobe.

Harry actually whimpered. His hips jerked up into hers, hands sliding to her ass to press her down harder.

“Oh my god,” he choked, breath hot and ragged. “Say that again.”

She just smiled, breathless, and pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses down his neck. Her teeth scraped lightly at the tender skin there, then bit down just enough to make him gasp.

“Mine,” she whispered against his throat. “You’re mine, Harry.”

“Fuck, fuck—” His hands were everywhere now, greedy and frantic, sliding under her shirt, over her back, trying to pull her even closer. His neck arched under her mouth, giving her more room, a helpless offering.

“Say it,” she breathed, nipping lower.

“Yours,” he groaned. “All yours, fuck, been yours since the first voice note you sent me, I’m done—”

She rocked her hips again, harder, and he nearly bucked off the bed. His hands clenched on her hips so tight she’d probably have marks.

“You’re so pretty like this,” she whispered against his throat, sucking another mark into his skin. “So desperate for me.”

Harry’s eyes squeezed shut, a wrecked little smile breaking across his face. “You have no fuckin’ clue, trouble. Absolutely no clue.”

She laughed, soft and breathless, then captured his mouth in another hungry kiss, her hips still moving, chasing that perfect, maddening friction.

And Harry just let her — let her take everything she wanted, moaning into her mouth, hands trembling where they gripped her.

Harry’s hands were shaking where they gripped her hips, thumbs digging into her skin like he couldn’t quite believe she was real. She kept rolling her hips over him, slow and teasing, her mouth pressed to his neck, feeling every helpless groan vibrate under her lips.

Then suddenly his hands tightened, and he growled out a breathless, “Alright, that’s enough.”

Before she could even process it, he was flipping them over, pressing her into the mattress with a low, wrecked laugh.

“Hey!” she squealed, giggling breathlessly, hands flying up to his shoulders.

Harry just smirked down at her, hair falling around his face, eyes dark and hungry but lit with that same playful glint that had made her fall for him from the start.

“What happened to being my good boy?” she teased, trying to sound cocky even though her voice was wobbly.

Harry leaned down, his mouth brushing hers, voice dropping to this low, sinful rumble that made her toes curl.

“Still your good boy,” he breathed, kissing the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, then right below her ear so she shivered. “But turns out your good boy’s fucking starving.”

Her breath hitched. “Oh.”

“Oh,” he echoed mockingly, biting her earlobe just enough to make her gasp. “What, didn’t think I was gonna let you have all the fun, did you?”

Then his mouth was at her throat, kissing and nipping down the column of her neck, hands sliding under her shirt. He pushed it up, impatient, until she lifted her arms so he could yank it over her head.

“Fuck, look at you,” he rasped, leaning back just long enough to drink her in. His eyes were so dark it made her stomach swoop. “Been dreaming about this for months, trouble. Ruined me before I even had the chance to touch you.”

“Yeah?” she whispered, arching a little under him, needing more of him everywhere.

“Oh, yeah.” His hands slid down her sides, hooking into the waistband of her shorts. “Now be a good girl and lift your hips for me.”

She did, breath catching as he peeled them down slow, his eyes locked on hers the whole time. When he got them past her thighs, he dropped a soft kiss to the inside of her knee that made her whimper.

Harry just smirked. “What, already needy for me? Haven’t even started yet.”

“Harry—”

But he cut her off with a slow, filthy kiss just below her belly button, then another lower, each press of his mouth sending heat pooling low in her stomach.

When he finally settled between her thighs, hands spreading them wider, she thought she might actually die.

Harry looked up at her, eyes heavy, mouth curved in that wicked, lazy grin.

“Gonna make you forget your own name,” he murmured, voice so rough it was almost a growl. “Then remind you it’s mine you’ll be screaming.”

Then he lowered his head, and everything went molten.

Harry’s breath was hot against her inner thigh, and the second his mouth finally landed on her, she made a sound she didn’t even recognize — high and broken, her back arching clean off the bed.

“Fuck, there she is,” Harry groaned, voice dark and awed, like he’d just discovered treasure. He licked a slow stripe up her slit that had her thighs trying to snap closed around his head, but his hands were there, big and strong, spreading her right back open. “Nah. Don’t you dare hide from me now.”

“Harry—”

“Mm?” He pressed a filthy open-mouthed kiss right over her clit, then sucked, gentle at first, then harder when she whimpered. “What’s that, trouble? Can’t hear you.”

“Fucking— you’re such an— oh my god—”

He laughed against her, the vibration shooting through her entire body. “That’s it. Talk to me. Want to hear every desperate little noise you’ve been keeping from me.”

Then he went right back to it — slow at first, dragging his tongue in lazy circles that had her hips chasing after him, then faster, teasing patterns that made her whine. He sucked her clit into his mouth and let it pop free, then did it again, until she was clutching at the sheets like a lifeline.

“Please,” she gasped, voice wrecked. “Harry, please—”

“Please what?” he growled, pulling back just enough to look at her. His mouth was wet, his jaw shining with her slick, and he looked absolutely feral. “Gonna have to be more specific, sweetheart. I’m a bit slow on the uptake.”

She made a desperate little noise, hands flying down to his hair, gripping tight. “Please, just — don’t stop. Need your mouth, please.”

“Oh, fuck me, that’s pretty.” He dove right back in, groaning low when she tugged hard at his hair. His tongue worked her in deep, filthy strokes, then moved up to suck at her clit again, flicking just the tip of it until her thighs started to tremble.

Her hips stuttered against his mouth, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. “Harry— I’m gonna— oh my god—”

“Yeah?” He didn’t stop for even a second, words muffled against her. “Give it to me then, trouble. Come on my fuckin’ mouth.”

She broke with a soft sob, everything going tight and bright and shattering. Her hips rolled helplessly, grinding against his tongue, and Harry just moaned, holding her down, lapping her through it like he was starved.

When she finally slumped back against the mattress, shaking and spent, he pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, a lazy, wicked smile tugging at his lips.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he rasped, crawling up over her until they were nose to nose. “You’re a mess. Pretty little thing, all ruined for me.”

She let out a breathless, delirious laugh. “You’re the worst. The actual worst.”

He grinned, leaned in to press a slow, dirty kiss to her mouth — letting her taste exactly what he’d just done.

“Yeah,” he whispered against her lips. “But you love it.”

Her answering moan was all the proof he needed.

Harry pulled back just far enough to look at her, eyes heavy and dark, breath coming in short, ragged bursts. His hands were everywhere — smoothing down her sides, gripping her thighs, then sliding up to cradle her face like he needed to hold her steady for what he was about to say.

“Need you,” he rasped, voice all gravel and desperation. “Need to be inside you right fuckin’ now or I’m gonna lose it.”

Her stomach swooped, heat pooling deep and low. She couldn’t help the soft, eager sound that broke from her chest. “Then do it. Please.”

Harry groaned, crashing his mouth back to hers in a rough, breathless kiss that had her head spinning. His hands moved between them, fumbling with his jeans. When he finally shoved them down along with his briefs, he sighed like it physically hurt to be kept from her even that long.

“Look at you,” he breathed, sliding a hand down to guide himself, dragging the head of his cock through her slick folds until they were both trembling. “All wet for me already. Fuckin’ hell, trouble.”

“Harry—” Her voice cracked on his name, needy and wrecked, and that seemed to break the last of his control.

He pressed in slow, pushing inside inch by inch. Her mouth dropped open on a strangled little gasp, hands flying up to clutch at his shoulders. Harry let out a deep, shuddering groan, forehead dropping to hers.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed, hips stuttering forward. “You’re so fuckin’ tight — like you were made for me, swear to god.”

She could barely breathe, legs wrapping around his hips instinctively, trying to pull him even deeper. “Harry, please— move—”

“Yeah, baby, I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice low and rough, brushing his nose against hers. Then he pulled out nearly all the way and slammed back in, hard enough to knock the air from her lungs.

Her moan was sharp, desperate, nails digging into his back. Harry grinned, breathless and cocky. “There she is. C’mon, let me hear you.”

Then he set a rhythm — slow at first, rolling his hips into hers like he wanted to savor every second, then faster, rougher, every thrust sending a shockwave of pleasure through her that had her clinging to him helplessly.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he panted against her mouth. “Can’t believe I’ve been waiting months for this. Months— thinkin’ about you, your voice, your laugh— didn’t even know what you looked like and I was already gone.”

“Harry,” she gasped, her body twisting under his, chasing each thrust. “Fuck— don’t stop—”

“Not stoppin’. Never fuckin’ stopping,” he growled. His hands slid under her ass, lifting her just enough so he could angle deeper. When he thrust again, she cried out, head tipping back, eyes squeezing shut.

“That’s it,” he rasped, fucking into her harder now, their bodies slamming together with slick, obscene sounds. “Good girl. Take it for me.”

“Feels so— god, you feel so good—”

“Yeah? This what you wanted?” His mouth found her neck, biting down just enough to make her keen. “Wanted me to ruin you, yeah?”

“Yes— yes, please, Harry, I’m so close—”

“Fuck, I can feel you,” he groaned, hips snapping faster. “Come for me, trouble. Wanna feel you squeeze me.”

It only took a few more thrusts before she broke, coming with a sharp cry, nails digging into his shoulders. Her whole body tensed, then went loose and trembling under him. Harry let out a wrecked moan, burying his face in her neck as he followed her over the edge, hips jerking erratically until he spilled inside her.

They stayed tangled up like that, gasping into each other’s skin, his weight heavy and perfect on top of her. His hand stroked her hair, thumb brushing her cheek, grounding them both.

When he finally pulled back to look at her, his grin was lazy and stupidly soft.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice rough. “Knew you’d wreck me.”

She laughed, weak and breathless, pulling him down into a messy kiss.

“Good,” she whispered. “Because you absolutely ruined me too.”

Harry stayed right there, heavy and warm on top of her, breathing hard against her neck. It should have felt smothering, but it didn’t. It felt perfect — grounding and real, his heartbeat still thundering under her palm where she pressed it flat to his chest.

After a minute, he lifted his head, eyes soft and dazed. His hair was a total disaster, curls sticking up in every direction, still damp at the roots. She reached up and brushed a stray lock off his forehead, and he gave her this small, sappy smile that made her stomach flip all over again.

“You okay?” he asked, voice rough, thumb stroking under her jaw.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Better than okay.”

He leaned in and kissed her — slow, gentle, nothing like how frantic he’d been a few minutes ago. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers and let out a quiet laugh.

“What?” she breathed.

“Just…” His grin went a little crooked. “Dunno how I’m supposed to go back to my sad little flat after this. S’not fair.”

“You’ll survive,” she teased, even though her chest squeezed painfully at the thought of him leaving.

“Doubt it. Gonna be pathetic without you there to torment me.”

She laughed, pushing at his shoulder. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Oh, absolutely.” He pulled out slowly, careful and sweet, then dropped another soft kiss on her mouth before rolling off to the side. He flopped down next to her, arm immediately hooking around her waist to tug her into his side.

They lay like that for a minute, catching their breath. Then Harry huffed out another soft laugh.

“What now?” she groaned, nuzzling her face into his shoulder.

“Just thinking how smug you’re gonna be about this. Won’t be able to get your head through a door after tonight.”

“Oh, please. I’m the smug one?” She lifted her head to look at him, arching a brow. “Pretty sure you were the one talking about how you were gonna make me forget my name.”

Harry grinned, completely unrepentant. “Didn’t I, though?”

She smacked his chest lightly. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, but you like it.” He pulled her tighter, kissing her hair.

They lay there in a comfortable tangle of limbs, skin still sticky, hearts finally slowing down. Harry’s hand traced lazy patterns up and down her back, then settled low on her waist, thumb brushing soothing circles.

“Can I stay the night?” he murmured after a while, voice small in a way that made her heart squeeze.

“Of course you can,” she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone. “I was hoping you would.”

“Good,” he breathed, then shifted to press her closer. “Need you here. S’like my body’s already addicted.”

She laughed, warm all over. “You’re a sap.”

“You’re gonna keep saying that, but I’m not embarrassed.” He nuzzled her nose with his, eyes crinkling. “Best fuckin’ decision I ever made, driving down here. Even if you did ruin me.”

“You like being ruined.”

“Oh, fully. Hopeless for it.”

She kissed him again, sweet and lingering, then tucked her head under his chin.

“Harry?”

“Yeah, trouble?”

“Don’t let this be a one weekend thing.”

His arms tightened around her. “Not a chance in hell.”

Two years later, and Y/N still couldn’t quite believe how her life had turned out.

It was ridiculous, really — all because she’d been bored and lonely one night, scrolling TikTok with her brain half-melted from work, and stumbled across a scruffy British boy in a pink hair clip rambling about cereal.

Now that same boy was asleep on her couch most nights, leaving half-empty tea mugs everywhere, hogging the blankets, stealing kisses in the kitchen while she was trying to cook.

Harry had moved to her city after six months of painfully sweet long weekends and gut-wrenching goodbyes at airports. “Not doin’ this anymore,” he’d grumbled against her mouth one night, hands cupping her face like she was something breakable. “Want to wake up next to you every bloody day.”

So he did.

They settled into something warm and chaotic — nights in with cheap wine and takeout, quiet mornings tangled up in bed, little trips to bookstores where he’d follow her around with a lazy arm hooked around her waist.

And somehow two years flew by.

They were on a weekend trip up north, renting a tiny cabin that looked out over a stretch of mossy woods. It was chilly, the sky low and gray, everything damp with the smell of pine and earth. Y/N was bundled in one of Harry’s sweaters, hands shoved in her pockets, while he fussed around trying to start a little bonfire.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” she teased, arching a brow.

Harry shot her a look over his shoulder, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. “Absolutely not. But you love me anyway, so it’s fine.”

“That’s debatable.”

He laughed, then finally got the flame going, settling back on his heels with a smug grin. “Ha. Ye of little faith.”

She rolled her eyes, sinking down onto the threadbare blanket he’d spread on the ground. The fire crackled softly, little bursts of orange against the dreary afternoon.

Harry dropped down next to her, pulling her immediately between his legs so her back pressed to his chest. His chin hooked over her shoulder, arms warm and heavy around her middle.

They sat like that for a while, quiet, just listening to the fire and the distant birds.

Then she felt him shift, heart thundering against her back in this weird, frantic rhythm.

“Alright, trouble,” he murmured, voice suddenly rough. “Got a question for you.”

She twisted a little to look at him. “Yeah? Why do you look like you’re about to pass out?”

“Because I might,” he breathed, and when he pulled back she realized his hands were shaking.

Then he was fumbling in his pocket, pulling out this small, velvet box.

Y/N’s breath completely stopped.

“Harry—”

“Hang on, let me do it before I black out, yeah?” he rasped, popping the box open. Inside was a delicate ring, simple and perfect. Her eyes stung instantly.

Harry laughed, watery, eyes so bright. “Look, I know you’re a menace. You drive me absolutely mad. You steal the covers and use my toothbrush sometimes and leave your hair all over the flat. But I can’t — I don’t want — to do any of this without you. Ever again.”

She covered her mouth, shoulders shaking. “Harry—”

“Love.” His grin was crooked, voice breaking. “Will you marry me?”

She nodded so hard it hurt, a laugh bubbling out through her tears. “Yes. Yes, obviously, you goof.”

Harry let out this wrecked little noise, then was pulling her into his lap, hugging her so tight the ring box squished between them.

When he finally pulled back to slip the ring onto her shaking finger, his own hands were trembling so badly it took two tries.

“Told you you’d ruin me,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers.

She laughed through a sob. “You love it.”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “I fuckin’ love you.”

Then he kissed her — slow and sweet and a little salty from both their tears — while the fire crackled on beside them, the sky hanging low and gray overhead, and everything else fell perfectly, irrevocably into place.

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redflagshipwriter · 6 months ago

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SNITCHES THE CAT SEQUEL pt1 and masterpost

Part Two/Part Three/ Part Four/ Part Five/ Part Six/ Part Seven/ Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven

Part One

“This you?”

Danny pushed the newspaper down without looking at it, revealing Sam’s shitty grin. “That lost cat is not me, no.” He rolled his eyes. They had been showing him lost pet ads ever since he got back from Gotham. “Isn’t that joke getting old, guys?” He kicked his way further into a slouch in the booth as Tucker came back with refilled drinks.

Tucker laughed, and then there was a silence. “Danny? Are you sure this isn’t you, man?” He sounded uncertain.

He felt his jaw twitch and he had to tell his friend off. “Is it that funny that there’s a sad kid out there? Honestly, guys-” Danny opened his eyes fully to roll them and then saw the lost pet ad being brandished in his face. He blinked at it. His brain did a full reboot and he reached out to take the paper.

It looked like him, sleeping on the cushion in the batcave. Had they gotten that photo from the security footage? “It’s me.” His voice came out way too high.

Danny pulled the paper over in disbelief and realized that it was a two page ad. “Oh wow,” he said faintly. There he was, leaping across the kitchen. And there, that must have been taken by Damian when he fell asleep on the bed. There was a cat toy partially in the frame.

Sam’s snorting laughter cut off. “Uh.” She kicked him lightly under the table. “Is.. Is that little kid going to be okay?” She asked in a small voice. She sounded like she felt bad for poking fun.

Danny felt guilty. He stared at the evidence that Robin was missing his cat terribly and felt like the biggest jackass possible. “Should I go back?” he wondered. He squirmed, pulling a foot up onto the bench to perch on. “I mean… How long does a cat live? A few years?”

“Try about twenty,” Tucker said flatly. “I feel bad too, man, but you can’t defer admission that long.”

“Though Snitches was clearly not a little kitten, so you could really just give it a couple years,” Sam mused. Both boys stared at her. She blinked. “Not that I’m suggesting you do that!” She waved her hands at them. “The longer you stay with him, the harder he’s going to take it when his pet ‘dies’,” she said with finger quotes. “You did the right thing by leaving as soon as you could.”

“Maybe we could answer it, do a photoshoot, tell him that Danny was your cat or something and he’s come home,” Tucker mused. “He’d be sad that he couldn’t have the cat, but surely it would be better than worrying the cat died, right?”

“What are you losers talking about?” Star said, giving their booth a wide berth. “You’re not hurting cats now, are you, weirdos?” She eyed them like they were gross. “It would figure.”

“Fuck off,” Sam said pleasantly. All three of them gave Star a rude gesture in unison, just like they had practiced. “That shit’s uncalled for.”

Star sniffled and turned away on her heel, cheer skirt flouncing behind her. A few moments later she clearly reached her table because the sounds of popular kid conversation got a lot louder.

“She should be a reporter,” Sam said darkly. “I would love for her to get sued for slander.” She snapped open her clutch and began applying even more black eyeliner, as if that would differentiate her from the other girls in the restaurant.

Tucker groaned and pulled his hat down over his eyes in despair. “That’s gonna be a bad rumor,” he complained.

Danny couldn’t find it in him to care as much as he usually would. He was still stuck on the fact that Damian had put an ad in the Illinois Times. “Do you think he realized that Snitches got on a highway bus to Illinois?” he hissed, now aware that other people might be listening in. “How would he know that?”

Sam frowned. Tucker lifted his head and pulled out his phone to search. “That’s a good question,” he said to himself. He hit buttons rapidly. “Uh, same ad is in…” He trailed off. “Hold up, hold up, lemme search this backwards…” Whatever he saw had him raise his eyebrows high, look at Danny in disbelief, and then shake his head slightly. “You must be a really good cat. I'm kind of jealous.”

“What?” Danny hissed. “Just tell me.”

“Hey, hey, paws off.” Tucker moved his device further away. “Uh, this poor kid- well.” He paused. “Poor is the wrong word. He’s put ads in newspapers all the way up to Ontario and down to… Well, in Mexico at least.”

Danny and Sam stared at him in disbelief. “You’re fucking with us,” Sam said after a long moment.

Tucker silently shook his head. “There’s a nationwide Greg’s list ad,” he said grimly. “20 dollars an hour to print and staple missing cat photos to telephone poles. And a private detective’s agency on the case, asking for witnesses to come forward.”

Danny put his head in his hands. “I have to go back,” he said, haunted by the responsibility. “I can’t let him be this sad.”

“Danny, no.” Tucker said. Sam nodded her agreement.

“…Yeah, that’s crazy,” he said unconvincingly. He gave a fake laugh. “He’ll get over it.” Danny stared into his drink, watching bubbles. Robin was not going to get over it. That kid loved hard.

“I could use 20 dollars an hour,” Tucker said in a thoughtful tone.

“No,” Sam said flatly.

Tucker shrugged, smiling slightly. “I wonder how much I’d get for bringing you back.” He shrugged theatrically. “You could send me to college, man! Don’t you want me to go to college?”

“No…” Danny said weakly. “I… Is that fraud?” Still. Money would be nice.

“Guys, no.” Sam knocked them both in the head with the pile of napkins. “You can’t do that to this little kid. He’s clearly not well.”

“Exactly,” Tucker argued passionately. “Imagine how happy he would be to get his cat back! We could reunite him with his pet!”

It was tempting. He felt, like, so bad about how sad Robin was. The little guy had been so proud of his pet. Danny could spare a few years to make a little kid happy, right? It was kind of greedy otherwise.

Danny stared at the bubbles in his drink again, really thinking it over. “I think I would have to fight crime with him,” he said dully. “That’s a minus.”

“Danny?” Sam rapped the table with her fingers. He looked up to see her pointed eyebrow raise. “What are you talking about?”

He hunched his shoulders up. “Nothing, nothing,” he lied hastily. He forgot they didn’t know. He couldn’t dox someone’s crime fighting identity, though, it would be really unfair.

“You could buy me a house,” Tucker wheedled. Sam hit him.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #snitches the cat au

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uncuredturkeybacon · 1 month ago

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𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑 || 𝚔𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which you and kate didn't mean to soft launch

The morning before game day feels exactly like every other morning in the second year of your WNBA career — slow, sleepy, quiet. Kate’s already up before you, slipping on her hoodie and pulling her hair into a lazy bun as she pads around the kitchen, humming some vaguely familiar country song. You watch her from your spot on the couch, half-asleep under a blanket you never remember unfolding, cradling a mug of coffee she definitely brought you without asking. That’s just how it is. That’s how it’s always been.

Since Iowa. Since sneaking hand-holding on buses and late-night FaceTimes during long road stretches. Since the tears when her name was called on draft night and the breathless laughter when yours followed a few picks later. Since the Valkyries took you both — different teams at first, then finally, together again. Five years now. Two as pros. One married. But no one knows that part. Not really.

The league knows you're close. Your teammates definitely know. Close can be everything and nothing all at once. Best friends. Roommates. Ride-or-dies. Married? That one’s been just yours.

Until today, maybe.

You’re walking into Chase Center like you always do. Grey sweats, Jordans, one AirPod in, badge swinging from the lanyard they gave you your rookie season. Kate’s already gone in ahead — she always stops for every staffer she knows, and she knows all of them. You hung back, scrolling on your phone, texting your brother something dumb about his fantasy football team. Normal. Easy.

You don’t even realize someone’s filming her until you round the corner and hear her voice first — bright, full of that familiar midwestern cheer, just a little too excited for a morning shoot.

“Man…,” she’s saying, face animated. “A little dramatic right now, you know.” Her eyes are wide, her dimples deep.

“Do you have a favorite?”

“Chelley’s my favorite,” she says, head tilting, right hand clotting the strap of her backpack.

“Who do you want next off the island?”

She laughs, not wanting to name any names, left hand sliding out of her pocket to cover her face.

“I think there’s a specific person who has caused a little bit of drama in the villa and she might need to go. No names.” And when she laughs, there it is — silver. Not flashy, not big, not center-staged, but unmistakable. Her wedding band.

“Understood.”

“See you guys!” She walks away, jogging up the steps, waving goodbye to the woman like they’re old friends.

You take a breath. Step forward. The same girl turns toward you, phone already lifted. “Hey! You mind if I ask you something quick?”

You shrug. Smile, keep it casual. “Shoot.”

“Do you watch Love Island?”

You laughed, short and dry. “Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?”

“I get pulled in every time. It’s, like, a toxic little ritual now.”

You moved your hand to mimic a spinning wheel—an endless cycle—and for just a second, your left hand slipped out of your pocket. The camera caught it. The light it. The dainty silver band, delicate against your skin, practically glowed under the overhead light near the door.

It was barely a second. But it didn’t need to be more than that.

Your team wins the game, able to lock the other team on defense, making their lives harder.

That night, you drove home in silence together. Her hand on your thigh. Your fingers loosely wrapped around hers. The night sky bled over the Bay Bridge as the stars glistening the skyline, and you rolled the windows down just enough to smell the salt in the air. It felt like the calm before the storm.

You lived in a quiet apartment near the marina. Two bedrooms, open kitchen, soft white walls lined with framed jerseys and photo booth strips from a million years ago. Home.

You were in the kitchen reheating pasta when Kate wandered into the living room, phone in hand. “Babe?”

“Mhm?”

She sat on the couch, brows furrowed. “Did you check TikTok yet?”

You frowned, spooning pesto around the bowl. “No, why?”

“Uh…” She turned the phone toward you. “We’re kind of blowing up.”

You set the spoon down and walked over, wiping your hands on a dish towel. The WNBA’s official TikTok account had posted a video captioned,

“Two bombshells have entered the Arena. Kate Martin & Y/N Y/LN give us all the Love Island USA tea!”

The clip was barely a minute long, clips switching between you and Kate. Her laughing. You denying it. But what the fans noticed wasn’t your answers.

It was the rings.

The comments were already in chaos.

Kate blinked at you, mouth half-open like she was trying to laugh but hadn’t quite committed. “So…”

You leaned over the couch arm and kissed her temple. “So.”

“You think they’ll let us stay mysterious after this?”

You reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “They’ll try. But I think the ring did the talking.”

She looked at you. Really looked. The way she did when you said I do in front of three people on a foggy hike during a vacation, both of you crying like idiots. The way she did after the draft, waiting for your name to be called, heart thundering.

“I don’t mind,” she said finally. “I kind of… like that they know.”

You smiled. “Me too.”

Your phones buzzed again and again that night. Mentions. Edits. Old clips from college resurfacing. Conspiracy-theory TikToks unearthing that one photo of you holding hands in the background of a locker room celebration your senior year.

You let it all happen.

For the first time in five years, you didn’t rush to shut the door behind you.

You sat on the couch together, legs tangled, bowls of pasta growing cold. Kate pulled you close, tucked her face against your shoulder, and sighed softly into your hoodie.

“Wife,” she murmured. “Guess the secret’s out.”

You kissed her hair. “About time.”

#kate martin #kate martin x reader #kate martin fanfic #kate martin fanfiction #wnba x reader #gsv #golden state valkyries #wbb #wbb x reader #wbb imagine #wlw #lesbian #wuh luh wuh

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rafesteddy · 3 months ago

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Is it possible if we could have any more dilf!rafe and milf!reader? Im literally obsessed with the family dynamic atm!!

Hi bb 💕💕💕 of course!! Thank you for your ask. This story is meant to be read either alone or with the rest of the au. Thank you for your ask!!

+18 -> smut | on prom night, a very protective rafe wrestles with old grudges, growing pains, and the realization that letting go might be the hardest part.

𝓭𝓲𝓵𝓯!𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓸𝓷 𝔁 𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓯!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

c/w: pet names, swearing, praise, dirty talk, fingering, cum tasting, older rafe, roughish, semi-public male oral <- in a car with tinted windows, he is driving, intentional texting errors, ⚠︎ smut cross-posted on my nhl account. ⚠︎

cameron kids= Max (18), Winnie (17), Rory + Poppy (4)

You’re standing out in the front yard with your camera, doing everything you can not to cry while your daughter twirls around in her prom dress—glowing, radiant, almost too beautiful to look at.

Her boyfriend’s got his arm around her waist, holding her like it’s second nature. They keep catching each other’s eyes and laughing over nothing, cheeks bumping, sneaking little kisses between whatever secret they’re whispering like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

It’s sweet. It’s perfect. And honestly? It’s a little brutal. Because no matter how grown she looks, she’s still your baby.

Your husband’s next to you, taking pictures with his phone, but you can see it clear as day—he’s tense. His smile is forced, fingers stiff around the edges of his phone. He hasn’t said more than two words to JJ, who’s mere feet away. It’s awkward… painfully so. But what’s new between the two of them? Your husband never forgot how much he hated him. And now? Now that guy’s kid is dating his baby girl.

It’s hard to imagine this would be a bigger deal… And it would be, if the kid wasn’t a literal angel: polite, gentle, thoughtful, smart; a D1-bound quarterback. He’s good. But try telling Rafe that.

Your daughter squeals, adjusting her corsage, leaning into her boyfriend with the biggest grin on her face as the limos pull up. She gasps, eyes snapping to you. “Oh my God. Mom, I forgot my clutch!”

You look over at Rafe, lost in his own world as he looks between the young couple and his archenemy, going through his own existential crisis; jaw clenched, eyebrows drawn together like this is all somehow a personal attack on him. “Baby…”

“Mhmm…” He grunts as his eyes continue to survey the scene.

“… Baby?”

“Sweetheart,” he sighs, meeting your eyes before drawing a deep, pensive breath.

“Just take a second. Take a breath… Get the purse.”

He gives you a look, lips drawing to the side, wanting to protest like he’s afraid if he lets his guard down for a moment the thoughts that he’s been stewing on will manifest. “Yes, ma’am,” he mutters, then turns and stomps toward the house.

You watch him disappear through the front door, then turn back to your daughter. The yard is buzzing with excitement, teens gathering their things as they wander toward the rented cars.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

You look down at your phone, rolling your eyes as you see three back-to-back text messages coming in. “Where’s the purse, baby?” You mock his deep voice under your breath as you unlock your phone. Not surprised in the slightest that he’s stalling to prolong the inevitable.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

The twins are bouncing with excitement, already changed into their pajamas, stuffed animals hugged tight.

Sarah’s in the kitchen grabbing snacks for movie night, laughing as your son climbs all over him like he’s part jungle gym, part superhero. Meanwhile, your daughter’s standing off to the side, arms crossed, Cameron-pout on full display—a full-blown daddy’s girl—not thrilled in the slightest about him leaving.

“C’mon now,” Rafe says, gently tugging her closer. “Be right back, princess. I’ll kiss you on the head when I get home, okay? I’ll be there in the mornin’ when you wake up.”

She narrows her little eyes at him, her buttoned-nose furrowed in frustration.

“I heard mommy’s makin’ blueberry pancakes for breakfast,” Rafe adds as he cocks an eyebrow, hoping for the best, his smile widening as her face lights up over something so simple.

“No way.”

“Way.”

“I am?” you ask through a laugh as you loop your arm through your purse, pulling it on your shoulder.

“She is,” Rafe confirms, shooting you a smile and wink. “Isn’t she the best?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes as he kisses your daughter’s forehead and sends her off.

The you both step outside into the quiet; the cobblestone driveway glowing under soft light. Rafe reaches for your hand as the front door clicks shut behind you. You barely get a step down the private lot before he loops his finger under your dress and tugs the hem upward with a cocky smirk.

“Rafe!” You gasp, swatting his hand as your skirt falls back down, looking back toward the house with a smile.

“They didn’t see, pretty,” he murmurs, totally unbothered. “Besides I needed a distraction. My brain was spiraling again.”

“You’re not gonna lift my dress every time you start panicking about your daughter growing up.”

“I mean…” He steps a little closer, stuffing his hand in his pocket, the other draping around your shoulders as he dips down to press a kiss on your head. “I could just pull it down next time, get a glimpse of these,” he hums, reaching over to give your boob a playful squeeze, “for balance.” He lets out a sleazy little laugh as you giggle.

Rafe spins you around and pulls you in for a kiss: deep and sweet. The kind that says ‘sure, I might be losing my shit, but you’re my favorite way to come back down’. He opens the passenger door for you, still grinning as you slide into the car.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

The two of you sit side by side at a table on the water. The twinkling lights strung from the patio of the Island Club swaying in the breeze. Dinner was delicious, drinks were flowing, and Rafe… was present.

You could see it in the way he stared out at the water for a second too long. The way he blinked back to you like he’d just remembered where he was, and even so he wasn’t deep in thought. Almost like he wasn’t clenching his fists or checking his phone every two seconds or trying to crack a joke to distract himself from the ache in his heart.

But even still, he was there with you. Holding your hand, letting you finish your wine without interruption. He ordered your favorite appetizer before you could, stole bites from your plate like it was his job, kissing you tenderly after every lingered glance.

At one point, you were both leaned back in your chairs, full and content, watching the last sliver of sun bleed into the horizon when he said, “She told me they’re headin’ to Lexi’s after prom.”

“She did?”

He nods, sipping his drink. “She didn’t need to tell me that… She’s seventeen. Fuck, baby, I mean I woulda lied for the hell of it. I sure as shit wouldn’t have told Ward where I was goin’. And she just told me—didn’t even need to ask.”

“Yeah, baby?” You hum as you tip your head on his shoulder; Rafe’s fingers twinning in yours. “What else did she say?”

“Bonfire, snacks; some movie, I don’t know.”

“What about Jackson? Are juniors and seniors gonna be there?” You question this time, feeling your own unease rise about her possibly mingling with upperclassmen.

“Just juniors. She said ‘he didn’t care… He just wanted to be with her.’”

“Sounds familiar,” you smile as you squeeze Rafe’s hand.

He gives you a look—the one he always does when he’s caught remembering being seventeen with you. “Hmm… Sounds about as much, sweetheart.”

“They’re sweet,” you say quietly as you snuggle in a little closer. “We raised a good one, Rafe.”

“She’s everything,” he breathes. “My stubbornness and your heart—”

“We get to do this all over again in a couple years.”

He groans like it hurt, but he smiles anyway. “Twins too… Better start stocking up on wine now.”

You glance down at your phone, thumb tapping the screen as you check the time. It’s late enough. The twins are definitely asleep by now—if not completely passed out in a pile of stuffies and blankets, at the very least curled up on the couch mid-movie with drool on Auntie Sarah’s shoulder.

You look at Rafe, swirling the last sip of his whiskey, that lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he sees the twinkle in your eye; the man no doubt thinking about taking off the lingerie you teased him with earlier.

“So?” You ask, soft and suggestive as your foot brushes against his under the table.

“That time, huh?” He smiles as he pulls out his phone as well, checking it.

His brows furrow slightly. The smirk slips a little. Not in a full-blown way, just enough to make your stomach flip.

“What?” You ask as you lean in. “Did Sarah send something?” Rafe doesn’t answer right away. “What’s going on, baby?” You press again; still no answer.

You reach across the table and snatch the phone from his hand before he can stop you. Your eyes flick to the screen to check what’s going on, eyes widening on the screen as you see the flashing pin on a tracking app. And your daughter’s car, not where she said she’d be.

You stare down at his phone, then up at him. “Why are you tracking her, Rafe?”

“I don’t just track her, sweetheart. I track Max too… It’s a scary place out there, okay? Ya’ll are all I have,” he stammers. He takes a deep breath, blowing it out his nostrils as he tries his best to collect himself. “I’m trackin’ her because of this—”

“—Because she’s at the beach?” You question, letting your annoyance bleed through each word.

“She didn’t tell us she was going to the beach,” he says, voice tight. “So yeah, baby—that’s why I’m doin’ it.”

“Well, what now?”

Rafe tilts back in his chair, pushing out a shaky, uneven breath. “Guess we’re takin’ a trip to the beach—”

“Rafe…”

“If anything we’ll check and leave—”

“—Baby.”

“We will check. And, we will leave.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your purse. Rafe stands and tosses some cash on the table before looking down at you.

“Nothing more, baby. I swear. I’m not gonna enjoy my night if I don’t know that she’s safe. Just a piece of mind.”

“And what if you see something you don’t wanna see?”

He stops in his tracks looking at you like you just dropped a weight on his chest. “What do you mean by that?”

You arch a brow as you take his hand, rising to your feet. “I mean… you found a condom wrapper in her bathroom, Rafe. So again—I ask—what if you see something you don’t wanna see?”

Rafe runs a hand down his face, letting out a long, deep breath. “Guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

The two of you pull into the quiet parking lot, headlights cutting through the soft fog that’s rolled in off the water. It’s dark but not deserted—distant voices, the occasional pop of laughter, the soft flicker of firelight down by the shore.

Rafe leans forward, squinting out the windshield. “They’re probably hidin’ somewhere,” he mutters, tone edged with something sharp. “Thinkin’ he’s bein’ slick.”

“Mhmm…” You flick your hand lazily in their direction, spotting them almost instantly, right in plain sight.

The two of them are sat side by side in front of a small fire, shoes kicked off, a blanket pulled over both their legs. Winnie’s head tilted on Jackson’s shoulder.

Rafe exhales through his nose, and it’s not quite relief, but it’s not disappointment, either. And at that moment you realize he didn’t want to be right—he just didn’t want to be wrong either. You take out your phone, open your messages, and type:

You: Hope you’re having a good night sweetie. Be safe.

Barely ten seconds pass before your daughter’s phone lights up on the sand. You see her glance down at the screen, smile, and start typing back. Then your phone buzzes.

Winnie: we’re having a great night!

Winnie: we left the party because it got kinda crazy. Jax was worried it might get busted.

Winnie: we’re down to the beach

Another second later, she sends a selfie—her cheek pressed against Jackson’s, both of them grinning, firelight flickering. No red cups. No chaos. Just two kids who genuinely like each other, making a smart choice together.

Rafe’s jaw ticks as he looks at the photo. He leans back in his seat, sighing as the guilt hits him square in the chest.

“Goddamnit.”

“Mhmm…”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just—I don’t know. This shit is hard,” he huffs.

You smile and reach over, lacing your fingers in his. “Why don’t we get out of here, baby… Go for a little drive on our way home.”

Rafe nods and pulls out of the lot, his jaw set, one hand tight on the wheel as the silence stretches between you. The engine hums low, but he doesn’t say a word.

He’s still wound up—his whole body carrying the weight of everything he’s been trying to hold back. The guilt, the stress, the slow ache of watching his little girl grow up. On top of that, work’s been brutal lately, you know it’s been eating at him, even if he won’t say it out loud.

You watch him quietly, the way the dim streetlights flicker across his profile: strong jaw, furrowed brow, tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up over his thick forearms you’ll never get tired of looking at.

Even tense like this, he’s still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen—and all you can think about is how badly you want to help him relax.

He glances over at you, still high-strung, blue eyes heavy with thoughts he hasn’t shared quite yet. He shifts in his seat, spreading his thighs a little wider, fabric stretching over them—and your gaze drops without hesitation.

Your breath hitches. All you can think about is straddling him right there in the front seat, grinding against him with your skirt bunched around your waist, the windows fogging, and music muffling your moans—

“What’re you thinking about, baby?” He asks, voice low.

You turn to him slowly, letting your voice drop into something warm and wicked. “You.”

His eyes flick to yours in surprise. “You’re thinkin’ about me?” He says, almost like he doesn’t believe it himself, half-expecting to be in that doghouse you were talking about earlier.

You smile, reach for his hand resting on the console, and guide it toward you. He exhales sharply, shoulders finally starting to drop, the tension melting into something else entirely. “You’re not mad at me, princess?”

You shake your head. “No, baby. I like when you’re protective. Can’t fault you for that. Maybe just calm down a little… Just a little.”

“Anything for you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with want.

“Wanna help you forget all those thoughts distracting you from me…”

“Distracting me from you? My girl? Impossible… But, please,” he says with a smirk, “make me forget.”

You lift his hand from your thigh, slowly, and press a kiss to the top of it—light and teasing, just like he would.

Then, with your eyes still on him, you part your lips and slip two thick fingers in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tips. Rafe’s breath catches. He flicks another glance at you, then another, making the car sway gently.

You reach over, trailing your hand down his chest, feeling the heat and tension thrumming through his body. Your nails drag lightly down his shirt’s crisp, white fabric until you hit his thigh, scratching just enough to earn a quiet exhale from him.

Your fingers graze over his bulge—growing thick and heavy beneath his designer pants—and he shifts again, jaw clenched tighter, not from stress, solely to keep his eyes on the road and avoid them rolling back.

You lean in closer, the scent of his rich cologne washing over you. Your fingers work open his belt. The metal clicks softly before you slide the zipper down. Your heart pounds with the bass, excitement swelling in your chest as he barrels through the night.

He shifts in his seat, lifting his hips so he can shove his pants and boxers down. “You sure, baby?” He asks through a crooked smile as you grip his thick dick in your fist—hardening fast in your palm, long, pulsing with need.

Your mouth waters as you stroke him slow, teasing, your thumb brushing over the head. “I need it… Is that alright?” You ask coyly. Rafe’s cock twitches in your grip, his breath stuttering as you swipe your thumb across his tip, rubbing in a bead of precum.

“Fuck,” he moans as his head rolls slightly.

“You like that?” You ask.

“Yeah… Yeah, fuck. Keep goin’,” he mumbles, his eyes on the road, but barely.

Rafe reaches over; fingers slipping under your dress. He groans at how wet you are, teasing your entrance, pushing just the tip of his fingers inside. The pace you set with your hand mirrors his—slow and purposeful, a shared rhythm that leaves you both panting.

Click.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and slide across the center console. Before he can even register what’s happening, next you take him into your mouth; his cock hot and heavy on your warm tongue.

Rafe’s whole body jerks. He draws his fingers from between your thighs, slicked with your wetness, and sucks them into his mouth, the corners of his lips curling into a smile at the taste.

“Jesus Christ, baby…” His voice is thick and hoarse. “You’re perfect. Too fuckin’ good to me.” His hand comes down hard on your ass, the sting sharp, and your moan vibrates around him as he spanks you.

A second later, his fingers knot in your hair, guiding you, controlling your pace. “Atta girl,” he groans, hips lifting gently. “Fuckin’ take it—so desperate, huh? Couldn’t wait ‘til we got home?”

You hum in response, lips and tongue working him while your hand strokes what your mouth can’t reach. His moans start spilling out, competing with the music in the car.

“Gonna make me lose it,” he pants. “That’s what you want, huh? Gonna swallow it all? Don’t wanna get dirty, baby—” he mumbles, and you can hear the smirk in his voice as his leg bounces beneath your hands, breath rough and ragged, chest rising faster now.

“Shit, baby… I’m gonna cum—” You suck him harder, throating his cock until he’s cursing and twitching, praising your name as he slams his big fist against the steering wheel, spilling down your throat.

His body unwinds in the seat and his hold loosens on your hair. You pull off slowly, watching his cock throb still as he tucks himself in the waistband of his dress pants, hissing in sensitivity as he zips back up his pants, covering himself slightly with his jacket. He shakes his head, unable to wipe that wide smile off his perfect lips.

You sit up and smooth your hair in the visor mirror, licking your lips, catching the last of him as you giggle dizzily. He chuckles, low and lazy, as he rolls his head on the headrest, locking eyes with you. “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

And then just as you lean over to press one last kiss on his lips the car’s screen lights up with an incoming call.

Deputy Shoupe

Rafe fumbles and swears under his breath on his way to accept the call, already assuming the worst. “Shoupe? Everything okay?”

“Rafe. We got a little situation down at the yacht club. Someone called in a report—female screamin’. Thought it might be a domestic or worse. Turns out… Uh, well… We found your son and that Thornton girl entangled on your yacht.”

Rafe freezes; eyes beating a few times slow as he takes it all in. “Max?”

“Yes, sir. A bag of weed, a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle, and a pocket full of Magnums—”

“—Dude. You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me right now,” your son snips as he cuts the officer off. “You’re seriously cockblockin’ me? This is harassment. We’re on my boat. S’Private property. I can’t help it if we got a little loud, alright? That’s between me and her.”

“I’m fine… Obviously,” Topper’s daughter sasses as well, her Cali-girl, vocal fry that pours through the car speakers like nails on a chalkboard.

Rafe’s jaw is locked, one vein in his temple pulsing so hard you can practically hear it. Rafe stares straight ahead, dead silent.

“You gonna arrest us for lovin’ each other now? Is that where this country’s at? You people are fuckin’ sick—”

“Tell him to stop talkin’,” Rafe sneers.

“Want me to tase him a little?” Shoupe chuckles.

Rafe mutters something under his breath making Shoupe laugh. There’s a beat of silence as you stare at Rafe, your husband staring right back at you. His features soften—the man hit with yet another wave of guilt—he was so hyper focused on your daughter that everything else flew out the window.

“It’s okay, baby,” you whisper.

He shakes his head ‘no’ and rolls his eyes, tipping his head back against the headrest.

“What do you two want me to do about all this?” Shoupe asks through another amused laugh.

“Fuck… Bring ’em into the station. Take the weed if you have to,” Rafe adds. “Leave the bottle.” You raise your brows at him and he just shrugs. “Kid’s a pain in my ass but he’s got good taste,” he mumbles. “I’ll be there in two-three hours,” Rafe finishes. “Got some shit I need to handle first.”

“Copy that.”

Click.

“We’re not gonna go get him?” You ask through a laugh as you glance back at Rafe.

He smirks, letting his hand slide higher up your thigh. “He’ll survive, baby. Might even learn somethin’… Right now, I need to take care of my girl.”

#rafe one shot 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹#rafe cameron #rafe #outer banks #obx #rafe smut #rafe x reader #rafe cameron smut #my library ᝰ.ᐟ #dilf!rafe #older!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #older!rafe #dad!rafe #rafe cameron x reader #ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ dilf!rafe x milf!reader au

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paucubarsisimp · 3 months ago

Note

reader x oscar where oscar reconnects with a old female friend and kind of neglects reader a little bit, at the beginning y/n gets hurt but ends up deciding to get a male friend to “make things even” so oscar gets really jealous, realizes what he’s been doing and tries to make things right? happy ending pls and maybe don’t make reader forgive him that easily?

second place

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

summary: in which you feel mia is more important than you…

warnings: none

you didn’t expect things to change so quickly.

one minute, you and oscar were solid — late-night facetimes, good luck kisses before qualifying, sleepy grins under hotel duvets. being with him felt like quiet gravity. not loud or dramatic, just right. steady.

and then came mia.

the girl from karting days. the one who could talk race setups and tire strategies in the same breath she joked about oscar’s twelve-year-old mullet.

you weren’t threatened at first. oscar had always been honest. you weren’t insecure.

but it’s hard to stay secure when you go three days without more than a “hey, sorry, busy today” text… and then check instagram to see him tagged in a selfie with her, laughing over sushi.

you didn’t confront him right away. you weren’t that person. you trusted him — or at least, you wanted to.

but when you showed up at the paddock that friday, his reaction said everything.

he didn’t light up the way he used to.

he smiled — polite, distracted. his arm slung around mia’s shoulders like second nature.

you didn’t know whether to feel angry or embarrassed.

maybe both.

you brought it up that night, quietly, after dinner.

“she’s really been around a lot lately.”

oscar shrugged, pulling his shirt over his head. “yeah, she’s doing a piece for f1tv. like, a feature thing. it’s temporary.”

you nodded. “just… feels like you’ve kind of forgotten i exist.”

he froze for a second. “y/n, come on. don’t start this.”

that was what hurt the most — not the time he was spending with her. the fact that he brushed off your pain. as if it wasn’t real.

you went to bed with your back to him. he didn’t reach for you.

you didn’t plan to make him jealous.

you didn’t even think of marcus that way — not at first.

he was the boy who used to walk you home from school, steal fries from your lunch tray, accidentally-on-purpose hold your hand during horror movies.

you hadn’t seen him in years. but when you bumped into him at a café near the paddock, it felt like a reset. like someone was seeing you again.

like you weren’t invisible.

oscar didn’t notice you were smiling more that weekend.

but he did notice marcus.

especially when you invited him to the post-race celebration. especially when marcus leaned close to tell you a joke, and you laughed with your whole body — the way you used to laugh with oscar.

he caught your wrist later that night, voice tense. “is this supposed to be a message?”

you stared at him. “no. but i guess it’s working.”

the fight came two days later.

oscar had been cold. distant. until he snapped.

“so what, you just bring some guy around to get my attention? that’s mature.”

your blood ran hot. “don’t pretend you have the high ground when you’ve been mia’s shadow for three weeks!”

“she’s a friend, y/n!”

“so is marcus! or is it only okay when you’re the one doing the ignoring?”

oscar looked at you like he didn’t recognize you. and you realized — he didn’t. because he hadn’t really seen you in weeks.

“i don’t care about mia,” he said, voice strained.

“but you cared more about making her laugh than asking if i was okay.”

that shut him up.

it took time after that.

oscar started showing up again — really showing up.

small things. bringing you coffee before interviews. watching your face instead of his phone. apologizing, not with flowers, but by listening.

you let him back in slowly. not because he begged — but because he changed.

and one night, while you sat on his balcony overlooking monaco’s coast, his fingers laced with yours, he said:

“i got used to you always being there. like i couldn’t lose you. like you’d always wait.”

you didn’t answer right away.

then: “don’t give me a reason to leave, and i won’t.”

his hand tightened in yours. “you’re not second place. not to anyone. not ever again.”

you believed him. not because he said it — but because this time, he meant it.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, lmk if you want to be added!

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idk-karla · 20 days ago

Text

The Neighbor, pt.3

Pairing: bucky barnes x single!mom!reader (Post Thunderbolts)

Summary: Bucky's internal battle about his feelings for you

Author's Note: Couple things: 1. I don't feel confident writing in Bucky's POV so sorry I had to go third person to show you his perspective. Also didn't mean for it to be a slow burn but here we are lmfao. 2. didn't mention it here, but Sam will be in future chapters. I don't accept any Stucky divorce, those are my fathers. 3. Ya'll, I went down this Bucky rot and started writing this story and I genuinely didn't expect anyone to like it as much. I just wanna say thanks for you tumblr girlies, you guys have been sooooo amazing. My light in dark times, truly. Thank you. 😭

Part 2

Masterlist

Bucky felt different lately.

Lighter, somehow. Like the weight of the world wasn’t crushing him the way it used to. The shift had been subtle at first, a tension he hadn't realized he’d been carrying slowly starting to ease. Then a quiet he hadn’t known he craved settling in… something oddly close to peace. Not absolute peace. Bucky was not a man that was ever going to have absolute peace, but he hadn’t expected to have any. But now those quiet moments where his mind usually got loud with all the bad memories were coming less and less. Now those quiet moments were filled with thoughts of a little girl who started leaving crayon dinosaurs in his mailbox and her gorgeous mother.

God the way she looked at him undid him every time. She looked at him like he was a man. Not an Avenger. Not the Winter Soldier. Just… Bucky. A man worthy of softness, worthy of sharing her time with her, worthy of being in her daughter's life. Of staying.

He liked that she was patient. Kind. She never pushed, never pried. And when she listened, she really listened, like what he said mattered. She never flinched when he got quiet. Never rushed to fill the silence. She let it be there between them, unthreatening and soft.

And Ellie. God, that kid had him wrapped around her sticky little finger with. She greeted him like he was a hero every time he walked through the door. The way she trusted him, loved him without hesitation, was almost overwhelming. It made something ache in his chest, something he hadn’t dared to name in years.

It made him think about a family. A dream he had given up long ago, especially with his past. No woman would ever want to be with a 107 year old brain washed, retired assassin. But in the warmth of her smile and the back of his mind that familiar thought had crept in, dangerous and warm. What if?

He’d started spending more time at his apartment than the compound. He was even thinking about buying real furniture for the first time since moving in, maybe even secretly taking a damn cooking class- not because he gave a shit about cooking, but because she did. Because she smiled when she cooked, and he’d do anything to keep that smile on her face.

His team was also starting to notice the changes, unfortunately for him. John was already suspicious about how much time he was spending away from the compound after months of practically never leaving. Ava had chewed him out for missing a sparring session, and he’d taken the tongue-lashing in silence, only half-listening as he stared at his phone with a text from her still unread.

He hated to admit, the sneaking around the team made him feel young. Like a teenager again. He was nervous to tell them. They were his found family, the only family he had after nearly a century of blood and gore. What if they didn’t understand? What if they thought he was getting too soft?

He hadn’t even told her how he felt. He wanted to. God, did he want to. If it was up to him he would fall face first into her and never let her go again. And he had sneaking suspicion she felt the same way. There were signs: lingering glances, the way she always found a reason to touch him, knocking on his door because she needed sugar when he himself had carried her groceries, sugar included, in a few days before. But every time he got close to saying something, the fear crawled in.

To say Bucky had lived a hard life would be an understatement. He remembered every atrocity he had committed and just how many enemies he’d created. What if someone used them to get to him? What if she got hurt? What if Ellie got hurt? What if the Winter Solider programming was still in him and he hurt them? The thought of either of them in danger made him want to punch through a steel tank. The thought of him being the hurting them made him want to curl into a ball and die.

Not to mention, he hadn’t had a real relationship in decades. He barely knew how to flirt, let alone be someone’s partner. She deserved better. And yet… he couldn’t stay away.

Now he stood in front of a punching bag, beating it like he could pummel the thoughts right out of his head. Even with the extra weight the bag carried to accommodate for his super-soldier strength, he was hitting it so hard the metal chains suspending it from the ceiling groaned with every strike. His vibranium fist met leather with a thunderous thump that echoed through the training room.

“Easy,” Yelena called from the doorway, twirling two knives between her fingers. “Valentina’s gonna throw a fit if you break a fifth punching bag this week. Those things are custom-made and expensive as hell.”

“Valentina can kiss my a-”

“You’re always such a ray of sunshine, James.” She used his first name like a weapon, and it hit its mark. She always did that when she wanted to needle him, and usually he’d just roll his eyes. Today, though, he wasn’t in the mood. The growl that rose from his chest wasn’t entirely playful.

“You’ve been acting suspicious lately,” Yelena said, circling him like a cat with too much energy and not enough prey.

“Fuck off,” He muttered, low and annoyed.

“Hmmm, I don’t think I will.”

Yelena threw her knives across the room without warning. They sliced clean through the practice dummy and into the wall that was already Swiss-cheesed with all kind of weapon holes. Bucky would seriously have been worried about it collapsing if it hadn't been made from pure concrete.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re in a crappy mood or you’re gonna make me guess?” She ducked past him and yanked her knives from the dummy, sauntering back.

“No,” Was all he replied. He watched her from the corner of his eye, still facing the bag, his fists clenched at his sides. He didn’t swing again. Just let the bag sway in front of him.

He doubted Yelena would be the right person to give him dating advice. Truthfully, if he had to call anyone, he would call Sam. But he knew Sam was going to lose his mind over this like a 15 year old girl, so had been avoiding him.

Yelena shot him a grin that could only be described as evil. Shit. He was screwed. She’d tear the truth out of him with her bare hands.

She was low-key his favorite, though he’d rather eat glass than admit it. He got along with most of the team. Ava was intense, but fair. Alexei was unhinged and hilarious. Bob liked books, which made for some quiet conversations in the downtime. He even tolerated John, with effort. But Yelena understood things about him no one else could. The darkness. The noise. The way silence could sometimes feel like a scream. She got on his nerves more often then not, they all kind of did, but he would move heaven and hell for them. The same way he would do it for her.

That was the only feeling that didn’t scare him. If there's one thing Bucky knew was how to fight. How to protect. He would do it for his team. For her. For Ellie.

“Is someone after you?” Yelena brought him back out of his thoughts. Bucky frowned, but didn’t respond. He went back to the punching back while Yelena ran down the options: “John used your favorite towel and now it smells like Axe body spray and narcissism?”, “You finally downloaded that dating app I told you about and got catfished.” “Did Alexei throw out your favorite hair gel in one of his cleaning frenzies?”

Until she said, “Holy shit, is it a woman?”

Bucky groaned, turning his back to her and slamming the bag so hard the chain rattled. “Yelena.” He finally replied in a warning tone.

That must’ve been confirmation enough because she stopped what she was doing to squint at him. “Oh my god, it is!”

“It’s not, shut up.”he snapped, crossing his arms like a sulking teenager.

“You’re lying so badly it hurts.” She was practically bouncing now. “Tell me why this girl has you ready to disintegrate a punching bag, Barnes.”

She pulled on her wraps and gloves, gearing up. “You’ve seemed… lighter lately. Not so broody. But today,” she gestured to his face “you’ve got that angry puppy dog look again.”

Bucky sighed, wiping sweat from his brow. “Christ somehow you’re more annoying than Sam.”

“You’re either going to have to beat me unconscious or tell me because I'm not gonna let it go..” She launched into a spar without warning. He barely blocked the first hit. They fell into rhythm, trading blows and dodges, movements tight and controlled. Bucky was glad for the distraction, hoping he could keep her from talking anymore.

But true to her word, Yelena added, “I saw that glittery handmade postcard you were trying to hide the other day. Found it under your pillow.”

He stopped, stunned. “You went through my stuff?”

“You won’t talk to me,” she said simply, like that justified everything.

“Not cool, Yelena.”

“Who gave it to you?”

He hesitated. “My neighbor.”

Yelena’s eyes narrowed. “The drawings were pretty infantile for a neighbor.”

"Her mom. Her mom is my neighbor."

A pause. Then: “That’s who’s got you all mopey?”

He rolled his eyes, punching just past her ear. “She’s… different.”

That made Yelena go quiet. Really quiet. Her stance softened, the teasing dropped away like a mask. And somehow, that silence was worse than the banter. So he filled it.

“She’s good,” he added quietly. “Like… real good. The kind of good that makes you want to be better. I don’t want to drag her into… this.” He gestured vaguely at the walls, hard and imperfect as him.

Yelena stepped forward and jabbed two fingers into his chest. “It’s not dragging if she chooses to walk beside you.”

“She deserves more.”

“So do you.”

He looked down. “Being with me puts her and her daughter in danger.”

Yelena took a breath and backed up, fists raised again. “You broke a mind-control program with nothing but willpower. You single handedly toppled governments. You scare grown men just by walking into a room. You’re not afraid they’ll get hurt, Barnes. You’re afraid you will.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’re using the past as a shield,” she said, and hit him hard in the ribs. “Because you’re terrified of what happens if you let someone actually love you.”

He didn’t respond.

“You’re scared she’ll look at you one day and see the Winter Soldier.”

He flinched.

“Newsflash, grandpa. She already knows who you are. And she’s still letting you into her life. Her home.”

Yelena tilted her head. “So what are you gonna do?”

He let out a slow breath. “I don’t know.”

Part 3.5

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tokoyan · 3 months ago

Text

- Six years too late.

pairing: na baekjin x reader

Warning: none, just angst

word count: 1,050

a/n: baekjin genuinely needs more fics!! like i can imagine all the angst fics that need to be made asap 😭 or fluff idk my man just needs a break fr 💔

pt1 // pt2 // pt3

gif credit: @goyurim

It’s been six years.

Six years since he was in elementary school.

Six years since he last saw you.

Back then, you were one of the only people who talked to him—who cared for him. You made an effort to know him, even though he was quiet and withdrawn. Before he realized it, he had developed a small crush on you.

But just before you were both about to enter high school, you suddenly broke the news: you were transferring to another school. At first, he tried to act like it wasn’t real—that you weren’t actually going to leave. But when you did, he missed you more than he ever thought he would.

Now it breaks his heart to see you standing next to Baku, laughing, giggling, wrapped in each other’s arms.

He was on his way back to the Union bowling alley after school—like always—when he saw a group of students walking ahead in Eunjang school uniforms. He was ready to ignore them and keep walking until something caught his eye.

That red sweater.

Of course. Only one person he knew would wear something like that—Baku.

He had always wanted to consider Baku a friend. They’d known each other for a long time. But with everything going on between Union and Eunjang, he didn’t even know what they were anymore. Friends? Rivals? He wasn’t sure if Baku even still saw him as a friend anymore.

He noticed Baku with his arm around a girl. He didn’t think much of it—until he looked again.

---

You were walking beside Baku, Sieun, Gotak, and Juntae, heading toward a shop just to hang out. Then you felt someone’s eyes on you. You turned around.

A tall guy wearing a uniform from a nearby school, you didn't think much of it and almost looked back.

And then you saw his eyes.

You stopped walking. Baku looked at you, confused, and noticed the tears forming in your eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, following your gaze.

The others turned around too.

It was Na Baek Jin.

The same Baek Jin from years ago. The same boy you used to sit with during lunch. The one who barely talked but always listened. The one you never forgot.

Of course, he recognized your face. How could he not? You were etched into his memory, whether he wanted you to be or not.

“…Baekjin?” you whispered, gently pushing Baku’s arm off your shoulder.

Baek Jin didn’t move. He didn’t speak. Just stood there, stunned.

The guys all looked confused, especially Baku.

“What the hell do you want?” Gotak asked sharply, stepping forward.

Baekjin didn’t respond.

Before Baku could ask how you knew him, you suddenly ran forward and wrapped your arms around Baekjin, resting your head against his chest.

“Do you remember me?” you asked, your voice trembling, your body shaking as tears ran down your face.

It took him a moment to respond, but then his hand landed gently on your back.

“Of course I do,” he said—calm, almost casual. But you knew. Deep down, he meant it.

Baku stood there, watching his girlfriend hug another guy. And not just any guy—an old friend of his.

You finally pulled away and looked up at Baekjin, searching his face. His features were still sharp. Still distant. But colder than you remembered.

You grabbed his hand, took your phone out of your bag, and placed it in his palm.

“My number,” you said. “Call me.”

You didn’t want to lose him again.

What you didn’t know was—he especially couldn’t lose you.

He silently pulled out his phone and saved your number. Still quiet. Was he shy? Nervous? Even he didn’t know.

“I’ll wait for your call,” you said, offering him a small smile before turning to rejoin the others.

You glanced back once more, just to see him again.

Baku hadn’t moved. He was still staring at Baekjin like a hawk, like he was watching someone try to take you from him.

“Hey, Baekjin,” Baku said suddenly.

You stopped in your tracks again.

“Baku, let’s just go,” you said, walking back to him and taking his arm, but he didn’t budge.

“I know you’re trying to drag Eunjang into your little Union thing,” Baku said, voice firm. “But don’t even think about using my girlfriend to do it.”

“Baku… come on,” you pleaded, trying to pull him away.

Girlfriend.

Of course you were his. Everyone could see it. But deep down… Baekjin hated that label.

Because he wasn’t the one who got to call you that.

Baekjin said nothing. He just turned and walked away like Baku’s warning didn’t matter.

But it did.

He wanted you. He didn’t want to lose you again.

He couldn’t.

Even after all these years, you were still the same kind-hearted angel to him.

And now?

He wants you.

He needs you.

And Baku won’t stop him.

#whc #weak hero class #weak hero class 2 #weak hero class 2 x reader #whc1 #whc2 angst #whc2 #na baek jin #na baek jin x reader #baek jin #baek jin x reader #bae na ra #weak hero class one #weak hero class 1 #na baekjin #na baekjin x reader #baekjin

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roosterforme · 5 months ago

Text

In the Navy Now | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: When Bradley and Jake catch their wives in the midst of a lie, Bradley wonders what made you think you couldn't be honest with him. He soon realizes you have a trick up your sleeve, one that makes his work day a lot more exciting.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, adult language, math as foreplay

Length: 3900 words

Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time but it can be read on its own! Check out my masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

"You know what really sucks?" Bradley mused as he sat at a table for two in the cafeteria on base.

"What's that?" Jake asked in response, digging his fork into a bowl of pasta.

Bradley looked around the room at everyone else and sighed. "You and I are forced to socialize all the time now, because our wives are best friends."

He saw Jake on Saturday, and also last night at the bar, and again every damn day at work.

Jake shrugged as he took a bite of his lunch. "It's not that bad."

"Speak for yourself. I literally can't understand what Jessica sees in you."

As soon as he heard Jake's laugh, Bradley knew what was coming. "You're literally the last person who should be making comments like that. Your wife is so hot, it's absolutely unbelievable she is with you willingly. She had ten years to come to her senses."

Bradley smiled as he thought about you. "She missed me."

Jake was shaking his head. "She must have been with some seriously ugly guys or something in those ten years."

Bradley was laughing now as he said, "I'm telling you, she missed me as much as I missed her."

"Riiiight. I'm about to text her and ask for verification on that one."

Bradley poked at his salad and murmured, "Don't even bother. She's in some sort of math seminar with Dean Walters all day. Told me not to try reaching her unless it's an emergency."

"Are you sure?" Jake asked, giving him a funny look. "Jess said she had a department meeting with the dean today. For the science department."

Bradley rolled his eyes. "Yeah, of course I'm sure. I even packed her an extra snack. Unlike you, I actually listen to my wife when she talks. I'm sure you're wrong."

But Jake was already digging in the pocket of his flight suit for his phone, and when he unlocked it and slid it across the table, Bradley picked it up. He skimmed a text that Jessica sent just a few hours ago.

I love you! Don't forget, I'll be unreachable most of the day. Physics meeting with Dean Walters.

Bradley frowned. If this was true, then you lied to him. You never lied to him. He tried his best to let you know that you never had to do that. But now he remembered that you even went so far as to tell him you didn't need a ride home from campus today, and that actually seemed suspicious, too.

"Why do they want us to think they're busy all day?"

"It doesn't really make any sense," Jake said as he set his fork down. "Damn. Jess knows she can talk to me about anything."

"Yeah," Bradley grunted, "I don't like this shit." The uneasy feeling seemed to spread through his entire body as he stood. "We need to get going. Special class today, remember?"

"Fuck," Jake muttered under his breath, clearly as excited about the guest lecturer as Bradley was. Sitting in the classroom for a few hours was usually always tedious compared to flying, but the lectures that Cyclone had been adding to their schedules randomly over the past few months were worse than the most boring class Bradley ever took at the University of Virginia.

"Let's get this over with," he said, dropping his tray off and fighting the urge to text you just to see what you'd have to say. Now he was going to have to figure out a way to call you out about lying later. But it was still puzzling him as to why you and Jessica would both tell the same exact lie. What was the point of that? If you didn't want Bradley to bother you at work, that was all you needed to say. But it wasn't like he was annoying like Jake was; he could understand Jessica needing a break from her husband, but did you need one too?

He was still trying to figure out if there was something going wrong with his marriage when he walked into the classroom. Cyclone was standing at the front, hands on his hips, glaring at Bradley and Jake as they walked inside with two minutes to spare. The only seats left were both up in the front row, and Bradley groaned as he dropped down into one of them. The last guest speaker they had spit the entire time he talked, and the one before that spoke at full volume like she was teaching a room full of hundreds of people rather than the twenty four that were gathered.

"I regret not getting here early," Jake murmured, and Bradley nodded as he shifted in his seat and messed with the cuffs of the sleeves of his flight suit. He was really hung up on what you could possibly be doing today, and he knew that he wasn't going to be able to pay attention to this lecture topic at all. And that's when he noticed what was written on the white board behind Cyclone.

THE PHYSICS OF PROPULSION AND MATHEMATICAL FORMULATIONS IN SINGLE SEAT F/A-18 JETS

He groaned, because even the word mathematical made him think about you. This was about to be a long afternoon. Then Admiral Simpson cleared his throat, and Bradley forced his attention to the man in front of him.

"Welcome. Today's lecture topic is of the utmost importance regarding updates that will be made to your aircrafts this year. We will take a look at jet propulsion and the calculations specific to your F/A-18s before the new NATOPS is even released. We have two guest speakers who are professors from San Diego State University's math and physics departments, and they have graciously agreed to spend some time on this topic with us."

"No way," Bradley whispered, convinced it had to be you. He swiveled around in his seat so fast, he thought he might have broken it as he hung over the arm into the aisle when the classroom door opened. He could hear her high heels on the floor before he realized he was looking at Jessica enter the room, but then his heart skipped around in his chest just like the first time he saw you over ten years ago at his fraternity house. You looked fucking hot as sin, strolling in behind Jake's wife with a folder in your hand and a smirk on your red lips. Your eyes found his immediately as he sat there gaping at you while you made your way to the front of the room, but other than a little nod in his direction, you gave him nothing.

"Holy shit," Jake hissed next to him as Bradley nodded in agreement, his eyes glued on your body as he heard Cyclone introduce you and Dr. Jessica Reed by name. You gave the room at large a little wave, but your eyes flicked him, and Bradley let out the breath he had apparently been holding as he relaxed into his seat. So this must have been why you tried to make it seem like you were extremely busy today. Maybe you and Jessica didn't want him and Jake to catch on to the fact that you'd be presenting their class.

As Jessica started talking, he took in every inch of your appearance. You knew exactly what you were doing to him, and you were doing it very well. Bradley was proficient at calculus, having attended many of your college level math lectures. Sometimes he surprised you, but sometimes you knew ahead of time that he planned on being there. It didn't hurt that the lectures he attended usually ended with sex or a blowjob for him. Somehow math had turned into a form of foreplay for the two of you, and Bradley couldn't get enough. You'd praise him when he was able to solve a difficult problem, and the rewards were always sexy.

He was used to seeing you like this when he visited San Diego State University, but getting to witness your brilliance on the Naval base was already so exciting. Right now, he was already having a difficult time sitting still as he grew hard at the sound of your voice.

"The calculations related to your Super Hornets are so precise, we'll just take a look at a handful of examples to give you an idea of what we mean," you said, opening up your folder on the table as Bradley ran his sweaty palms on his flight suit. You were only a few feet away from him. He could smell your shampoo. He could count the little silver buttons on the side of your skirt. He had to bite his lip as you turned toward the white board and uncapped a marker as you said, "Please, let me know if I'm going too fast."

He could pick your writing out easily, but there was something about the way you always chose the letter B for your variables when he was watching. Your smooth penmanship started to fill the board as you talked your way through the problem, but Bradley could barely take his eyes off your ass. He turned around briefly to make sure nobody else had the same idea he did, but it was hard to tell. The younger guys looked a lot more enthusiastic than they usually did, and he might have to pound some sense into them later. Didn't they know you were his fucking wife?

But maybe they didn't. You kept your name the same when you got married. So did Jessica for that matter. Now Bradley sat a little taller in his seat as he realized he was married to one of the two extremely hot PhDs who all the other men in the room were drooling over.

"Does that make sense?" you asked, turning back to face them with a satisfied look on your face. "Dr. Reed can take over explaining the actual physics of the aircraft propulsion, and then I'll jump back in with the next calculation."

Bradley smiled at you while Jessica started talking again, and he could tell you were trying not to look at him as your lips curled into a grin. God, you were just fucking perfect. Smart and silly and sexy. And the two of you had so much history together, he could practically read the thoughts on your face.

"Did they dress like this on purpose?" Jake croaked softly.

"I know mine did," Bradley whispered. Your little tweed skirt and loafers screamed east coast academic. It looked as good on you as his tie dye shirt always did. It was just as sexy as lingerie. It was almost pornographic to him at this point. But today you had them paired with a blazer and a bodysuit. A bodysuit. He loved those things with the little snaps that held them closed as they hugged your curves. He was almost certain you'd skipped a bra. He couldn't wait to find out for sure.

Jessica was still talking about jet propulsion. Bradley would ask you to explain it to him later if it was actually important. Right now, you were slowly buttoning and then unbuttoning your blazer over and over again while you alternated between consulting your notes and stealing glances at Bradley. He was too warm as he watched your fingers work, and your eyes caught his as he leaned forward in his seat.

"Hey, Sugar," he mouthed, and your gaze dropped back to your folder as you bit your lip and smiled. He was ready to go home. Take you to bed. Or maybe get a private lecture in your home office. Or maybe drive all the way to the college and visit one of the library study rooms. You made everything so exciting, he wanted all of it.

When Jessica handed the lecture back over to you, Bradley squirmed in his seat as you wrote another calculation on the board. Jake was really no better in the seat next to him, and he realized the two of them must look like idiots at the moment. But you were making a subtle math joke that he understood, and when you glanced over your shoulder, your engagement ring sparkled under the fluorescent light.

"Now this is how the updates will actually make your aircrafts more fuel efficient," you said as you easily worked through a calculation that looked so complicated, Isaac Newton wouldn't have been able to solve it. Bradley's cock was still half hard, and he wasn't exactly sure how he was going to be able to stand up after this. But then you really threw him for a loop when you casually added the equation from your tattoo into the middle of the mess of mathematics on the white board. Now the only thing he could think about was your tits. Or rather, him running his lips along your math titty tattoo.

Bradley wasn't going to be able to sit still for much longer, but you turned around and asked, "Does anyone have any questions?"

He had to sit there and listen to several of the other guys ask you the most idiotic questions just so they could have your attention. Then Bradley raised his hand and waited until you pointed at him and said, "Lieutenant Bradshaw?" with an amused look on your face. "You have a question?"

"Yeah," he said, voice raspy. "I do, professor. If the variable B is directly related to propulsion, then how is that going to affect my thrust?"

He kept a straight face while you fought to do the same. You cleared your throat, took a step in his direction, and said, "You're going to need to have some additional thrust, Lieutenant."

Bradley nodded and gave you a thoughtful look. "Hmmm, that's what I thought. And it looks like a very complicated calculation."

You stood there in front of everyone in your little tweed skirt and the diamond ring he gave you and said, "If you'd like a more thorough explanation, I wouldn't mind spending a few minutes with you afterwards, Lieutenant."

As he leaned back in his seat, he told you, "I look forward to it."

So Bradley listened to Jessica while you occasionally interjected, and he kept his eyes on your face as his excitement started to build even more. When the afternoon lecture was finally over, he and Jake both stayed in their seats while Cyclone shook hands with the two of you.

"How long do you think they've been planning this?" Jake whispered, his voice hoarse.

"Not sure," Bradley replied as you collected your notes into your folder. "But I intend to find out." He was impressed as hell that you managed to pull this off without him noticing, but his skin was tingling with need. He desperately wanted to get his hands on you after you worked him up with all of the intellectual teasing.

As soon as Cyclone dismissed everyone, Jake was on his feet, dragging Jessica out of the classroom, but Bradley didn't move an inch in his seat. His cock was hard, and you were running your hand along your tweed covered hip as you smiled at him. But then he had to endure one of the younger aviators who was new to Top Gun trying to chat you up when he should have just left the classroom with the others. When you turned to face him instead, annoyance washed through Bradley's veins.

"Uh, hi, uh I actually studied mathematics at the Naval Academy, and I graduated three years ago, and uh, I was just wondering if you would want to get a drink with me sometime and talk more about, um, some of the topics you covered about propulsion and thrust-"

"Fuck off, man," Bradley barked. "She's wearing goddamn wedding rings. And she's not interested."

Your hand slipped over your lips as you laughed silently while the younger man looked at Bradley in shock. "Oh. Right. Okay," he muttered before hightailing it from the now nearly empty classroom.

"That wasn't very nice," you said, fighting against a smile. "He seemed really sweet. I was going to let him shoot his shot."

Bradley stood with a soft groan, his erection pressing against the zipper of his flight suit. "I was promised a private tutorial session, Dr. Sugar. I'm not about to let a twenty-something year old take up any of my time."

Without hesitation, you walked over to him and started to slowly unzip his flight suit. "Hate to break it to you, Beer Boy, but you were a twenty-something year old when I fell in love with you."

You ran your fingers along his undershirt, and Bradley glanced at the open classroom door as he whispered, "I hope you know you're not leaving this room until you're full of my cum."

"Lieutenant Bradshaw!" you gasped, eyes wide and surprised. But your hand was dipping lower to his abs, and he could tell you were as turned on as he was. "This is a tutoring session!"

Bradley wrapped his hand around your wrist and gently led you toward the door which he immediately closed. "I want to know how the hell you managed to pull this off. I had no idea you and Jessica were going to be teaching a class for the Navy."

"We've been working on our lesson plan for weeks," you said with a smirk as Bradley placed both of your palms on the door and flipped the light switch off. In the dimly lit room, you whispered, "We wanted it to be a surprise."

Bradley stood behind you, facing the door and kissed your neck above your unbuttoned blazer. "And here I thought you lied to me about your plans because you needed a break from me."

You moaned softly as his nose traced the shell of your ear. "Oh, please. It's not like you're annoying like Jake. I don't need a break from you, Beer Boy."

"Hmm, then what do you need from me?" he asked softly, letting one hand slide up your bodysuit while he confirmed that you were not wearing a bra. Your nipples were tight peaks as he stroked them through the fabric with one big hand, and you bumped your ass back against his erection.

"I need you to tell me what you know about thrust, Lieutenant," you stated in your teacher voice which made him grind against you.

"I know you like it when I give you a little thrust," he grunted, guiding your tweed skirt up your thighs as you gasped.

"Is this a good idea?" you asked, still pressing your body back against his. "Should we wait until we get home?"

"Can't," he growled, yanking your skirt up over your ass and wrapping his hands around your hips as he looked down at the perfect view. "You got me too worked up. You know what your lectures do to me. And this time it was on my home turf."

Your hands were still planted on the door as you glanced at him over your shoulder. "Almost like I'm in the Navy now. Lieutenant Sugar? Should I get a uniform?"

"Oh, fuck. You know I couldn't handle that. Besides, I'm really partial to your tweed." He was running his knuckles down your rear end as he whispered, "Please, let me fuck you. I'll be quick, Baby."

His fingers were already at the snaps on your bodysuit that hid your pussy from his touch when you said, "Do it."

With a flick of his wrist, the snaps sprung free, and he ran his finger along your slit. Your back arched as he carefully pulled his cock free from his unzipped flight suit and underwear, and then he was guiding you to your tiptoes as he slipped himself inside you.

Bradley wrapped one hand around your waist and braced the door closed with the other as he buried himself deep inside you. Your soft gasp sounded beautiful as he sucked on your neck and gave you a few deep strokes. When he started to go faster, your fingers curled against the door as you whined his name, and he asked, "How's my thrust?"

Your head tipped back against his shoulder as you whispered, "You're just about there. Maybe a little harder."

Always wanting to be your top student, he did exactly as you told him and picked up the pace, letting himself slam against your ass. Your tight pussy felt so fucking good, and normally he'd draw this out as long as possible, but not today. He let your grip on him take over all of his senses, and soon he was grunting next to your ear, lips parted as he fucked you up against the door in a classroom at Top Gun.

"This is filthy as hell," he muttered, jerking his hips in an uneven rhythm. "Fucking my perfect wife on base. During work hours."

"Beer Boy," you gasped when he slammed deep and held himself there. He did it again, loving the sound of his body meeting yours so intimately. A third time, and the pull along his spine as you moaned was too much. You had complete control over him.

Bradley gave it to you hard until he was panting. He let himself come as you turned and looked back at him, licking those sinful lips. "Jesus, fuck, holy shit," he groaned before kissing your lips softly as he gave you a few more thrusts before pulling himself free.

He was still a little hard as he tucked himself back into his flight suit and zipped it up again. When he went to fix your bodysuit, he ended up with his fingers coated in your arousal mixed with his cum as he did the snaps once again.

"Good as new," he murmured as you tugged your skirt down and turned to face him. He kissed you again before he said, "We should get out of here."

You nodded and collected your folder before pulling the door open and strolling casually out into the hallway like you didn't have his sticky cum rubbing against your inner thighs. "Now that you're all squared away with your thrust variable," you told him as he licked his fingers clean, enjoying the way the two of you tasted together, "you'll be even faster, Lieutenant."

Bradley snickered as you and he rounded the corner. "I hope you mean in the air. Quickies aren't really my thing, unless we're in a library study room or apparently an empty Naval classroom."

"There you are, professor." Cyclone was trying to flag you down, and Bradley watched you stumble as you headed off in his direction. He wasn't even sure if Admiral Simpson knew you and he were married, but the other man looked overjoyed as he said, "I've already been getting wonderful feedback about you and Dr. Reed, and I'm hoping you'll both agree to come back next month for another lecture on a different topic."

Bradley groaned and just kept walking. He would wait for you in the parking lot where he'd have a moment to himself to collect his thoughts. More sexy tweed and his hot wife in the classroom? Another lecture topic? Hours of mathematical foreplay that nobody else seemed to pick up on? Quickies were about to become his thing.

------------------------------

I missed Beer Boy and Sugar SO MUCH! She's such a queen, she literally just has to exist to make him lose his mind. But she knows what she did here. She knows. Thanks for reading!

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koqabear · 2 years ago

Text

chulo

♫: Chulo Pt. 2, Bad Gyal

"Your hermit of a roommate finally decides that he’s had enough of your attitude. And of your constant assumptions that he’s never felt the touch of a woman. "

taehyun x fem!reader

Genre: pwp, roommates au, smut, enemies to lovers if you squint, ft. wingman jjun

Word count 11.4K

warnings: barely edited and barely any plot mwah, use of drugs (weed) and alcohol; mentions of the mc getting drunk (not during any of the smut), jealousy

smut warnings: sub!mc, mean dom!tyun, strength kink !! bratty mc and brat tamer tyun, high sex, shotgunning, degradation, praise, pain kink, spanking, hair pulling, thigh riding, begging, pet names/name calling (slut, baby, princess, pretty/good girl, etc.) manhandling, brief choking, mentions of safeword (it’s not used though), brief marking, biting, oral, (f. rec), face sitting, tyun is a literal pussy fiend. fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, tyun is thick and big yawnnn what else is new, dumbification maybe, slight humiliation (kink? maybe.),breast play, scratching, possessiveness, creampie (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

(lmk if i should add anything lmao)

Notes: just leaving this here to remind u guys that i am the least sane solomon on this app. i actually only wrote this for myself but congrats u all get to read it too. say thank youuu!

Taehyun was, for lack of a better word, a total goody-two-shoes; always holed up in his room studying, the only times he ever left home being for work, school, or to go run an errand. He was also your beloved roommate.

It was meant to be, really; jumping blindly at the offer your mutual friend Yeonjun offhandedly mentioned, commenting about how his friend was struggling to find someone in order to split rent— “his old roommate moved out, now he’s going broke trying to afford the place on his own.”

And you, in all your bright-eyed and enthusiastic glory, didn’t hesitate to ask for details; one long interrogation later, and you found yourself getting interviewed by the man himself— how you were able to snatch the title of Taehyun’s new roommate is something you’re still unsure of.

Because as far as you’re aware, the two of you couldn’t be any more different.

“You’re going out again?” you hear Taehyun call out from the kitchen, the said man able to hear you approaching from the hallway from the jingling of your jewelry— something he was always on your ass for, never failing to comment how you’re like a walking tambourine with that stupid quirk to his lips— the sound of his voice teeming with judgment only brought about a roll of your eyes, trudging over to the kitchen to send him a harsh glare; you made a point of placing your bangle clad wrists on your hips, the action bringing about another soft jingling.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, raising a brow expectantly; Taehyun seems unfazed by your sudden confrontation, not a single muscle twitching at your accusatory tone— his back remains turned to you, leaning on the kitchen counter leisurely while he scrolls on his phone— at the sound of your persistent hmm? He peeks over his shoulder to meet eyes with you.

“You were out till three yesterday,” he says nonchalantly, only turning so he can properly look at you whilst keeping an eye on the stove, “Is partying all you do?”

You can tell he’s trying to provoke you— but you know better than to fall for it and get angry, already victim to his constant mocking and teasing to realize that he seems to enjoy getting a rise out of you— so you simply roll your eyes and scoff, crossing your arms over your chest before you’re turning on your heel and beelining back to the door.

“You know damn well…” you mutter to yourself, sneering at the chuckles you’re able to pick up on, “It’s none of your business anyway!”

“Yeah, it kinda is!” Taehyun retorts, but you’re too busy slipping on your shoes and your jacket to voice out a rebuttal— swinging your purse over your shoulder, you’re able to catch his final comment right as you’re slipping out the door; “I’m not making the hangover soup again!”

“Fuck you and your soup!”

You shut the door behind you before Taehyun can get a word out.

☆☆☆

“How are you two still living together?”

The natural light that streams in through the windows and the sound of Yeonjun’s raspy voice is enough to have you wincing with pain and ducking your head down; hot steam from your bowl soothes your skin and puffy eyes, your body still sore from the night before as you sink into the chair with a tired sigh.

“Because as insufferable as she is, she still pays her share of the rent,” Taehyun mutters bitterly, setting down a second bowl of soup before your mutual friend, pulling out the chair across from your as he goes to sit with crossed arms, “aren’t you gonna eat? You were begging me for this earlier.” Your lips automatically go to form a scowl, but your hand still goes to reach for your spoon— because as much as you hated feeding into Taehyun’s big fat ego, you couldn’t deny that he makes some killer hangover soup; you could already feel the tension easing from your muscles from the first bite—- your eyes remained glued to the table, knowing better than to glance back up and catch the stupid triumphant look Taehyun never bothers to hide.

“Fucking insufferable,” you mumble between bites, glancing at the way Yeonjun seems to catch onto your words, shoulder shaking with the soft laugh he huffs out.

“Me?” Taehyun gawks, leaning forward as though to make sure he was hearing things right; neither of you respond, which only serves to make him more irked.

“As far as I’m aware, I’m the one that has to deal with you— always coming back late and drunk as hell—” Taehyun’s pointed glare jumps over to Yeonjun, who simply flinches and averts his gaze down to the table, “you said you’d be watching over her last night.”

“I’m not a baby,” you butt in, ignoring Taehyun’s look of disbelief, “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“And yet you’re always asking me to take care of you.”

You shrug dismissively, the last bit of your energy spent as you find yourself no longer interested in arguing; staring down at your bowl, you found that you were so busy trying to ignore Taehyun’s piercing glare that you ended up scarfing down your soup in a haste— standing abruptly, you go to place your dishes in the dishwasher before you’re spinning around and sending Taehyun a bright, innocent smile.

“It’s not my fault you always jump to come help me out,” you coo, wincing at the soreness of your body and the sharp ache in your head as you make your way over to him, cupping his face and squeezing his cheeks together, leaning in close to him even as he begins to fuss and swat at your hands angrily, “and you’re just soooo caring and sweet with me— it’s in your nature, don’t lie.”

“It gets tiring listening to you complain around the house,” Taehyun sneers grabbing your wrists firmly and pulling your hands off his face swiftly— the sudden strength catches you off guard, hands falling dumbly at your sides as you can only stare at Taehyun as he continues, cold and aloof as always, “It’s the only way I can get you to shut up.”

“Sureee… sure,” you mumble offhandedly, clearly unimpressed by his excuse as you saunter off to the living room instead, making yourself comfortable on the couch before you’re yelling back to the kitchen one last time.

“Jjunie,” you call, waiting for the muffled hmm? of the said man before you continue, “are we still down for the part next Saturday? Jake’s place?”

“Oh… uhhhm,” he pauses, and you’re sure Taehyun is probably sending him a deadly glare right now, “sure, if you want to.”

“Of course I want to,” you grin, pulling out your phone to look up Jake’s instagram page, scrolling through his feed to get a refresher of what he looks like, the satisfaction of what you see seeping into your voice as you speak, “Partying’s all I do.”

You swear you hear a scoff; it only serves to make you anticipate the weekend a little more.

☆☆☆

“You’re leaving like that?”

Your body is jolting in surprise, the mascara wand in your hand clattering on your desk as you curse in shock— Taehyun stands in your now opened doorway, unable to sense his presence due to the focus you were putting in to make sure your makeup came out perfect— meeting his gaze through the mirror, you frown, nose scrunching in distaste at the way he clearly judges you; your hand reaches for your phone, turning down the music you were playing in order to actually hear him properly.

“Don’t you know how to knock?”

“I tried. I’ve been trying. For the past three minutes,” Taehyun says, ignoring your complaints as he makes his way into your room, coming up behind you as he scans your setup— he ignores the way you continue to glare at him harshly, eyes running slowly over the mess you’ve made before he’s leaning down and reaching across the vanity; you’re pressed back against the chair and left to watch as his arm obscures your vision, hoping he didn’t pick up on the way your eyes glued onto his muscles that bulged slightly as he reached for the charger plugged into the far outlet.

“You never gave this back,” Taehyun sighs, and before you can refute that you were just about to, he gives you a pointed look with that raised brow of his. “It’s been three days.”

“My bad,” is all you can bring yourself to say, picking up your mascara wand again as you go back to applying your makeup carefully— but it’s hard to concentrate, especially with the way Taehyun continues to linger behind you, able to feel his warmth due to how close he is— and you glance over your shoulder, scanning him up and down before you’re turning back to your vanity, “is there something else I can help you with?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“What, the whole why are you dressed like that thing? Are you seriously expecting an answer to that?” you ask, putting your mascara away as you move to your lips instead, “It’s nothing new, I don’t know why you’re so fixated on that right now.”

“Nothing new?” Taehyun repeats, and through the reflection of the mirror, you’re able to catch the way he frowns in disbelief and scans you once more. “You never dress like this for house parties.”

“Hmm,” you hum softly, doing your final touch ups before you’re standing abruptly, spinning around to face Taehyun with a pout, “it’s the skirt right? It’s throwing the whole thing off.”

Taehyun watches as you push past him and head straight to your closet; glancing over your shoulder and nodding at him to sit on your bed, turning back around before you can catch the way he hesitantly follows your command— and you’re turning back around with three more garments in your hand, each option smaller than the one before— the sight has his brows jumping briefly.

“I was thinking this one at first— I think the darker denim is cuter though, like this one,” you press each skirt to your waist, peeking at yourself in your body length mirror before you switch to the next option; again, you’re pouting and shaking your head, throwing the first two options aside before you’re turning around to show Taehyun the last option proudly.

“But actually, I think this one is the one— look at the pockets, they’re sooo cute,” you smile, flipping the garment over to show him— and indeed, they’re blinged out and sparkly, just like the rest of you; you hold it against your waist, checking yourself out in the mirror with satisfaction.

“That— that barely covers you.”

“So?” you effortlessly reply, tilting your head and meeting Taehyun’s gaze through the mirror; dramatically, you gasp, mouth falling open and brows rising as you proceed to blatantly mock him, “Oh, is this too scandalous for you? Sorry, I forget you’re a bit more… reserved. It’s okay, you don’t have to stay in here if it makes you uncomfortable.”

You’re biting your tongue as you listen to Taehyun sputter behind you in confusion; through the corner of your eye, you’re able to watch as his brows knit together, leaning forward and tilting his head as he struggles to find a response.

“Where the hell did you get that from?”

“Oh,” you trail off, tsking awkwardly and amping up your dramatics as you pause— Looking over your shoulder, you meet Taehyun’s prying gaze, returning it with a faux apologetic smile. “Y’knoww… Yeonjun told me. About you.”

If anything, that only serves to confuse Taehyun even more— and worry him, if the way he stares off into space, visibly deep in thought, serves as any indicator.

“What did he tell you,” Taehyun mutters, the question more directed to himself as he racks his mind for possible answers— but you beat him to it, continuing your efforts to keep a poker face as you shrug innocently.

“Just… about you. Relationships, experience…” and you’re turning your back to him, muttering the last part and taking in the way Taehyun leans forward even more to catch what slips out your mouth, “or, lack thereof.”

“Excuse me?”

“We were talking about our own stuff and you kinda just came up in the conversation randomly!” you say defensively, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of! It’s okay to shy away from… this lifestyle, or whatever you like to call it— there’s nothing wrong with being your little introverted self, tyunnie.”

You’re provoking him— you’re setting up quite the bait, and it’s working, because Taehyun can only find himself able to gawk at you in disbelief, mouth parted slightly in wonder of it all— your cute nickname flies over his head in favor of processing the fact that you basically just called him a homebody. A virgin.

Just when Taehyun thinks he’s found the words to respond to such an outlandish accusation, your phone dings with a notification— you’re all but bouncing over to it excitedly, hovering over the device and letting out a soft ah! In excitement— sending Taehyun a pleading smile, he’s already able to guess what you’ll ask of him.

“Junie’s here! Can you please please please go answer the door for me? I need to change.” you watch Taehyun hesitate for a moment; he then nods reluctantly, getting up slowly before he trudges out of your room, your words still bouncing around the walls of his mind as you shut the door and yell out a cute thank you! As you do.

Taehyun opens the front door to find an equally flashy Yeonjun on the other side— the sight of his over the top outfit is enough to catch Taehyun off guard and have all his thoughts tumbling out of his mouth without restraint.

“Did you tell her I was a virgin?”

Yeonjun’s brows jump up in disbelief— he’s halting mid step through the doorway, sending Taehyun a confused look before he steps inside and closes the door behind him— looking at his friend for further explanation, Yeonjun is only met with Taehyun crossing his arms with an expectant look.

“Dude. What the hell are you on about.”

“Why is ___ acting like I’m a total prude— saying you told her I was inexperienced,” Taehyun isn’t exactly sure why tonight’s comment was what set him off— you’ve been like this for as long as he could remember, always portraying Taehyun as someone pure, innocent, and stuck-up— he always thought you were joking, but as it turns out, that might not be the case.

“Oh— she’s probably not being serious, don’t worry,” Yeonjun shrugs, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, craning his neck to try and get a glance down the hallway, seeing if you’re finally ready— you’re nowhere to be seen, and Yeonjun sighs impatiently.

“Okay, but what did you say to her?” Taehyun presses on, eyes narrowing at the sight of Yeonjun pressing his lips together hesitantly, “Yeonjun.”

“I just said that it’s… rare to ever see you get interested in anyone,” Yeonjun pouts, but Taehyun can tell that’s not the full truth— Yeonjun caves in after a moment, gulping softly and lowering his voice to nothing but a murmur, “and that she should stop flirting with you, cause you wouldn’t even know how to handle all that.”

“You what?!”

“Yeonjunnie, what do you think?” your voice is sweet and lilted as you finally come out of your room, interrupting Taehyun’s heated outburst with your jingling jewelry— the two men are turning over to you, Taehyun too busy taking in your appearance to notice Yeonjun sighing in relief at your well-timed interruption.

“So?” you ask, doing a cute spin that has Taehyun’s eyes widening and his hands clenching— yeah, that skirt was practically a belt, your pretty skin lotioned up and shining under the lights, the spin only allowing him to get a perfect whiff of your addicting scent, “Y’think I can get Jake’s attention with this?”

The name has Taehyun frowning before he can even process it— behind him, Yeonjun whistles at your dolled-up self, doing a once over as he proceeds to hype you up.

“Are you kidding? I’m gonna have to fend you off from everyone in that place,” he says, reaching out for your hand and grinning at the way you giggle and take it, your fingers interlacing naturally, “he’s gonna be all over you.”

“Jake? You can’t actually be attracted to that douchebag,” Taehyun frowns, watching the way your expression immediately drops at his comment.

“I am, actually. It’s nothing serious, just a hook up at most,” you roll your eyes, voice turning undeniably bitter as you bend down to slip on your shoes, the sight of your panties peeking out from the skirt, tucked neatly between your thighs not lost on Taehyun, “Plus, I heard he really knows how to treat a woman.”

Taehyun’s gaze snaps up to meet Yeonjun’s; his glare is lethal enough to kill, and the recipient can only shrug sheepishly in return.

“Sleep well Taehyun,” you remark, clearly poking fun at the fact that Taehyun usually sleeps much earlier than you, never failing to call him a grandpa for it, (which is ridiculous, considering that you barely sleep.) “You don’t have to worry about me— probably won’t be home tonight.”

You’re closing the door and dragging Yeonjun with you before Taehyun can respond, probably off to pregame outside while you wait for your uber; he’s left staring at the spot you just stood at, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed in anger— a minute goes by, and something decidedly shifts within Taehyun.

He’s gotta do something about this image you have of him. He should probably fix that attitude of yours too, while he’s at it.

☆☆☆

“Where the hell is he?” it’s something you seem to have asked for the umpteenth time tonight, leaning against the wall and pouting at your friend while you stand in line for the bathroom— you’ve been at the party for a solid hour now, and you still have yet to see Jake around. And to think, he was the one who invited you to his place in the first place. How rude.

“I told you not to give him a chance!” Yeonjun yells, leaning in closer so you can actually hear him through the booming music and the crowds of people singing along to whatever’s blasting from the living room, “this party fucking sucks, too.”

You can only exaggerate your pout further with a petulant humph. Your body slouches and you can already feel your heart getting heavy with disappointment, unable to refute the way your best friend proceeds to mutter something about Jake probably being too busy sucking off another girl’s face in a random room of the house.

“You never gave in to his advances— you said he was a man-whore,” Yeonjun continues to recall, wincing at the sight of two random girls rushing past him and to the front of the line, carrying their clearly shit-faced friend and screaming about how she’s going to throw up all over— the two of you cringe, exchanging a glance and mutually agreeing that you two can hold it a little more; you slowly trudge your way back to where everyone else is. “What changed? Why’d you give in?”

You scoff, lips upturned with distaste as you send your friend a glare— the wound still as fresh as ever, voice dripping with venom as you lean close to Yeonjun’s ear so he can actually hear you.

“Junnie, you know why!” you whine, smacking his shoulder and ignoring the way he childishly yelps, “I’ve officially decided to move on— I can’t stand flirting with a brick wall anymore, I need to… need to…”

You’re trailing off, gaze wandering off to a foreign point, Yeonjun’s brows furrowing before he begins to follow your line of sight— and just like you, Yeonjun remains speechless, the unexpected sight leaving your jaws gaping.

“This can’t be real.”

But it is. The way Taehyun is currently leaning casually against the wall, drink in hand and coy smile on his face as he talks to some random girl, is very real. You can recognize that man anywhere— even in this crowded room of dancing and jumping bodies, your eyes still remain glued to him.

But, the more you look at him, the more you realize something— he looks… different. It’s subtle, but it’s still there; the mischievous glint in his eyes, his relaxed posture and the hair that falls into his eyes, he has a confident, sly air to him you’ve never seen before— the girl leans up on her tippy-toes to whisper something in his ear, a hand on his shoulder to get stabilized, and the two laugh; your mind is too preoccupied with the way her hand lingers, the way Taehyun tilts his head in amusement, to realize the frown that has pulled your face together.

Taehyun brings the can of beer in his hand to his lips— he turns his head, and his eyes find yours effortlessly.

“He actually came,” Yeonjun awes beside you, and that’s enough to have your head whipping toward him, trying to ignore the way your face burns at the sudden eye contact, still able to feel his eyes linger on you for a moment after.

“What are you talking about? Did you give him the address?” you say, your voice whiny as you speak, surprised to find that you’re not exactly sure how to feel at his sudden appearance— torn between the sudden interest he piqued within you and the disappointment that festeres in your stomach, knowing that now that Taehyun is here, you won’t think twice to give anyone else any attention.

“Hmm? No, he was invited,” Yeonjun says, glancing back to where Taehyun is, looking back to find your confused expression, “him and Jake go way back.”

You’re kidding.

“Nope. Those two were fucking menaces,” Yeonjun laughs— it seems as though the words must’ve slipped out of your mouth, the shock painted on your face more amusing to your friend than anything, “they used to host the craziest parties— now that I think about it though, that was probably all Taehyun’s work.”

“Wait… don’t tell me that…” you glance over to where Taehyun remains, then glance back at Yeonjun, reading his expression carefully and gasping, “was Jake Taehyun’s old roommate?”

Yeonjun nods, as though the news wasn’t earth-shattering to you.

“After a while, I guess Taehyun just didn’t feel like keeping up with the fast life… I don’t blame him though.” Yeonjun shrugs, his eyes beginning to drift behind you, drawing you to turn around at the sound of the crowd on the dance floor cheering and yelling obnoxiously— and sure enough, Jake can be seen in the middle of a circle, flashlights of phone cameras recording lighting him up clear as day— you wince at the sight of a random girl dancing up on him, the sight leaving you to shudder and wonder why you were even gonna give him the time of day.

Ah, right.

“I can’t believe I was about to rebound on him with an old friend,” you breathe out, bristling at the sound of Yeonjun’s laughter, whipping your head around to send him a harsh glare, “and you were going to let me!”

Yeonjun raises his hands up defensively.

“Hey, I was just being a good friend,” he says, but with the way he smiles mischievously, you don’t buy it a bit. “I support women’s wrongs, or whatever.”

“You prick,” you mutter miserably, gaze inevitably wandering back to where Taehyun remains; frowning at them now being visibly closer, Taehyun’s hand resting leisurely on the girl’s waist as they talk.

And again, his eyes flicker back to meet yours.

“You know, he’s only here for you,” Yeonjun murmurs in your ear, watching your interactions like a spectacle, “he doesn’t care about that girl— probably just trying to get you jealous.”

“Stop lying,” you say, but your voice is weak and your brain is susceptible to his words; you tell him to shut up, but the way you perk up with interest is saying otherwise.

“If I’m lying, then why is he giving you fuck me eyes?”

As if on queue, Taehyun glances back again— his gaze is dark and inviting, scanning you slowly before he turns back to the unknown girl— and his eyes soften; they’re less intense, aloof, clearly uninterested. The final piece of your resolve crumbles to pieces.

“I think I’m about to do something stupid,” you say sheepishly, eyes still glued on the man across the room; beside you, Yeonjun chuckles.

“Do it,” he says, giving your back an encouraging push, sending you stumbling forward, “I support it.”

You don’t bother looking back at your friend for one last word of reassurance— your feet have begun to take you before you could even stop and think.

You’re pushing through bodies; it’s crowded and hot and sweaty, cringing and jumping at the feeling of hands brushing against your bare skin— whether it be intentional or not, you try not to dwell on it, honed in on your goal instead.

It takes a moment for you to finally find yourself on the other side of the crowd— but you’ve lost Taehyun, eyes darting back to where he was just a second ago, frowning and scanning the area for the familiar man— he’s nowhere to be found.

You’ve begun to wander around— exploring the layout carefully, eventually abandoning the living room and making your way into the kitchen instead— and like before, you’re unable to find Taehyun, growing increasingly frustrated the longer it takes to find him; it isn’t until you’re making your way to the back porch that you finally spot a familiar, broad frame leaning against the railing.

“Taehyun,” you call out, the said man not flinching at the sound of his name; his back remains turned to you, but he listens to the sound of your nearing footsteps and your jingling jewelry, the scent of your perfume following soon after; you’re standing behind him, hands undoubtedly on your hips and a pout on your face as you speak. “What are you doing here?”

He huffs out a soft chuckle— his relaxed, slouched posture only serves to annoy you, going to stand next to him so you can get a good look at his face— you try to hide the shock that’s blooming on your face, but then again, you’ve never been good at hiding your emotions.

Taehyun cracks a small, lopsided smile; your eyes are wide and you seem like a deer caught in headlights, watching with fascination as Taehyun continues his attempts to light up the joint caught in his lips— your mouth is falling open to say something, but you’re closing it immediately after; this proceeds to repeat for a few seconds more, only able to find your words once you’ve watched Taehyun take a relaxed, languid hit.

“You… you smoke?” you ask softly, unsure of what else to say as you stand staring at Taehyun dumbly— he raises a brow in amusement, pulling the joint away from his lips and turning to blow the smoke out into the night— it’s a slow, deep sigh, and you’re left in awe as you watch the smoke fall from his parted lips and disappear into the air; his eyes fall back on you, and you gulp.

“Yeah?” he says casually, turning so that he’s leaning his side against the railing, tilting his head and drinking up your every reaction eagerly. “What about it?”

Now that you’re before him, you’re finally able to get a proper look at Taehyun— a good look, unable to stop your eyes from wandering; he’s wearing that usual baggy tee and cargo pants combo that he’s so fond of, but even so, everything just feels so different; his undercut is styled cleanly, his nimble fingers glint with the aid of silver rings, a chain hanging from his neck to match— his tan skin glows under the single light placed on the porch and fuck, has he always smelled this good?

“Nothing, it’s just—” you stop yourself, biting your lip and thinking carefully over what to say; Taehyun quirks up a brow curiously, bringing his hand back up to his lips, taking another slow drag from the joint, watching the end light up before he pulls away— and you huff, hands gesturing hopelessly as you find yourself unable to properly articulate your thoughts, not when he’s staring at you so intensely, “Where did all… this, come from?”

Taehyun doesn’t answer; he simply stares at you with amused eyes. So, you continue.

“You’re always judging me for going to parties, now you’re here? And—” you stammer, pointing at the joint between his fingers in confusion, “I’ve always asked if you wanted to smoke together, and you always said no.”

Gently, your voice trails off— and suddenly, any confidence you had when you initially approached Taehyun is wilting, your gaze averting as you begin to recount his behavior, his words, everything.

“Do you hate me or something?”

Your words are accusatory and petulant; the question is meant to be lighthearted, but Taehyun can tell there is some genuineness to it.

It’s silent; you’re tense. Your gaze remains glued to some distant irrelevant point, finding yourself too nervous to look up at Taehyun’s reaction to your sudden outburst— but nothing happens. Seconds feel like hours, and after what feels like eternity, a hand is gently reaching to tilt your chin up; your gaze meets Taehyun’s, and he smiles— his other hand slowly comes up your face, the joint centimeters away from your lips.

“Wanna hit?”

His evasion to your question is not lost on you. Bitterly, you chuckle, reaching up to take the joint from him— but he’s pulling it away from you before you can grab it, tutting softly and placing it back at your lips; you reach for it again, but this time, Taehyun grabs your wrist to stop you. He taps the joint against your lips and raises his brows expectantly— what he’s asking of you finally clicks in your mind; your lips part, and he holds the joint for you as you inhale.

Taehyun watches you with dark, intent eyes— as though analyzing every move you make, from the way you lean your head forward to the way your eyes flicker up nervously to look up at him— your face is oddly innocent and shy, feeling a lot smaller under the man’s gaze as you finally pull away; you’re exhaling slowly, your mouth slightly bitter from the taste as your swallow nervously.

“So? Are you just gonna ignore all my questions?” you ask softly, suddenly feeling a lot weaker as you lean on the railing, crossing your arms and watching Taehyun bring the joint back to his lips— the edges of his mouth quirk up at the sticky feeling of your lip gloss that lingers on it.

“Well… first of all… I’ve been like this, you just met me during the time I decided to back off and change my ways,” Taehyun jokes, the joint still caught between his lips as he speaks, hanging precariously, “and second of all, I definitely don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?” you ask hopefully, doe eyes lighting up and your hand subconsciously reaching out to ask for the joint; he chuckles and hands it to you, shaking his head and watching you take a long hit with a raised brow.

“No. You’re just annoying,” he mutters, watching the way you bristle with annoyance, “what? It’s true. You drive me crazy, always forcing me to take care of your reckless ass.”

“Seriously? I literally don’t do anything to you— you’re the one who always decides to get involved,” you sneer, your snarky attitude finally back as you glare at an unfazed Taehyun; your eyes run over his appearance once more, unable to control your childish mouth as you continue, “even now— you come here out of nowhere and suddenly you’re all badass.”

“Are you trying to prove me wrong? You gonna go find some girl to bring back to the apartment?” you pout at him, taking one last hit from the joint and smiling wickedly, “I wouldn’t mind if you did, there won’t be anyone else home anyway— I have the same plans as you tonight, remember?”

Your back is suddenly pressed against the railing; Taehyun is close, he’s pressing against you, caging you in and looking down at you with a gaze that makes you feel small— your skin warms and your eyes widen, unsure of what else to do but stand there and take the way he smiles meanly at you.

“Yeah? Where is Jake, anyway?” he asks, taking the joint from your hands and placing it between his own lips, hand steadying himself against the railing as the other suddenly lands on your bare thigh, just below your ass; you jolt at the feeling, his eyes flickering down at your outfit, at the tiny pieces that barely leave any room to the imagination; his skin is warm but his rings are cool against you, fingertips barely digging into the flesh, “or wait— is it not your turn yet?”

Your body flushes with an unexpected heat; his voice is downright degrading, his eyes filled with pity, telling you things that his mouth doesn’t have to— look at you, all dressed up for a man who hasn’t even looked your way tonight.

He looks at you as though you were nothing short of pathetic; it makes your knees feel weak and your stomach flip with an unexpected need.

“Jake isn’t worth my time,” you confess, watching as Taehyun raises his brows as though to say oh really? “I can easily find someone better than him.”

“You could,” he muses, voice mocking and coy, taking another small hit before he speaks, “but who?”

“I— I’m sure there are plenty of other guys here right now,” you breath out, heart thundering in your chest; Taehyun’s face is close, so close, your bodies slowly beginning to get firmly pressed together— your brain is starting to feel foggy, your limbs suddenly much heavier and tingly; your eyes feel heavy and you’re beginning to list off names absentmindedly, all of men who you spotted in the party, all with a reputation as equally notorious as Jake’s.

“Heesung’s in there… and Sunghoon… and…” Taehyun is giving a big nod to every name you list; he’s patronizing you, staring at you with deceivingly big puppy eyes as he hums a soft mmhmm, and who else? His eyes never leaving yours as you both try to pretend that you don’t notice his lips inching closer to yours, the way every exhale of smoke from him goes directly into your parted lips, your voice breathy and weak as you hold back a whimper that threatens to slip through, “And… fuck, and Beomgyu’s in there too… he wanted to come to the party together, y’know. Said we should go to his place after.”

“Hmm, you’ve got quite a few options lined up,” Taehyun hums, his voice sweet and light to your ears, a shuddered sigh leaving you as his hand squeezes your skin teasingly, caressing it softly and wandering up and down, up and down; he tilts his head, low lidded eyes glued to your lips as he murmurs the last part so softly you almost missed it, “but would any of them be able to fuck you right?”

Your mind reels; your chest is heaving with shallow breaths, the two of you stuck in a state of limbo as you feel yourself get lost in the feeling of him, unaware of the way your eyes have begun to gloss over, your hand reaching out to steady yourself on his bicep— your fingers wrap around the thick muscle, and his hand slides up your leg, bold and strong as he squeezes your ass— a soft whine slips out.

“Well?” he asks again, unable to hold back a lethargic, fond smile at the way your other hand reaches up for the joint that’s still between his lips, putting it between your own, pretty glossed lips begging to be devoured— after a second, you shake your head softly, turning your head to the side and sighing slowly; with your eyes averted, you finally decide to bite the bullet.

“No,” you say softly, “don’t want any of them anyway.”

“Then who do you want?” he asks oh so softly, leaning in to place a soft kiss at your jaw; goosebumps erupt all over your skin, and you shudder at the way he hums softly in question, persisting after seeing you get hesitant to respond— after what feels like forever, you turn to look at him; his low lidded eyes, his plump lips— and your nails dig into his bicep subconsciously.

“You.”

There’s no chance for you to take back your words; Taehyun’s lips are rough and desperate against yours, all teeth and tongue as he groans at the feeling of your sticky gloss transferring onto him, your soft whines only aiding him to press himself more against you, to really cage you in and keep you right where he wants you. He’s biting your lip teasingly, sneaking his tongue in and toying with you, feeling him smile lazily against your mouth, wandering hand continuing to caress your skin, fingertips venturing under the hem of your tight denim skirt.

After a while, it becomes too much— your body feels hot, your hand is gripping onto him tightly, as though he could escape if you let him go— your lungs burn and you’re barely able to keep up with him anymore, but Taehyun doesn’t seem to mind; you’re whining and crying softly at the way he continues to squeeze your ass teasingly, jolting at the way he suddenly slaps it— your fingers jump up to tangle themselves into his roots, tugging roughly at them in hopes of getting him to part from you; he seems to understand what you want, but he continues to ravish you for a few seconds more before he finally pulls away.

In Taehyun’s eyes, this is the best you’ve looked all night; out of breath and flushed, pressed between the railing and his body, his cock already half-hard as he wills himself to not rut against your soft exposed skin like an animal— his hand leaves the railing to grab onto your waist, the other reaching for the joint that is still in your weak hold— he inspects the half-smoked, almost extinguished item before he looks back at you; a small, mischievous grin spreads on his lips, and he slips a thigh between your legs.

“Taehyun…!” you gasp, bouncing up as Taehyun presses the firm muscle against your poor dripping pussy; your panties stick to your cunt and quickly create a wet patch on Taehyun’s jeans, and he can already feel the warmth of you through the denim— your thighs close around his own shakily, your free hand grabbing onto his shoulder for support; the glassy, wide eyed look you give him is almost enough to make Taehyun lose it and fuck you then and there.

“Hmm? What’s up,” Taehyun asks apathetically, fishing in his pocket for his lighter, letting go of your waist to relight the joint with a dark, concentrated gaze; his thigh continues to move against you, flexing and bouncing against your cunt, and all you can do is cry softly and plead for him to stop teasing— his lips quirk up into a mean smile, and his eyes flicker back up to your hazy, fucked out face, tucking the lighter back in his pocket and tilting his head curiously at you.

“What do you want, baby?” he asks softly, bringing the joint to his lips and taking a long, slow hit, his eyes never leaving yours as he does.

“Please… please stop teasing,” you whine, and judging by the way Taehyun raises a brow at that, it’s not enough; his thigh has stopped moving, so you resort to grinding pitifully against it, eyes shining with a desperation that intrigues him, “not enough… need more.”

He huffs; his hand comes up to grab your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks and forcing you to open— you follow his command without a second thought, the last thing you see as your eyes flutter shut being Taehyun leaning in, his own mouth an inch away from yours as he exhales the smoke directly into your mouth.

“Oh yeah? Want it?” he murmurs, feeling you nod in his hold, “tell me then. Tell me how you want it.”

“I— I…” words seem to have escaped you; it’s hard to find the confidence to tell him what you want, the world around you a blurry and lethargic mess, your senses heightened to only feel Taehyun, his skin on yours, his rings that dig into your cheek, his warm thigh that you grind against— peeking through your low lidded eyes, you watch him shake his head disappointedly, taking another hit and proceeding to blow out the smoke into your awaiting mouth once more.

“C’mon baby, use your words. I know you can,” he insists patiently, clicking his tongue and scolding you as you proceed to blank out once more; his fingertips dig into your cheeks roughly, blunt nails threatening to leave indents as he forces you to look at him.

“Want it rough? Want it hard?” he spits out, listening to your whiny mmhmm, mmhmm! with narrowed eyes, and he laughs— it’s mean and condescending, just like his next words, “fucking slut, ‘course you do.”

He’s capturing your lips in another harsh kiss before you can protest; the joint in his hand is snuffed out on the fence and tucked away, his hands falling onto your hips as he begins to press you firmly against him, guiding your pace entirely and forcing you to ride his thigh; you whine and you moan against his lips, fingers tugging at his hair as you grind your soaked cunt against his jeans— when Taehyun pulls away, your lips chase his without a second thought, hands tightening your hold against him in fear that he’ll leave.

“You want it?” he asks once more, bouncing his thigh against your messy cunt, grinning at the way you yelp, “Tell me baby, go on, say it; tell me you want it.”

He won’t let you go quite easily this time. Sharp, intense eyes prying the words out of you, brows furrowing together at the weak, quiet attempts that come from you, fingers leaving a bruising grip on you as he silently commands for more.

“Taehyun, c’mon…” you pout, an embarrassed heat rising up your face, not used to seeing this side of him— you didn’t even know it existed, to be fair, “I want it, please, stop being a tease.”

Taehyun has you regretting your words in the blink of an eye; hand pressing the small of your back, forcing you to arch and proceeding to land a harsh smack on your ass that has you gasping, the skin stinging from the feeling of the rough metal of his rings landing on it— but his hand doesn’t fail to caress the place soothingly, a total contrast to the ruthless glare he gives you.

“A tease?” he sneers, landing another, gentler smack, as though the words are enough to get him angry all over again.

“You mean like when you were showing off this cute little skirt to me? Hmmm? Bending down and showing me your panties? Or when you were talking about getting fucked by my friends?” he can feel you tremble against his hold, your mouth opening to retaliate— but you’re not quick enough, Taehyun’s smart mouth running faster than yours, “Or how ‘bout when you force me to watch you run off to parties and bring a man over to your room, just to have me take care of you in the mornings? Is that what you mean by a tease?”

You shake your head, scrambling to come up with a response; Taehyun seems to have gotten quite fed up with you, because his hand is coming up to wrap around your neck, adding a subtle pressure that leaves you light headed and mushy.

“What, can’t talk now? What happened to that mouthy girl I had here earlier?” Taehyun says, his voice mean and dripping with venom, “tell me you want it, or I’ll leave you here— you said you had some other toys to fuck with inside, right? I’m sure they could help give you what you want.”

“No, no, please, I want it, need it,” you cry, attempting to chase any pleasure and grind your cunt against him; you’re quickly stopped by his firm, bruising hand, “Taehyun, Taehyun, please, please fuck me, I want you, please?”

“I don’t know,” he mutters lowly, eyes glued to the way your hips buck and cant, trying desperately to break free from his hold that prevents you from moving, “think you deserve it?”

“Yes,” you immediately sigh, body restless and hot and overwhelmingly needy, feeling as though you’ve gotten tunnel vision for the man before you; your hand slips from his shoulder and down his chest, finding the hardened bulge that has been pressing against your body with ease— his jaw clenches, and his face remains stoic— but that doesn’t mean you don’t notice the way his lips part or his hips press against your palm reassuringly, “yes– give it to me, want it, only wanted you from the start.”

“Fuck,” he breathes out, heavy eyes locked onto the way you look up at him so prettily, your hand palming and rubbing at his clothed cock only serving to cloud his thoughts further, “C’mon.”

He’s stealing one last slow, messy kiss from you before he pulls away; fingers intertwined with yours, stepping back and proceeding to tug you along— you stumble at the sudden action, your airy self giggling softly at the way you tumble into Taehyun’s broad back; he sends you a fond smile, squeezing your hand reassuringly before he’s opening the door to the house and leading you back inside.

It feels as though the whole environment of the party has changed; the neon lights, blasting music and humid air is a little more welcomed than it was before, unable to contain the dopey smile that grows on your face as you allow Taehyun to lead you wherever; you trust him.

“Wherever” leads you to a bedroom upstairs— Taehyun is slamming the door shut and grabbing your waist, spinning you around and pinning you against the wall before you can even react; his face is inches from yours as he mutters a safeword for the two of you, waiting for you to nod and repeat it back before his lips are back on yours— but this time, he seems to want to take his time with you; plump, swollen lips beginning to trail along your jaw, wandering until he’s peppering kisses along your neck, teasing mouth nipping and sucking at your jaw until you’re holding onto his shoulders and begging for more.

Slowly, he begins to walk the two of you backwards; lips never leaving yours, hands caressing your skin and toying with the hem of your shirt as he sits down on the bed, making you stand between his legs— pulling away, you put your hands on Taehyun’s firm shoulders, sighing shakily at the way he looks at you; as though he were holding back from devouring you entirely, a fondness that makes you weak in the knees undeniably there in his pupils.

“Fuck, pretty girl, pretty body,” he breathes, leaning forward to pepper kisses wherever he can— pushing your shirt up to expose your chest, burying his head in your tits and placing open mouthed kisses, biting teasingly at the flesh, chuckling at the feeling of you jolting and jutting your chest out, your body much more reactive and sensitive— and he trails down slowly, down the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, lingering there for a bit as he kisses and sucks marks into the vast canvas; his hands trail up and down your sides, pulling you in every time you try to squirm away.

“What, you getting shy on me now?” he tuts, nipping at your side and listening to the squeal that escapes you— his hands tighten and he’s forcing you forward, leaning back until he’s laying down and you’re straddling him precariously; your knees dig into the mattress and you’re trying your best to remain stable, but Taehyun doesn’t seem to be satisfied yet— you frown in confusion at the feeling of him trying to tug your hips up more, resisting the motion with a tilt of your head; Taehyun pouts.

“Don’t be like that,” he groans, hands shifting from your hips to the back of your thighs, one cupping your ass and the other falling just below— and you yelp, Taehyun’s muscles flexing as he moves you up forcefully, much too strong for you to retaliate; you’re tumbling down, face burning and planting into the mattress as Taehyun shifts below you— your dripping cunt hovering just above his face, skirt riding up and bunching at your hips, any whines of protests falling on deaf ears as he begins to press soft kisses on your inner thighs.

“T–Taehyun, wait, you don’t—” you stutter through moans, fingers gripping onto the sheets below you as you feel him beginning to trail up, your body revealing just how much you don’t mean your words, “you don’t have to— mmh–!”

His hands are coming up to your middle, pulling and signaling for you to sit up; you do, partly from your own efforts but mostly from his, easily moving you as though you were nothing but a doll— and your cunt is hovering over his face, hungry eyes flickering up to meet yours— he sees the hesitation on your face, the way you’re beginning to ramble once more, and he scoffs; the smack that lands on the back of your thigh is enough to get you to stop mid sentence.

“Just shut up and let me taste you,” he says sternly; his fingers dig into your hips and he’s tugging you down, sneering at the way you continue to hesitate, only allowing yourself to hover over him— he bites at your inner thigh in retaliation, the sensitive feeling bringing out a cry from you, hips bucking and thighs squeezing around his head for a second, “C’mon baby, sit on my face— I can take it, you know I can.”

The hesitant hum you let out is enough for him; he rolls his eyes, and with a strength you forgot he possessed, he forces you to plant your cunt directly onto him.

It feels like a switch has flipped within him. Fuck, you think, your lips parted in a silent scream, a hand scrambling to tangle itself in his hair, fuck!

He hasn’t even bothered to move your panties to the side; he’s eating you out through them, tongue pushing into your hole and lips kissing and sucking at your clit like a man starved, groaning and praising you with a muffled voice; his fingers dig into your ass, making sure to keep you planted firmly on his face as he eats you out.

You think you’re losing your fucking mind.

Just when you thought it was too much, that your body felt like it was buzzing with electricity, filled with a euphoria and pleasure that had you mewling and crying desperately, Taehyun’s nimble fingers finally push the ruined cloth that covers your pussy to the side— and oh, oh, your eyes are rolling back and your mouth is stuck open, Taehyun’s hot tongue lapping and fucking into your hole and his nose pressing firmly into your clit— he’s panting and sighing against your cunt, slurping up any arousal that leaks from your poor hole— his head shakes from side to side, humming into your pussy, and the last bit of resolve within you shatters.

“Taehyun— oh my god, Taehyun—!” you cry, hips grinding down into him, thighs closing around his head; you can feel him fucking smiling lazily into your pussy, rough hand slapping your ass and guiding your movements against him, as though to silently reassure you and ask for more. “Please— oh god, oh— fuckfuckfuck, m’close, I’m close, hnng—!”

Your words are nothing but fuel to the man beneath you— his tongue is flattening against your hole, licking up and flicking at your clit before he begins to suck on it; two fingers prod at your clenching entrance, proceeding to push in without warning, curling expertly and finding your sweet spot with ease; your body shivers and you wail, muscles growing weak as you fall forward once more— burying your head in your arms as you cry about how close you are, the new position only allowing Taehyun to move your hips firmly against him, rocking you back into him; his fingers pull out of your cunt in favor of shoving his tongue back in instead, following every buck and twitch of your hips with ease— his nails dig into your skin as he holds you still, eliciting a dull feeling of pain, and everything falls apart.

Too much, too much! you think— maybe you say it out loud, your mouth open and gasping as you grip onto the bed sheets, feeling as Taehyun continues his same, intense ministrations; letting you ride out your orgasm but not stopping, even after you’ve begun to sniffle and cry about how sensitive you feel— after a while, Taehyun finally gives in, pulling away from your cunt to lick you clean, pressing firm, sloppy kisses against your hole and puffy clit, smiling at the way you twitch with each one.

You feel as though your bones have all melted; you can’t move, face burrowed into the mattress and chest heaving as you try to catch your breath— beneath you, Taehyun moves, slipping out from under you and hovering behind, hungry eyes taking in the sight before him eagerly; ass up and back arched, glistening hole on display as you continue to shudder and breathe shakily— you hear the sound of clothes rustling behind you, followed by the feeling of the bed dipping— Taehyun’s hand rubs at your ass fondly, and you jump at the sudden sensation, eyes screwing shut and a quiet whine leaving you.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Taehyun sighs, biting at his lip and stroking your skin, up your back and to your shoulders, leaning over and kissing gently at the nape of your neck as he whispers, “think you can take more?”

“Yes– yeah, please,” you beg quietly, unable to feel an ounce of shame from how immediate your response is; you can feel his cock rubbing against your ass, the stickiness of his tip that ruts against you subtly— you look over your shoulder with a hazy eyes and a soft, blissful smile, meeting Taehyun’s equally fucked out gaze as you push your hips back, “wanna feel you inside— I’m on the pill.”

The sharp breath of air Taehyun sucks in isn’t lost on you— his cock jumps from the way you grind against him, no longer able to keep up that cold and uninterested facade he’s kept up since the moment you two met up for the first time— he wants you, bad. And to his delight, you seem to feel the same.

“Jesus, you drive me so fucking crazy,” Taehyun breathes, the soft giggle you let out not helping him remain calm; he sits back, a hand grabbing at your waist and the other wrapping around his length— he’s squeezing the base, pumping at it slowly, the gruff sighs and moans you hear behind you enough to have you clenching around nothing— just when you think you’ll have to beg again, you feel his thick tip begin to prod at your entrance.

You think you could cum from the feeling of him stretching you out alone— a broken moan leaves you at the feeling of him entering inside you, so thick and big that you think he might just break you; your head drops back into the mattress and your hips are pulled back against Taehyun’s, soft cries leaving you at the feeling of him bottomed out inside you.

“P-perfect, so… damn perfect,” Taehyun rasps out, head falling back and eyes squeezing shut at the feeling of you clenching around him— you’re so tight and sensitive, walls fluttering around him and sucking him in, tempting him to lose control and pound you straight into the mattress; he has to take a deep breath and concentrate on not cumming then and there, because the way you’re beginning to whine for more like a cockhungry bitch is really getting to him, “shit– stop— ugh– stop squeezing me like that princess, won’t fucking last long if you do.”

You can only whine in protest at that; it’s so hard to remain still, your hazy mind already fucked out beyond belief from your first orgasm— but even so, you still want more, you crave it, you need it; you make sure that Taehyun is aware of it, too, whiny and breathy as you cry and cry for him to fuck you.

“Tyun, come on,” you pout, impatiently moving your hips back, in search of any stimulation you can get, “please, wanna get fucked already, want it hard, don’t tell me that was all talk earlier.”

If there’s one thing you’ve figured out about Taehyun, it’s that he hates when you try to act up on him— because as he tightens his fingers into your plush skin and slowly begins to pull his hips out, you realize quickly that he’s most definitely not all talk.

“Ah—!”

Your body is being driven forward with each thrust— Taehyun is fucking you hard, muttering angry words that you can’t even pick up over the sound of your own moans; his cock is thick and his hips are angled so his head bumps against your sensitive spot with each thrust, harsh pace not allowing you any reprieve as you simply fall limp, unable to move your hips back in tandem with his pace; if anything, Taehyun is doing it for you, rough hands bringing you back against him like it’s nothing.

“Fucking slut— got such a dirty mouth, should make sure you to fuck you good so you can’t talk back to me,” he growls, feeling you clench like a vice around him, even more when he stops thrusting in favor of pulling you back like a doll for him to use, “Oh, you’d like that huh? Like it when I use you like a toy? Stupid pussy’s nothing more than a fucking cumdump for me— yeah, c’mon, move your hips, thaat’s it, just like that.”

His mouth continues to spew filth, a stark contrast to how Taehyun usually is— he’s always been quieter during sex, but the sight of you trembling and struggling to take his cock is enough for his mouth to run faster than his mind— that, and the aid of his high that seems to have gotten rid of any self-control he usually exhibits.

Your movements have become sluggish and weak— you’re getting tired, he can tell, so with one last slap to your ass that has you yelping, he finally decides to take control again.

“God, can’t even fuck me for more than a few minutes? Where’d that cocky girl from before go, hmm?” He asks, voice patronizing as he begins his harsh thrusts— only pulling out halfway before he’s sinking in all the way, hips slapping against your ass creating a lewd sound; your cunt only tightens and gushes around him, hiccupped moans leaving you as he picks up his pace, watching as your arms give out beneath you and your face gets planted into the mattress; he huffs out a laugh, and reaches out to grab a fistful of your hair— yanking your head back, you yelp, left to his mercy as he begins to pound into your ruthlessly.

“Taehyun, wait– slow down…!” you cry, scratching at the bed sheets and feeling tears prick at your eyes— and he does, for a second, waiting for you to say something else, for the safeword you both agreed on— but you don’t, and the laugh he lets out after catching on is enough to have your face burning with humiliation— and his pace picks back up— no, he’s meaner than before, degrading you below his breath and pulling at your hair, pulling you back against him, a hand sneaking down to place sloppy circles at your clit— you’re keening and clenching like a vice around him, a sharp hiss leaving him at the feeling.

“Mmmh, too… too much,” you manage to say softly, immediately given another harsh tug at your hair in response, your eyes watering at the feeling.

“Too much?” Taehyun repeats, and you can practically hear the pout on his lips from the patronizing tone, “thought you wanted it hard? Don’t tell me it was all talk.”

He’s spitting your exact words back at you, watching with amusement as you try weakly to prove him wrong.

“That’s right. You’ll take it like a good girl should,” he grunts, slowing his pace down and punctuating his words with rough, deep thrusts, “Fucking. Take it. All.”

You’re close, he can feel it, he can hear it— and the thought of watching your pretty face screw up into pleasure and bliss is enough to send Taehyun’s mind reeling, not hesitating to pull out and let go of your body— his lips quirk up with satisfaction at the way you’re immediately falling limp, fucked out face peeking behind in confusion, about to complain about why he stopped when he begins to move you.

It feels dizzying, the way he’s able to manipulate you and force you into any position he likes; you’re sure Taehyun can read it all over your face, because he smiles meanly at you, patting your cheek fondly before he begins to busy himself with your clothes.

“Don’t think I never noticed you staring, pretty,” he grins, tugging your skirt and panties down swiftly, eying the soiled underwear before he throws it off to the side, landing directly on his discarded pile of clothes— and he sends you another sleazy smile that has you bringing your knees up and closing your legs shyly— it’s all futile though, because he’s immediately kneeling before you and spreading your thighs open with his warm, large hands, holding onto the underside of your knees as he scoots closer to you, “always getting so touchy with me, grabbing onto my arms and thighs— dumb little thing, bet you thought you were getting away with it each time, hmm?”

“Shut up,” you whine, resisting the urge to cover your face and hide away— but you really can’t, especially with the way his thick cock ruts against your pussy, tip sliding up and down your slit as he teases you by putting it in, only to pull back out again, “Taehyun…”

“C’mon, grab onto me,” he muses, slipping the tip in once more before he begins to slide in slowly, watching your mouth fall open and your eyes grow glassy, “wanna watch you cum on my cock.”

This new position practically has you seeing stars— Taehyun hovers over you and watches intently, chain hanging over your face as he presses your thighs against your body, fucking you straight into the mattress; you tremble and you gasp, a fire festering in your stomach as you beg for more— “m-more, please, faster, harder, s-shit—!”

Taehyun listens to your every request intently— his stamina is impressive and ruthless, and his cock is reaching and hitting places you never knew were there— your back arches and your hands scramble to grab onto something to stabilize yourself, inevitably falling onto Taehyun’s body in the end; one on his shoulder, the other on his bicep that flexes from the effort of keeping your squirming body still.

“So… fucking… pretty,” Taehyun groans, watching your chest heave and your eyes blink away tears, leaning down to suck and bite at your breast, frowning at the bra that still covers them— throwing a leg over his shoulder, Taehyun pulls your bra up roughly, hips continuing to pound against yours as he latches his mouth onto your pretty nipples— you gasp, nails digging into his skin as you begin to cry to him, good, s-so good, fuck!

“Shit, I’m close,” he says after a moment, pulling off your breasts with a lewd pop! That has your eyes rolling back; he moves up to press a sloppy kiss to your lips, murmuring your name sweetly and waiting for you to respond. “I’m close baby, so– so fucking close– where— hah, where do you want it?”

“Inside,” you immediately mewl, hearing him groan unabashedly in response, “Please, pleasepleaseplease, inside, inside—! Fill me, want your cum, wanna be full—!”

“Okay baby, okay,” he says sweetly, kissing at your neck and wandering up to your ear, “gonna fill you up good, just like you want.”

“Oh, are you close too?” he asks, and you nod furiously, watching as he goes back to hover over you, watching every change in your expression intently, “I can feel it, pretty cunt’s squeezing me so good– c’mon, cum for me baby, wanna see it, wanna watch your pretty face, will you let me? Yeah, only for me to see— gonna cum, fuck, make you mine, you’re mine only, okay?”

His words are enough to send you over the edge; you let out a long whine and scratch at his skin, crying out his name desperately as your nails rake down his back, down his arm; he hisses at the feeling, the pain enough to set him off and join you right after; his hips stutter and his face screws up from the pleasure, brows knitting together and teeth gritting together as he lets out soft moans— but his eyes never leave yours, deft fingers circling your clit as he lets you ride out your orgasm— your legs tremble under his hold, eyes rolling back and face smoothing out from the pure euphoria you feel.

“Yours… just yours,” you sigh out, feeling his hips finally still, thick cum beginning to leak out from you, falling onto the sheets and ruining them completely; you pant and try to regain composure, but it’s really, really hard— you feel like you’re on cloud nine, words tumbling past your lips before you can second guess them, “y’have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.”

“Really?” he asks; the panic you feel in your chest is short-lived, because as soon as you see the soft look in Taehyun’s eyes, you melt.

“Yeah…” you say softly, suddenly a lot more shy under his gaze, “this was like. Attempt number one hundred of me trying to get over you. Or make you jealous.”

“Hmm… well, you don’t have to do that anymore. I’m all yours,” he mumbles, swooping in to steal a slow kiss from you; you can’t control the giddy laugh that leaves you at that, lazy hands tangling into his hair to keep him close.

“Good,” you murmur against his lips, “I was running out of guys to use against you.”

His hand squeezes at your hip in warning— you smile coyly.

“Joking, of course.”

Nipping at your lip, Taehyun sends you a half-hearted glare.

“You better be.”

You give him a giddy nod; after tonight, it wasn’t like anyone would be able to compare to him, anyway. Shifting underneath him, you wince at the feeling of your sweaty body rubbing against the sheets— Taehyun is able to read your face before you can get anything out.

“Wanna go home?” he asks softly.

“Please,” you say, giving him a shy smile that has his heart flipping pathetically, “will you carry me?”

He laughs, placing a chaste kiss on your lips and sneaking his arms under your figure.

“Always.”

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